Anatomy of a Large Family's Read Aloud Time

Pick a time.

Announce it to everyone.

Begin thirty minutes late because  you got distracted washing the dishes and putting another load of laundry in and dressing your daughter's baby in doll clothes.

Let everyone gather their coloring pages, pencils, or Legos to use while listening to the reading.

Begin.

Hear toddler cry for juice.  Ask her buddy to please get her some.

Begin again.

Read for about 15 minutes.  Then, have daughter tell you baby needs a diaper change.

Tell everyone you'll be right back. 

Change diaper.  Watch baby boy pee all over comforter unexpectedly (really, Mama-to-quite-a-few-boys, you should expect that...)  Strip bed and put comforter in the wash.

Tell everyone to settle down.

Begin again.

Admonish two children for fighting.  Tell them to stop provoking one another.  "Keep your hands to yourself."   "Do unto others as you'd want done to you."

Ask another child, "Are you listening?"

Try again.

Hear howling scream from one son.  "What happened?"  Mediate.  Discipline.  Sigh and wonder how long you've actually been READING.

Feel toddler girl lay her head on your lap.  Hug her back.

Look for your place again.

Start reading.

Realize 3 year old is missing.  "Where's _________?"  Send her buddy to look for her.

Start again.

Hear everyone laugh at the passage or make commentary on the author's worldview.  Follow rabbit trails.  Calm everyone down, and get back to the line you were on.

Notice toddler has a permanent marker.  "Where did she get that?"  "Get it from her quick!"

Hear phone ring.  It's Daddy.  He'll be home in about an hour and a half.  Think of dinner and how much time you need to get it done.  Remember the clothes wrinkling in the dryer. 

Find your spot, and try again.

Smile as you notice little daughter trying to help her sister with a toy.

Read for a bit more.

Exhort another child to use his words for building up, not tearing down.

Fight discouragement as you tell yourself, "Why bother?"

Remind yourself that great things are done little by little, even with an interruption here and an interruption there. 

Laugh at yourself.  Treasure the blessing of so many children around you who really are enjoying the book you're reading. 

Remember that an hour of uninterrupted read aloud time with total silence is very overrated.  Would I really want that? (Well....move to the next thought.)

Remember where you need to discipline more.  Remember how you need to lighten up.

Remember not to grow weary in doing good.  And this time together, interruptions, frustrations, and all, is very GOOD.

End with a big smile on your face.  Close the book, and try again tomorrow. 

Thank the LORD that you're such a rich woman.

The End. :)

***originally posted at my A Multitude of Mercies blog

But His REAL Name Is...

Elisabeth to her Daddy: What is your last name?

Me (because I often interpret the Littles' questions): "What is his last name? It's Poff. Just like yours and Ella's and everyone else's. Elisabeth Poff. Ella Poff. Trisha Poff. Ben Poff.

Ella looks at Elisabeth and adds, "But his first name is actually Benjamin."

Elisabeth: "But his REAL name is Daddy."

If a Woman Makes a List and Goes to Target

If a woman makes a list and goes to Target, she'll go straight to the first item, abandoning all thoughts of a cart because she just knows she's only going to get the two items on the list. She'll pick up her Tums (because she's 35 weeks pregnant) and pat herself on the back for heading straight to the next item.

As she looks for the spices, she'll pass the Coke display and notice the great price. She'll walk back to it and pick up a 12 pack. She then notices the spices were located a few aisles back.

She'll carry her Coke and Tums, never thinking of enjoying the two together, and aim for the curry powder that was on her list. (No, that doesn't cause her reflux because she doesn't eat it.) While walking down the spice aisle, she notices the mini-chocolate chips and is reminded she needs to make scones. She'll pick up two bags and then resolve to get the curry powder and get to the checkout.

While standing at the checkout, she notices the AAA batteries and remembers her three year old needs them for a toy. She adds that to her bounty and checks out.

If You Give a Man a List and Send Him to Target...

He'll get item number 1 and then item number 2, go to the checkout, pay, and leave the store.

If You Send Them Together to the Store with the List...

She'll assure him she only needs two things. He'll still ask her if she needs a cart. She'll confidently say "no" and remind him she only needs two things, completely aware of her reputation of never getting just what's on the list.

