Night Time

Night Time is a pretty crazy, exhausting, and magical time in a house of 15 people.  In this post, I'll handle the first half of the night which is the somewhat predictable part. I'll pick up from there in my next post.  The entire day usually tends toward the hectic and can often feel like herding cats, but Night Time is special.  Days are about accomplishing.  They are about staying on track, completing tasks, checking things off the list.  There are a certain number of things that must be done everyday and they will inevitably have to be done while at least one of the children has a full blown emotional meltdown, demanding that the entire universe focus all attention on this one thrower of tantrums, complete with gallons of tears and a running nose.  Days are about getting through it.  Dragging yourself and the crew behind you to the finish line.  In our house, days are hard, but Night Time is that time that makes each day worth it.  It's the amnesia that makes you forget how much work a big family is.

In our house, Night Time is a rough blend of routine and spontaneity, predictability and surprise.  In my reckoning, dinner and the subsequent clean up are the final activities of the day.  (For a transcript of an average dinner conversation, please refer to earlier post) Night Time begins each day with the words, "Can we get Little Ones ready for bed?"  These words are always spoken by the Mom and they generally set in motion 30-45 minutes of chaos.  When these words are spoken, far too many of the children have already mysteriously vanished to unknown reaches of the house, but whoever is in earshot of the decree to "Get Little Ones ready for bed", partake in...

(Please note:  For brevity's sake, I've chosen to lay out an evening that does not involve bathing.  I'll handle bathing and all of it's adventures and mysteries in another post)

1.  The putting on of the Jammies-

This involves catching Isaac, changing his diaper, and engaging him in a full scale debate concerning the virtues of wearing pajamas to bed.  Isaac prefers to sleep in nothing but his diaper.  Nightly, Isaac's handler will try to put Jammies on Isaac while he thrashes, bites, and scream that he wants to sleep naked.  Because we are generally against those who won't stay under warm covers sleeping naked, we force young Isaac into nighttime clothing.  Incidentally, once in bed for three minutes, Isaac strips off these garments and throws them on his floor where they will lay until morning at which time they will be picked up put in the dirty clothes and washed.  His pajamas literally spend more time in the washing machine than on his body.

Levi, who is seven months old, receives a diaper change and we remove his daytime clothing and replace them with his nighttime clothing, which at his age looks remarkably similar to his daytime clothing.  I do not understand this ritual, but I am told that it is essential.

Rebekah and Eve exchange undies for Pull-ups and fortunately, they are capable of clothing themselves for sleep as long as someone stands over them to insure they stay on task.  The only snag we generally have from this arena is with Jammie selection.  Apparently, Jammies have to match.  It is an unheard of sin to wear the shirt of one Jammie outfit with the bottoms of another.  I do not understand this logic, but I assume it stems from the same place as putting pajamas on infants who wear pajamas all day.

Grace, oldest of the "Little Ones", is usually downstairs with her older siblings hoping that we forget that she goes to bed with Little Ones for another few months.  This generally amounts to her saying, "I haven't brushed my teeth yet" as we are tucking everyone in.  I would work to fix this, but as I said, she graduates to  being an Older One in a few months and some fights just aren't worth fighting.

2.  The Brushing of Teeth-

Levi has but two teeth.  We generally allow him to skip this event.

Rebekah has teeth brushing down to a science.  She uses a timer.  She never forgets the mouth wash.  I expect her to become a dentist.

Isaac and Eve are the adventure.  First, tooth brushing involves spitting.  That's all I have to say about that.  Basically we can always count on some combination of the following:  crying, tightened lips, biting of the brush, sticking out of the tongue, shaking of the head, laughing, drooling, begging to rinse, escaping, or spitting early.  We follow with rinsing and more spitting.  I'm thinking of changing the name of the ritual from Brushing Teeth to The Evening Spit.  I hope it catches on.

