Bingo

I finally came down with the sore throat that plagued Brian at the end of last week. I knew it was coming. Just knew I'd be tacking it on to the string of physical ailments that have been my thorn in the flesh since Anniston was born. The cold sores are going on 7 weeks, so it's only fitting that I'd catch the first bug Brian brought home from high school.

My ailments like to tag team. They are little wrestlers.

Today was also our first PTA meeting. It was so tempting to stay home and skip the meeting and the Bingo tournament following. But, the elementary schools know how to get parents in the building. THEY TELL YOUR KIDS ABOUT THE PRIZES, BINGO TOURNAMENT, PRIZES, PIZZA AND, YES, THE PRIZES, ALL DAY so that, when your child comes to you and says the word, "Bingo," like it was gold, you know you're going.

It soon followed that Noah, Anniston and I found ourselves pulling up to the school driveway, ready for some PRIZES Bingo. Brian and Tyler stayed home. Apparently, daddies were not born with the guilt gene that all mommies are saddled with. Right next to the gene that hears your kid throwing up in your doorway in the middle of the night and you hear it but, miracle of miracles, your hubby sleeps right on through it.

Not that we have ever experienced that in our household.

Anyhow, so began the Bingo tournament and the lesson I didn't see coming.

Noah and I must share a little superstitious gene because both of us stayed loyal to our cards through most of the rounds we played. We figured our respective card's one shining moment had to come at some point. With each round, our cards disproved our theory and the tension mounted.

TENSION.

Because there were PRIZES involved. Glorious water bottles, sticky hands, silly bandz...the stuff dreams are made of. Oh, the excitement. Oh, the PRIZES.

And I pray and I pray. I so deeply want this for him, my competitive child. I want victory, I want success, I want a prize, a thrill for him. I glance at his card and at mine, double, triple checking. I long to hear his voice call out, "Bingo!" For him to know the proud march to the front to prove his win and gain his prize. At some point, I realize I am not even enjoying the game, so badly do I want this for him.

And I see he wants it, too. His eyes are dancing, he's on the edge of his seat. He scans his card diligently, boldly marking his card and even counting down how close he is to winning. He has to pee so bad, he's squirming, but he's afraid to leave. Finally, rounds into it, I convince him he needs to get thee to a bathroom. We make quick plans for me to watch over his card as he races to the boys' room. In no time, he is back, ready to re-join the competition.

And I pray and I pray. My prayer is in nearly every breath. Lord, I want this for him. I want him to have this win. Please, God, let him win. Not for any glory. Not for any competitive nature in me. Not for the silly bandz. Simply because he's so excited and what parent doesn't want their child to know the thrill of the win?

And then he speaks The Words and I know instantly he will not win tonight. I keep praying, but I know. He says, "I just know I'm going to win." And, with those words, I knew. I knew. Something told me there would not be sweet victory. Instead, he would learn something tonight in heartbreaking defeat. He would learn that we can set our minds to some things, but simply deciding we will win will not, in fact, make us win. And, he'll learn something else that's hard for any of us to learn. Maturity and completion come through trials. Hmm...seems like that's Biblical. Something/Someone tells me Noah will walk out with a character lesson instead of a school water bottle and silly bandz tonight.

All of this forces me to examine myself. What is it that I truly want for him? The easy win, the luck of the draw, the victory for which he truly did not work? Or, do I want the big picture? The hard lessons that must come if he's to be any man I hope for him to be. The lesson that says you will not always get what you want no matter how hard you believe you will. Believe and work hard, yes, but know that belief does not have the final say.

"I hate myself." I don't know why or even how a six year old speaks that. But he did. As soon as we were in the car, he declared it. So deep was his disappointment. And this is where I really knew that Noah was meant to learn something tonight. There is so much pressure to say the right things, to shift his focus to the correct perspective, to balance understanding and sympathy with truth, to teach him that we can have gratitude for the time spent together and for the chance to compete despite defeat, to say that we'll fight another day at the next Bingo tournament...so much I wanted to say just right. Because I know I was given that moment.

I don't know how much he heard tonight. How do you reason with a six year old? But, if he hears us say these things enough times as he grows, maybe they will sink in someday. I don't have all the right words, I'm sure of it. I only know that I am his mom and I'm given moments like these to mold him. I do my best and I rest in the fact that Noah got a dose of character building tonight. That he did not walk away with a prize in hand, but with the testing of his character as his prize.

Sigh.

This parenting thing makes my brain and my heart work too hard sometimes.

Noah, Tyler and Annison, I want victory for you. I want you to taste the thrill of the competition and to know the proud march to claim your prize. I want to see the dance of your eyes. I love the childlike belief that you can do anything you put your mind to.

But, I want for you to be humbled, too. I want you to know defeat so you will learn how to handle victory with class. I want for you to be disappointed so you will know how to be grateful. I want you to fall on your face so you'll know the kind of digging deep it takes to stand up again. I want you to believe you can do all things IN CHRIST, but to know that, win or lose, the big picture is that it truly is all about Christ's glory. And I hope Christ got some glory tonight. Noah, I hope your little heart got something bigger and better than a bouncy ball and some candy. Something more lasting, more eternally focused. Something that makes you a better winner and a better loser. A better man. A man who knows all things are temporary and who learns to set his heart and mind on things above.

Because THAT is the ultimate prize.

Spe-cial Kid

Noah had his six year check up.

He is in the 75%ile for height and weight and everything was A-okay.

He picked out two stickers with the plan to keep one and give one of them to his daddy and me.

But what do you do when you have just one sticker to split between two people?

12:01 a.m.

One of these things is not like the others,

One of these things just doesn't belong.

Can you tell which thing is not like the others

By the time I finish my song?

Do You See What I See?

I was snacking on some kettle chips today and looked down to see this. It's a slight stretch of the imagination, but if you know me at all, you'll know what it reminded me of.
Sigh...

A piece of my soul will always be there.

Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrika.

Playing Possum

The other day, a friend commented on her Facebook status that her daughter wants to be an Aggie.

I started to reply that her daughter is a genious.

A genious.

GeniOus.

Irony.

I love it.

It doesn't take a genIUS to see the irony here either.

Miss Princess and the Pea is not impressed with her bouncy seat. Or her swing. Or tummy time. Or the objects we dangle above her in an effort to find something that makes her as content as being snuggled.

I was so good about putting our boys down before they fully fell asleep so they'd learn how to sleep without being held. I don't know what it is about this child okay, let's get real, she is my last baby, y'all, but it is as if I've swallowed a huge bunch of asking for it because I'm having a hard time putting her down and letting her soothe herself. And my sleep habits are paying dearly for it. She has perfected the method of appearing to be deep in sleep, only to jolt awake mere minutes after I've laid her down.

The other night, we went through several rounds of such exercises. Just when I thought she was deep asleep and it was safe to put her down, I'd hear her crying and we'd hit repeat.

That same night, I discovered this opossum shortly after our dogs did.
No question this poor baby was dead by the time I snapped this, but, just seconds before, there wasn't any blood and I began to wonder if it was playing possum. It was lying very still and its breathing had become shallow.

Intrigued, I watched and waited for it to show some sign of life, in awe of it's ability to stay so still because it was DEAD, Jen.

I glanced over at this little girl lying on the couch.

I had just spent half the evening putting her down just to discover her wide awake and wanting to be held a few minutes later. She would lie very still and her breathing would become shallow...

I looked out at the possum. I looked at her on the couch. I looked at the possum. I looked at her.

And then it dawned on me. Our daughter has perfected playing possum.

Genius.