I Almost Said No

It has been rainy for the better part of two weeks around here, and while we’re grateful the river is high and the green beans are watered, we’re just a little bit over cloudy skies and 60 degree temps.

Yesterday, during a downpour, my six-year-old approached me with a handful of fishing lures (no hooks) and asked for a bowl of water.

I almost said no. I was in my mess of a basement packing away winter coats (finally) and trying to figure out which water shoes from storage will fit my third son (and going blind doing it because all the size labels are worn off). I wasn’t sure I could navigate through my fortress of plastic totes to the stairs if I wanted to.

And honestly, I didn’t want to deal with the request. I didn’t want to stop what I was doing to go upstairs for a bucket and a towel. I didn’t want to clean up water messes or hear the post-water-play whining about wet shirt sleeves. I wanted the boys to find something quiet and orderly to do while I got stuff done. Something like Latin flash cards. Or piano chords.

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The Mornings We Make

There was a time in our lives when mornings began with our three sons in front of the television.

They’re up early, always before six, and my husband and I prefer to wake slowly (for the first hour anyway). Turning on the TV resulted in kids sitting quietly while Chad and I sipped coffee and talked to one another about the things we were reading and thinking and planning.
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At one point, I questioned the morning TV habit. The kids were always grumpy and whiny when it came time to turn it off and get ready for school or church. It seemed like that hour of television cast a shadow over our mornings.

What would happen, I wondered, if the screen remained black?

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