As I've said, Grace won't brush her teeth until later

3.  The praying of prayers-

This is where the magic happens.  Isaac and I always wrestle a little.  Esther scolds me for "getting him all riled up".  The girls and I hug and snuggle.  I usually do a fair amount of tickling; more riling up.  Sometimes we sing goofy songs.  Sometimes we read stories.  Sometimes we play silly games that we've made up.  But always we pray.  I pray basically the same prayers every night.  You could call it our night time liturgy I guess.  For my boys, I pray that they will know that I love them, that they will grow to have integrity, that they will always chase after God, and that they will sleep well.  For my girls, I pray that they will always know how much I love them, that they will always know how much their God loves them, that they will always understand how beautiful they are, and that they will sleep well.  One night Gracie asked me why I always pray the same thing and my answer to her was that someday I would giver her to a husband and I completely intend to tell him that I have done my very best to make sure that this girl knows the love of a man, the love of her God and that she is beautiful.  I will then tell him that that is now his job.  I have prayed these prays for years and years and they never get old.

4.  The giving of kisses-

We put each kid in their individual bed.  We give kisses and hugs and a few love words.  There might be a few more tickles if Mom isn't close enough to slap or pinch me for riling them up.  We tuck them in, tell them one more time that we love them and turn out the lights.

This all happens twice, in two different rooms.  Sometimes, when the day has been unusually hard, we might rush it a bit, but this time is as important to Esther and I as it is to the kids.  Nothing sets off the magic of Night Time like the routine of "Getting Little Ones ready for bed".

More to come.

Speechless

I am a talker.  Actually, calling me a talker probably insults people who would typically bear this classification.  I'm a verbal rambler.  I'm a vocal assault.  I suffer from linguistic diarrhea.  OK, that last one might have gone too far.  In short, there are very, very few situations that leave me speechless.  There have been so few of these that I honestly believe that I could probably remember and relay all of them in a single blog.  The fact that my kids have brought on most of these moments of dialectic paralysis makes this blog the ideal place to mention my favorite.

 The Little People at our Hyvee

We used to live very close to a Hyvee.  We shopped there regularly and since we had no money at all for entertainment, we often shopped in the evening as a Date Night.  I know, with such a steaming cauldron of romantic possibility it's no wonder we have 13 kids. We also shopped in the evening because it was much less crowded.  Mixing Romance and practicality is always a great way to stoke the flames of passionate love.  Often on one of our evening shopping trips, we would encounter a family of little people.  Actually, the mother and father were little people, but the son was close to six feet tall.  The mother was a joyful and open person that seemed very approachable.  This was unfortunate because her husband was remarkably rigid and imposing.  He honestly looked like he was waiting for you to walk up and make a joke about his stature so he could finally launch into the tirade about the life of a little person in the shadow of the inconsiderate "big" people.  The problem was, I longed to get to know these people.

I absolutely love to learn about people, especially when they are different than me and I can't dream of actually seeing life from their angle.  An African American couple that my wife and I love dearly from our past befriended us because I openly asked him what it was like to be a black doctor.  I asked if he ran into racism in such an educated and honored profession.  He had a ton to say on the subject and was delighted to tell me stories about patients that had refused to be treated by him, and some of the awful things that people will say, and a few stories about people who experienced genuine heart change because he offered them quality care.  He openly admitted that I was the first white person to ask him that question.  I didn't even think to be embarrassed until that moment.  So with this relationship in mind, I was anxious to befriend the little people.  There was only one problem.  Josiah was three.

