Things change. At the grocery store, I only buy one size of diapers. I completely pass by the aisle with those pureed green peas in little jars. I traded in our sippy cups and bouncy seats for soccer cleats and book bags. 3 out of the 4 boys buckle themselves into seatbelts. All can walk now---or more accurately---run now. (Unfortunately, never in the same direction.) I no longer spend my evenings rocking babies while Andy sings lullabies. I now review spelling words and Andy throws baseballs. Fortunately, we now sleep seven consecutive hours. And with much excitement, we traded in our smaller older house in the city for a bigger newer one in the country—where our babies, now boys—can now run freer.
Dawson (7), bless his first- born heart, paves the way through each new change. Making sure we don’t mess him up, Dawson recently pointed out I had allowed Gabe a privilege I had denied him. “Mom,” he scolded, ”that is not very good parenting.” For Dawson, the new house represents a unique opportunity to catch snakes, frogs and those creepy and crawly things that only true boys of adventure and conquest could love. Trying to keep all four, six, and twelve-legged animals outside, I am standing firm on the rule: You can have a pet when you stop fighting with your brothers. I think I’m safe.
Gabe (6) remains our “eye of the hurricane.” When we moved to the country, he demanded his own quiet room. He likes to hide stashes of coins, cards, and candy from his brothers in top secret places. His brothers in turn feel obligated to discover those stashes. As the eye of the hurricane passes, Gabe will pick up Andy’s old electric guitar and contribute to the chaos. Even as a kindergartener, Gabe remains sensitive and kind, yet daring and tough. He and some buddies recently dressed up as superheroes. They rode their bikes through a local neighborhood, knocking on the doors of strangers and asking: “Do you have any crime here?”
Max (4) was born a free-ranger. He does not like any type of boundary or fence. Now that we’re in the country, we’re constantly asking, “Where’s Max?” No acreage can squelch his curiosity. Max’s drumming also knows no limit, especially if they are on the big stage. Max lives in opposites. When I told him to go to the potty before he went to bed, he turned on me and said, “You are the baddest Mom I ever had.” All the boys now gladly critique our parenting. Max soon returns however and looks for those comforting hugs and words. His embraces can melt even a hardened mom’s resolve.
John Piper says “There are rare and wonderful species of joy that flourish only in the rainy atmosphere of suffering.” Quincy (2) taught us that. After so many anxious days, what joy we now experience watching him grow strong and healthy and happy. The doctors quit their probing and prodding this year, telling us to come back in 2007. We’ll see then what surgeries may loom ahead. For now, Quinc makes his own contribution to the collective chaos. Determined and persistent, he expresses his frustration with our parenting by exclaiming “ohhh mannn!!” Gentle and unafraid, he’s still so blindingly cute--- especially when he “sings”. Quinc matched our move into a new house with a move into a big boy bed—signifying so clearly a little boy that is growing up all too fast for his mother.
With a nice amount of little boy still in him, Andy must use all his self-control to allow his sons to win games of driveway basketball. PlayStation competitions are no less furious. In the same way, however, Andy is the ever-constant guide for our men in the making. He combines beautifully the childlike love of the Father and the grownup sacrifice and passion of the Son. Andy’s music, like himself, refuses to be defined by any genre or setting. Saturday nights, he’ll often be found leading the early worship service before heading to play in Davenport’s leading music clubs. All that he does, all his music, overflows from a heart that bleeds for people, all people. I am the first among many who are inspired and challenged by him.
I’m not sure I can change though into a very good “country” mother. Accompanying the unnatural “no animals” rule, my cooking is rather pathetic; I can hardly sew a button, much less a quilt; and “homeschooling” is not in my vocabulary. I began the new move by painting the sunroom pink and declaring it mine. Anyone who can pee standing up is not allowed in. I will read, I will blog, I will drink hot coffee, and I will reflect. And I won’t complain when I’m interrupted every 34 seconds. Nor will I complain about the constant chaos, the noise of little boy wars, the never-ending laundry, the endless trips to the kitchen for apple juice and crackers, the muddy footgear and dirty floors, the pencil drawings on freshly painted walls, or the toothpaste covered sinks. Because each interruption offers evidence that 4 growing boys live here. And one day, not far off, I will no longer be the mother of boys, but the mother of men.
So with very grateful hearts for another little boy who grew up wise and obedient enough to make the ultimate sacrifice, we wish you a Merry Christmas, Jody Landers for all