She'll ease the pressure she feels to stick to the list and impress him by going straight to the first item, not even stopping at the dollar section. She'll grab the Tums with great sense of direction and purpose. She'll then look for the spices and notice the Coke display. She'll tell him what a great price that is and declare they should pick some up.

She'll grab a 12 pack and then look for the spices, noticing she missed that aisle. She'll head back in the right direction and pass the mini chocolate chips on the way to the curry. As she picks up a couple of bags, she explains that she should make those scones before the baby comes. (she does know her priorities!)

He'll help her find the curry powder, and she'll comment she uses "red" curry. He'll help her find a different jar, and they'll head to the checkout. Meanwhile, she carries everything just to prove that she really didn't need a cart.

While at the checkout, she notices the AAA batteries and grabs a pack. She'll explain they're needed for a toy, and then he'll say he needs some for his headlamp (flashlight), and she'll feel even better about adding one more item that wasn't on the list.

As they leave, he'll smile, not saying a word about carrying several items from a two-item trip, and she'll think of how wonderful it is to have a husband who knows a woman rarely goes to the store and only gets what's on her list.

The End.

Can A Pregnant Woman Do That?

Elisabeth, 5, asks, after running out with all the younger children to see if it was true that I was painting the house:
"Can you do that with a baby in your tummy?"
(this painting stint was a brief and isolated incident)

Claire, 3, asks, "What are you doing?"
Me: "Whackin' a fly!"
Claire: "What?!" "Can a pregnant Mama whack a fly?"

Hear me roar! I'm woman with child who killed a mouse with my bare foot. Of course I can paint and whack a fly, probably at the same time, too. :)

I'm Trisha, and I Have Musophobia

Hi. My name is Trisha, and musophobia is my shadow.

Ask me to change extreme diapers or clean up middle-of-the-night vomitus, and I'll boldly go where few men dare. Put me under the knife to bring forth life or burn my skin to rid me of cancer, and I'll push through the fear.

But let a mouse scurry across my path or eat the food in my pantry or leave its cursed droppings in my linen closet, and I will lose control. Absolute control.

Perhaps this phobia started when I was just a child, staying at a family member's home in the summer. Our late nights were full of french fries and card games...and hopping from chair to couch to keep those pesky rodents from getting too close. This was the price of country living. The mice thought they were part of the family.

Then, we bought our home in the desert and the cruel reality of home invasion surfaced. I remember arriving to a dark house one night, ready to clean and prep it for move-in, and seeing my first evidence of the utter boldness of these creatures. They had eaten a hole almost clean through the potato chip bag on the counter and left me droppings along the way. I was disgusted.

In our years of living in this house, I've encountered mouse babies in my linen closet (and had to call the neighbor boy over to dispose of them because Ink and Little Big Man were so little and my Beloved was out of town), dead mice in a Beanie Baby container, a renegade pantry mouse that eluded us for a LONG time, and other rodent nightmares. I even remember calling an exterminator and having him tell me mice were well known for crawling over people's faces at night while they were sleeping (yep, he really wanted our business).

Yes, I know cats are great mousers, but we live in the desert, and a cat outside has the life expectancy of about 12 hours. We love our friendly Bull Snakes, but unless we imprison one under our house, their success rate is hit and miss. Steel wool, poison, traps...we've tried it all, and though poison ranks high in my book, no remedy has been permanent. Thankfully God gives us occasional reprieves during which we won't spy a mouse for months.

This last rodent-relief session ended the other night while Cap'n and I were watching something on the computer. Have you ever had that sensation when you haven't seen something directly move before your eyes, but your eyes saw something nonetheless? Not only did I indirectly see movement, but the wrapping paper roll next to me moved. Cap'n and I were out of that chair in a millisecond, landing on the bed for refuge. I was screaming for Jake, our second oldest, and before you know it, all three men are in the room looking to confirm my claim that a mouse was in the house.

"But, did you SEE it?" was the question. "Well....no, I didn't see it, but I know something was there." Uh-huh.