The only thing that made Josiah's age an issue was that he had recently been watching Snow White and the Seven (freaking) Dwarfs.  I realize that this sounds like a set up that is too cheesy for even a Disney movie, but I assure you, on my honor, that it is true.  It seemed like every time I was at the store at the same time as my to-be-best-friends, I had my son in the cart.  For the record, if you don't have or know a three year old, know this, they have not yet developed the filter that keeps things in your brain from pouring out of your mouth.  It seemed that Josiah would not only never grow this filter, but would need an extra large and extra strong one when he did reach the age when this filter would form.  So I got very used to playing a game I called, Dodge the Little People, when on a Date Night Shopping Expedition.  I would turn down an aisle, spot the family I desired to introduce myself to, look at the foreboding scowl on the man's face, look into the big, round, innocent eyes of my son that seemed to be dying to tell me every little thing that they saw, and chicken out, turn my cart around and look for another aisle.  This went on for months.

On the fateful night, I had dodged the little family several times, a skill that I was excelling at, and we were now standing in line waiting to check out.  You guessed it, the little couple got in line right behind us.  I turned around and caught a glimpse of them.  The mother looked as friendly and happy as ever.  The father actually had his arms crossed over his chest and a cartoonish frown on his face.  I quickly turn around and as I had feared, Josiah was leaning to the side with eyes the size of grapefruits, trying to look behind me.  I quickly stepped aside to block his view.  My heart rate quickened.  Josiah threw his weight in the opposite direction to see around me.  I adeptly intercepted.  Josiah threw a wickedly mature head-fake that I'm embarrassed to admit, I fell for.  Josiah got a young eye full.  He sat up straight and said at the top his little three-year-old voice, "Dad, that one must be Grumpy Dwarf!"  The cashier dropped his head to cover his laughter.  I turned to offer my explanation to the clearly wounded family, and saw the mother giggling reassuringly.  With my confidence slightly bolstered, I turned to the father.  There is no way to explain the anger, cynicism, sarcasm, and murder in the eyes of this man.  He was waiting for my explanation.  "Blame it on Disney", my mind shouted at me.  My mouth abandoned me.  That stalwart companion that had always stood and been true, jumped ship and fled.  I turned back around, paid for my groceries and followed my mouth's example.

I learned from this experience that as much as I believe in openness, honestly, and authenticity, not everyone is ready for these things.  Sometimes, saying exactly what you are thinking and feeling leaves you in a place where there is nothing to do but tuck your tail between your legs and run out the door.

Incidentally, from that point on, Josiah shopped blind-folded.

How Do You...

As parents of 13 children, the one question that we get the most is "How do you do it?"  The question comes in many forms.  People might ask "How do you keep them from fighting all the time?", or "How do you afford the groceries?", or "How do you keep up with the laundry?".  The most common version of the question goes, "I don't know how you do it, I only have two and I feel like I'm going crazy".  Over the next few posts, I plan to answer some of the "How do you..." questions that we get asked the most.  Hopefully Esther will even chime in with a post or two explaining some of the things that she has had to do, and stop doing, in order to survive and maintain her sanity with 13 kids.  OK, the fact that she chose to have 13 kids is a pretty good indicator that there wasn't necessarily a lot of sanity to hang on to in the first place.

"I don't know how you do it. I only have two kids and I feel like I'm going crazy"

 This seems to be the most common statement people make when they first learn that we are a single family and not a Walmart flash mob. Usually this question is given immediately after realizing that as we wait in line to check out at a store, for the most part, all 13 of our children are managing to refrain from begging for candy, climbing the display shelving, punching each other, or screaming.  Most people overlook the fact that the Dad is doing all of these things.  The interested party looks at Esther and notices that she doesn't look harried, she isn't mumbling to herself or twitching, and most surprisingly, Esther doesn't have an 80s mullet or a floor length, home-made dress (not to mention the fact that her husband has the energy to beg, climb displays, punch, and scream).  In short, we look normal.  Esther and I can actually see all of the calculations taking place in someones mind as they assess us.  We've been through the conversation enough that we could script it.  Every conversation born of the initial shock that we are a family of 15 contains some combination of the following statements, always culminating in the question above.

(to Esther) "Have you had them all?"

(to me) evil glares when Esther says that yes she has, in fact, had them all.  I guess people assume that I am one of those bullies in the swimming pool who push you back under water as soon as you surface for breath, only in my world, I hurry up and get Esther pregnant before she has had a chance to catch her breath from the last birth.  Wait, actually that's pretty much exactly how it happens.


(to both of us)  "You look too young to have that many kids"  This is my favorite statement of this conversation and I usually tell the giver that I love them very, very much.


(to Esther)  "You look so good.  Holy Cow, I've only had two and I still haven't gotten my figure back"  I usually get a pitying look at this point.  I assume it is because I struggle to lose all of the "baby weight".


(to me)  "You must have a good job"

(to both of us)  "How big is your house?"


And once the questioner has concluded that we aren't drooling (much) and we aren't going to burst out in a chorus of "This is the Day the Lord has Made" in Walmart, and we aren't going to have a nervous break down in the check out line, they ask the question.  "How do you do it?  I only have the two, and I feel like I'm going crazy."

So how do we do it?  First let me start with the main presumptions that this question makes, namely, that we have things under control.  We have never chosen to have another child because the one(s) we have are simply too easy.  Never have we sat around in the evening and discussed how disappointed we are that parenting hasn't turned out to be the radically out of control, confusing, frustrating, exhausting experience that we were promised in the brochure.  Never have I said, "Babe, this is too easy.  Parenting is supposed to be a struggle to maintain your sanity.  I guess we better add one more kid to the house so we can be out of control like we are supposed to be."  In truth, if you have two kids and you feel out control, please know, when we had two kids, we felt out of control.  When we had three kids, still out of control.  At seven kids, we had gained virtually no control at all.  At nine kids, we were really loosing it.  Now at 13 kids, I'm proud to say, we are still completely out of control.  So if you have one kids, three kids, 10 kids, or 20 kids, parenting is about juggling chain saws, and it always feels out of control.


Having made clear the fact that we are just as out of control as everyone else, let me share with you how we manage to maintain what little control we do have over our super sized family. Benadryl.  Give each child over the age of two a double dose of Maximum Strength Benadryl with every meal, and your life is mostly about keeping everyone covered up as they sleep.  It is a truly peaceful life.  I wish it were that easy.  Honestly though, I would have to say the number one tool that we have relied on to make our family work is planning ahead.  Of course we haven't always succeeded at this, but as much as possible, we have always tried to stay at least one step ahead of whatever predictable life changes come into our family.  For most people, this comes naturally with baby number one.  The Mom-to-be finds out she's pregnant and suddenly, the timer is ticking.  You only have eight or nine months to create a nursery in your house, get all the baby paraphernalia necessary to house an infant, and get your butt back in church, because suddenly a conservative lifestyle looks more appealing than it ever has before.  With our first child, we all seem to feel like a nine month gestation period is evidence of God's omniscient wisdom.  He knew that we'd need time to prepare.  God could have made us like mogwai where all you have to do is put water on us and extra little mogwai come popping out of our fur (if you don't understand this reference, you are not an 80's child.  Please refer to the movie Gremlins.).  Thankfully we are not mogwai.  God gave us time to prepare for that first baby.  Unfortunately, we often tend to question God's wisdom in creating a nine month baking time as we prepare for baby number two.  When we experience the absurdity of a woman , swollen with baby to the point of looking utterly unnatural, chasing a toddler around Walmart, the nine months of prep time starts to look more like a nine month prison sentence.  The nursery is already here, most of the paraphernalia is reusable, and for the most part, you have become a faithful Sunday morning church-goer (the free nursery while you nap though a 45 minute sermon ROCKS!).  Is waiting nine months really logical?