I didn't hear another peep from my supposed nemesis, nor were there any sightings that night. The trap was ignored, and there weren't any late night sounds of invasion. (You know...you're lying in bed and hear the scurrying over in the corner or the scratching, and you just know they're having a good time with your stuff.) I thought perhaps my musophobia had morphed into paranoia. I was relieved to think I was crazy.

Fast forward to the next day, the MIDDLE of the day, and I'm talking to my Mom on the phone. I'm de-cluttering here and there and moving about MY house with confidence and ease, as any good homemaker should have the freedom to do. And then IT happens. The IT that, only by God's mercy, did not put me into labor.

I stepped, barefoot, on a mouse.

Oh me. Oh my. It was the grossest furry sensation I've ever felt.  I ran, screaming all the way, to the other room, hanging up the phone and leaping on the couch. There was not trace of a quiet and gentle spirit in me. Poor Jake, who was outside on a ladder, had to keep himself from falling, so startling was my scream.

Everyone rushed inside and gathered around the creature in the kitchen. They told me it was still alive, but that I had crushed its head with my foot. They said there was blood. I'm still having a hard time believing their story. After all, there was no blood on my foot, and when I looked down, that Madness-Inducer appeared to already be dead.

The Littles stared in wonder as I wept on the couch at the horror of it all, my three year old offering me the truth of, "But, Mommy, God made that mouse." At dinner, I was given the name "Mouse Killer" and my precious family shared scenarios from Mouseland-Down-Under in which those creatures are trembling at the thought of the pregnant lady's foot that looms above them. My three year old continues to tell me how she'll kill mice with her bare feet when she's a Mommy.

Delightful.

It's been said "in acceptance lies peace." That's just not stickin' with me right now. In acceptance of my morbid fear of mice, I still have a morbid fear of mice. In acceptance of God's providence, I ponder the thought that He placed that mouse at that time under my foot, my BARE foot. Joel Osteen would declare that's a picture of God telling me I can have victory over my fear of mice if I just believe hard enough.

For now, I'll just pray for reprieves, keep a good supply of traps and poison on hand, and work on re-directing my three-year-old's mothering aspirations. And if you ever hear me scream, well, you can pretty well guess why.

With love,
Trisha

Justin Bieber and The Gag Reflex

Justin Bieber card: $4.99

Having to buy the card in public: Great embarrassment and efforts to restrain from vomiting

Jake's face when he opened the card and heard Bieber singing: PRICELESS

Truly, this was a gag gift in every sense of the word.

***This was part of Jake's 15th birthday Scavenger Hunt. Rest of the adventure to follow later.

Bite, Chew, Sputter, Sputter

Ahem, sorry, wait just a moment while a bite off a bit of the crow I'm having to eat.

{chomp, chomp}

{sputter, sputter}

Ok, it was hard going down, so I'm hoping this experience will be over soon. This is Facebook Crow, by the way.

Remember the day I said I told my children to promise me they'd never be on Facebook until I was 10 feet under? Well, I'm not 10 feet under (somebody pinch me, please), but I now have a child on Facebook. Yes, he's a man, but he's still my child.

The Ink Slinger can now be found writing on walls, though we've never ever approved of graffiti. And I guess he can be found reading what others are writing on walls, too.

Now, friends are coming out of the woodwork. Who knew that every person we know has a Facebook account?

Of course, the burning question is, If Ink is on Facebook, will Mama soon follow?

Before I answer, let me suspend my crow-eating. It really is hard to keep myself from choking AND write at the same time.

There were several considerations that went into this decision, and to be honest, my first words after Ink set up his account were, "I hope this isn't the beginning of something bad."

I know. You're flashing to the joker's question in The Dark Knight, "Why so serious?" (You just look a lot prettier, as you sit there, chuckling, and saying, "I knew they would give in.") I'll save my "why so serious?" answer for another post.

Without divulging details of private conversations, I will share that Ink made a lot of great connections in Mexico, and Facebook seems like the optimum way to maintain those connections. And I'll tell you that for now, Mama will just be watching the writing on the wall from the sidelines. In fact, you probably don't really want me to join Facebook because if I did, I'd have to eat so much crow, I'd surely choke to death. (And I'd even have a few friends ready to spoon-feed me.)