We have found that a little imagination is priceless here.  For instance, if you are having baby number two, imagine what you are going to do with baby number one when you are feeding the new addition.  What will baby number one be doing?  What would you rather he/she be doing.  If you don't want baby number one to be unraveling six rolls of toilet paper then forcing the entire wad of paper into the toilet, then you have eight or nine months to train him/her to do something else while you are occupied.  If the newborn's car seat is going to have to sit in the shopping cart and older bro/sis is going to have to walk along side you in the store, you have eight or nine months to teach this new skill (unless Clothes Rack Hide-N-Seek with a toddler is fun for you).  If you are adding baby number three, how will you handle the fact that the children now outnumber the adults?  Many great nations have fallen throughout history because they didn't see this simple bit of mathematics sneaking up on them.  How will you handle the fact that Mom now has more kids than arms?  or lap?  Believe me, with a little imagination, you will find more stuff to prepare for than you could ever squeeze into nine months.

This continues throughout child rearing.  How are we going to handle outside influences when the kids go to school?  How will we handle dating?  How do we handle the fact that jokes, movies, music, and general conversation grow more mature as the kids get older, but you may still have little ones in the house that need the same protection and discretion that you gave the older ones at that age?  Of course you can't prepare for everything.  You will miss some things.  I recently slammed into a scenario that I hadn't prepared for.  It slipped though my attempts to prepare for the future.  I hadn't imagined the strain and frustration that my third and forth sons would feel as my first and second transitioned into young adulthood.  I made the mistake of feeling like we managed the teen years pretty well with Josiah and Matthew, so a similar approach with Elijah and Joshua should work fine.  What I failed to account for was that when Josiah and Matthew were 14-16, they didn't have two older brothers who were gaining new freedoms and levels of trust than before.  When Josiah and Matthew were 14-16 and their lives were consumed with being Dad's personal slaves, they knew nothing else.  They had nothing to compare their lot in life to.  Elijah and Joshua, as they contemplate their lot in life, can look at Josiah and Matthew and say, "That looks way more fun than the personal slave business."  I hadn't prepared for this, and now I'm playing catch up.  But, for the most part, we have relied heavily on Imaginative Planning.

I wish I could say that thinking ahead and planning accordingly is the one and only thing that it takes to have a successful parenting experience, as if that really exists.  There is more.  Raising mini-sinners in a broken world takes more that just good planning, but that will have to be for a later post.

A Dinner Table Conversation

A few nights ago at dinner, Esther, my children, and I got into a conversation about poverty.  Esther was telling me about an article that she had read concerning the remarkable, relative richness of America's poor compared to the balance of the globe.  A couple of my older children chimed into the conversation and off we went, into an impromptu "Life Lesson" from Dad.  I have decided to script this conversation for you, my reader.  Please follow along closely as our dinner conversations can get pretty hectic and hard to follow.  Unfortunately, the confines of the written word will not allow me to type one statement literally on top of another as they happen in real life, so I am afraid this transcript may come off a little flat.  Please forgive this inadequacy.

Setting- The Heintzelman Dinner Table.  The meal has been finished and the characters are sitting at the table talking.


Mom:  (to Dad)  I read a very interesting article today, written by this guy who did a study on the people in America who live below the poverty level.

Dad:  (to Mom)  Yeah, I saw a headline.  Something about how they are rich compared to the rest of the world.

Rebekah:  (seemingly to the air, giving every indication this mantra has been going on for some time) Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom.. (Character continues as conversations resumes)


Zechariah:  (speaking incredibly fast from far end of table, also seemingly to the air)  Did you know the only part of a shark that you can even eat is the fins?  Actually, I don't know if that is true of all sharks, but I read that it's true of some.

Samuel:  (using his fork as a super hero and his cup as a villain)  "I will conquer the world", "Not so fast", (fork stabs cup), "CURSE YOU PERRY THE PLATYPUS!"

Mom:  (to Dad)  Actually, the story was about how rich the poor are compared to the middle class.  Not rich in terms of income or cash on hand, but rich in terms of actual amenities.  BEKAH, STOP!  I am trying to talk to your dad.

Bekah:  (after a 1/4 second pause) Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom... (Character continues as conversations resumes)

Isaac:  (to Dad)  Dad, Dad, Dad

Dad:  (to Isaac)  What?