I know our hearts often revel in hearing someone say, "Never!" and then watching them do an about-face. That's ok. Revel all you want. Send the smirks and smiles my way.

Just go easy on me. Pregnant women tend to cry easily, in case you didn't know.

With love,
Trisha

This is June

This is June:

5 doctor's appointments
3 birthdays
1 scavenger hunt
3 special dinners
Disappearing Ink for 3 weeks
new roof
anniversary of my Dad's death
two dinner engagements with friends
husband preaching a sermon at church
Father's Day
homeschooling (we're not done until mid-July)

The verdict?

I'm very, very blessed. 


And for some reason, a little tired and battling visions of day-long nap sessions.


And maybe this is why I've needed a bit more of this:

Anyone else have a hubby who will go to the store just for chocolate for you?

With love,
Trisha

The Proper Care of Doughnuts

When You're Part of That Peculiar Class

There are times when someone else perfectly puts into words what you often think of yourself...

"He seems, in fact, to have been a type of that peculiar class of men who have the faculty of getting things into their heads, while they are unable to bring them out again---mighty at heaping up knowledge, but impotent at spreading it---clever at accumulating literary treasure, but utterly incapable of spending it."
~J.C.Ryle describing a biographer of the great Puritan William Gurnall


:)

To the Grandmas

Dear Grandma and MeMaw,


I overheard Mommy say that if you don't start reading and commenting on the blog, it might self-destruct. 


She puts a lot of time into making sure you see awesome pictures of us. She invests blood, sweat, and tears in perfecting her prose. (um...I'm just trying to help her out a bit here.)


I remember when my binky first got lost. I didn't know what a good thing I had until I didn't have it anymore (even though it was just missing for 5 minutes). But, sometimes we don't notice things until they're not there anymore.


I'm just warning ya. Even at my young age, I've learned that pregnancy makes a Mama a bit unpredictable. We're trying to keep her fed with chocolate, but sometimes that's not enough.


You might want to encourage her a bit by leaving comments about how cute you think we are. I just know that will keep her pounding away at the keyboard and spending so much time posting pictures.


Love,
One of your cutest grandchildren ever


P.S. I'll gladly take a big lollipop for giving you heads up. Those travel well in the mail. Oh and maybe Barbecue Fritos. Remember, we can't buy those here in the desert.

Mac Baby

It's good to finally get some time alone on the Mac. My big brothers are always hogging this awesome portal to the world of technology. V-Tech push-button phones were nice when I was 2 months old, but c'mon, Mac is where it's at.

Ok. I've got to get serious. I don't have much time. Thinking, thinking, thinking. 

Should I write my review of the Steve Jobs' biography or should I tackle paedobaptism vs. credobaptism? A "tell-all" about my Mom's obsession with photography is tempting, but Systematic Theology for Babies is probably a more profitable use of my time. Besides, Mom might cut off the chocolate supply if I write about her.

Oh no! He's discovered me! 

Hey bro! I'm just working on my writing projects. You know what that's like. Don't shut me down. Please don't shut me down. I just now figured out what I'm writing about. Please. Please. I'll tell you where I hid the candy.

No! I've just got to write a few more lines. Every time I get on here, you come marching into the room like you're part of the Mac-Police. Please don't send me back to the V-Tech phonics typewriter. It's just not the same!

Aagh! I can't believe you just did that. You shut the Mac! I didn't even get to save my work. Do you know how long it took me to type the letters S and Y?

Don't you have a heart, brother? I can't open this by myself!

I'm gonna...I'm gonna...well, what am I gonna do? I can't tell Mom. I'm not even supposed to be on here. I can't just cry 'cause he's used to seeing me do that.

Yeah. Well. I'm gonna...

I'm gonna make sure I dump my bowl of spaghetti on my head when you're my Buddy. And, and I'm gonna smear the pancake syrup all over my face and in my hair, too. You'll have fun cleaning those messes up! Yes, you'll regret the day you ever came between me and my Mac, brother. 

Little People have rights, too, you know! I might even lead a Little People's revolt. "Down with V-Tech and up with Mac! Work on a Mac and you'll never go back!"

***

Baby Mac left the scene visibly upset. His foiled attempts to work on the Mac affected his play skills for some time, and he's been heard to cry out the words, "No! Don't take away the Mac!" in his sleep. He still lurks around the dining room table, waiting to get back to the Mac and work on his Systematic Theology for Babies. Meanwhile, he's scribbling his thoughts down in crayon and has been inspired to include a free coloring book with book purchase once his masterpiece is published. There are also rumors that V-Tech has contacted him, begging for his input on a toy computer that will give Mac a run for its money in the baby market.

Five Clues Your Children Read Really OLD Books

1) Their vocabulary is larger than yours. They often hear you say, "What does that word mean?" (because you didn't grow up reading really old books). They correct your pronunciation of big words, too.

2) Shakespeare's language is "normal" to them, and they don't bat an eye if you say "thee" and "thou." They love to say the ordinary in an extraordinary way, quoting lines such as, "Go to your room, daughter, until this madness is purged from your veins."

3) They write well even though you've never formally taught them writing.

4) They amuse you with their carefree use of words like "gay" (happy) and "molest" (bother). You make a note that you must explain the modern day usage of these words soon, but not too soon.

5) When they must look up a word, they have to turn to Webster's 1828 dictionary instead of Google.

:)

With love,
Trisha

How to Keep a Healthy Level of Sanity

1) As often as possible, skip rather than walk.

2) Sing along at the opera.

3) When the money comes out of the ATM, yell, "I won! I won!"

4) Page yourself over the intercom-don't disguise your voice.

5) Every time someone asks you to do something, ask if they want fries with it.

6) Specify that your drive-thru order is "to go."

~from Jan Karon's A Continual Feast


And some of our own family ways of keeping a healthy level of sanity....

7) Eat cookie dough.

8) When guests  are over for dinner, everyone claps once and shouts "chicken salad!"
(and even when guests aren't present.)

9) Before eating, scratch the plates with your utensils and make noises to imitate the characters in Diner Dash.

(Don't you want to have dinner with us now? I promise we don't throw our food.)

Ok, what's a fun way you keep a healthy level of sanity? I'm sure all of us need fresh ideas. :)

Love,
Trisha

If She Knew What He Was Really Thinking

Getting fit is on almost everyone's resolution list. It was hilarious to overhear this confession of a man standing in front of the workout dvds, talking on his cell phone, while his toddler sat patiently in the cart.

"But I don't really want her to get fit. It will be obvious. She'll be fit, and I'm not. Don't they make some kind of dvd that will make her want to sit on the couch and drink beer?"

Today's Impression: Smashed Bug on a Windshield

The Dangerous Nightstand

Am I the only one who could potentially suffer a head injury because of what's on my nightstand?

Say it isn't so.

Modern Day Moses

I don't have to create photo opportunities in this house. They just happen.

Cap'n decided he'd make do with a basket since he wasn't getting a recliner any time soon. The pillow was already waiting for him, courtesy of his thoughtful sisters, and the Babies book? His choice.

And while he won't be watching God part the Red Sea, we do wonder if he's got a bit of preacher in him. Last night, while leafing through his sister's Bible, he paused a bit to pound his fists on the table. I kid you not.

But he was smiling while he did it.

How to Brand a Baby

Necessities:
One sweet baby (older children may be branded as well)
Lipstick of a happy color (no black, please)
Mama Lips (Daddy lips don't make as great an impression)
An Eager-to-Dispense-Some-Sugah-Heart (that's sugar...an expression for kisses, normally heard in the Southern part of our country)

Instructions:
Sweetly embrace dear baby and plant a big dose of sugah on face. Any location will do.


Disclosure: This branding session was not staged and no baby wrangling was necessary. Rather it is the impulse of every mother to kiss, kiss, kiss her babies, and it is the instinct of every baby to delight in being kissed, kissed, kissed. Grandmothers are allowed to brand babies, too. Credit for the term of baby "branding" goes to this Mama's brilliant son, Ink, who was branded many times in his younger years, but now runs when he sees me pull out the pink lipstick.

Ella's Most Brilliant Bible Reading Advice

Overheard while 6 year old Miss Ella, (Boo), is instructing her two younger siblings:

"So every day we should read the 
Word and not go away empty-headed."