Isaac:  (to Dad)  Poop

Dad:  (to Isaac)  Did you poop?


Isaac:  (to Dad)  Yeah


Dad:  (to Elijah)  Nut, Isaac made a flower for you.

(Elijah sighs deeply and drops his head)


Isaac:  (to Matthew)  Math, Math, Math

Mathew:  (to Isaac)  What?

Isaac:  (to Matthew)  Poop

Matthew:  (to Isaac)  Did you Poop?

Isaac:  (to Matthew)  Yeah

Matthew:  (raising his voice, but still looking at his plate)  Nut, Isaac made a flower for you.

(Elijah sighs even more deeply and drops his head even deeper)


Mom:  (now seeming to simply talk to her plate)  The study showed that something like 80% of the people in the U.S. Have at least two TVs, one or more cars, a gaming system...

Dad:  Did you know that 76% of all statistics are made up on the spot.

Joshua:  Wait.  Is that true?

Dad:  No, I just made it up on the spot.

Joshua:  Wait.  (looks off into the distance with a contemplative expression)


Mom:  (raising voice over general cacophony)  Anyway, when it comes to standard of living and and the general amenities of life, America's poor live really good.

Matthew/Dad:  (simultaneously) Well.  Live really Well.

(General volume reaches a painful level)


Dad:  HEY!  BRING IT DOWN!  THAT IS RIDICULOUS!

(everyone at table stops talking and making noise except for Eve, who is singing the theme song to Dora The Explorer to herself and Zechariah who squeezes six more sentences in before realizing the room has gone silent)


Isaac:  Dad, Dad, Dad

Dad:  What?

Isaac:  (pulling on the buckles of his booster seat)  Out

(Dad reaches down and unbuckles the harness of Isaac's booster seat while the general noise of the room slowly begins to rise.  Isaac immediately begins to align clasps to rebuckle the harness of his booster seat)


Elijah:  So wait.  If they are poor, how do they afford all of that stuff?

Josiah:  (sighing and looking disappointed)  Seriously Nut?

Elijah:  (to Josiah)  What?  That was a good question.

Josiah:  (To Elijah)  If you ask questions, Dad is going to talk all night.  Heck if you make the mistake of looking interested, he may go on all night.

Matthew:  (To Elijah)  It's best not to make eye contact.

(Dad looks at Mom with an open mouthed expression that says "can you believe these kids?".)


(Mom looks back at Dad, eyebrows raised, with a look that says, "they have a point.")

Dad:  (to all)  Anyway, they are poor in that they don't make much money, or actually have much money, but they have a lot of stuff because it is given to them either by the government, or by charities, or they've simply learned how to keep what money they do make secret so they can continue to collect charity.  Many of the poor people in America also don't pay for many of the things that most people consider "essential" so that they can afford the TVs and gaming systems.

Bekah:  Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom...

Grace:  So wait, poor people aren't poor?

Dad:  (To Grace)  Just hang on sweetie.  It will make sense in a bit.

Isaac:  Dad, Dad, Dad

Dad:  (to Isaac)  What?

Bekah:  (To Dad)  I was talking to Mom

Isaac:  (to Dad)  Out

Dad:  (to Bekah, while unbuckling Isaacs booster seat buckle)  I was talking to Isaac.

Bekah:  Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom...

Elijah:  But can't people just see that these people have really nice things and realize that they don't need charity?

Mom:  GRACE, NOAH, AND SAMUEL!  SIT YOUR BOTTOMS BACK DOWN AT THE TABLE!  YOU KNOW BETTER THAN THAT!  NO ONE GETS DOWN FROM THE TABLE UNTIL EVERYONE GETS DOWN FROM THE TABLE!

(Gripped with fear, Grace, Noah, and Samuel all look at Dad in a flash, find Dad's face fixed on Elijah, the recipient of Dad's latest lecture, and relaxed realizing that Dad wasn't backing Mom up at this point.  They returned to their seats.)

Matthew:  In Haiti, you're rich if you have access to water, TVs aren't even in it.

Joshua:  You said in Haiti they pee in the same water they use to drink and cook with.  So really they aren't very rich even if they have water.

Hannah:  (shoulders slumped and head hanging)  Are we done yet?

Josiah:  So I heard this white comedian today on Pandora talking about how he dated a girl that lived in Harlem.  He was funny.

Matthew:  (to Josiah)  I'll tell you whose funny...

Mom:  Seriously?  Your Dad was talking.  GUYS!  YOUR DAD IS TALKING!

(the room quiets as Zechariah continues to talk, now about alligators.)

Joshua:  Where is Eve?

Dad:  (glances at Eve's empty spot then shouts down the hall)  Eve Isabella, you need to come sit back down!

Samuel:  (to Noah)  When I'm grown up I'm going to be able to fly.

Noah:  (to Samuel)  Everyone can fly, in an airplane.

Samuel:  (to Noah) I'm going to fly without an airplane

Noah:  (to Samuel)  How?

Samuel:  (to Noah)  With a cape.

Noah:  (To Samuel)  Capes don't actually lift you up and make you fly, they just flap around behind you.

Samuel:  (to Noah)  I'll have a cape that makes me fly.

Noah:  (To Samuel)  If a cape made you fly, it would just yank you up by your neck and hang you

Samuel:  (to Noah)  That's only because you don't know how to use a cape

Noah:  (To Samuel)  Neither do you.

Samuel:  (to Noah)  Yes I do.

Noah:  (To Samuel)  How?

Samuel:  (to Noah)  Oh no you don't.  I'm not telling you because then you'll steal my idea.

Noah:  (To Samuel)  You don't have an idea.

Mom:  Would you two stop fighting.

(Samuel looks surprised)

Noah:  (to Mom)  We aren't fighting.  Samuel thinks he's going to be able to fly

Dad:  (to Noah)  Why do you care.  If he wants to fly, let him fly.

Noah:  (to Dad)  No, that's the point.  He can't...  Oh never-mind.

Mom:  (to Dad)  Are you going to finish so we can let these guys down?

Isaac:  Dad, Dad, Dad, Daaaaaaaaaaaaad!

Dad:  (to Isaac)  WHAT?

Isaac:  (to Dad)  Out.

(Dad again unbuckles Isaac's booster seat and Isaac immediately commences rebuckling it.)

Josiah:  Anyway, this comedian said that in New York something like 100th street is the break off where white people can travel safely, but any farther and it's risky.

Dad:  Here's the problem with the poor in America.

Grace:  (hand raised)  So what are we talking about?

Dad:  (to Grace)  hold on sweetie, it's almost over. (to all)  Anyway, in America, we try to take care of our poor.  It's a good idea.  It's never, ever wrong to give to those that are less fortunate than yourself, but when the government runs it, it just doesn't work very well.  The heart behind it is good, but it's just not very effective.  But, the fact that we do try to take care of our poor, and that fact that so many of those people do live so well, makes it very easy for Americans to fall into two really nasty sins.

Matthew:  Dad walking around with his pants sagging is a sin.  Is that one of the big nasty ones?

Josiah:  This comedian was like, "I was really hoping she would live at like 103rd.  Ya know, where I could look back and still see the white people.  Because I am shockingly white."

(Grace and Samuel break into a general wrestling match raising the volume of the room up beyond conversational levels)

Dad:  (to all)  HEY!  YOU TWO KNOCK IT OFF!  EVERYONE ELSE, BRING IT DOWN!

(everyone quiets except Zechariah who is talking about facts that he's read about jelly fish)

Hannah:  (to Dad)  So Dad, did you see the Selina Gomez background I put on the home computer.  It is sooo cool.  I did the actual background part my self.  It's like a wavy rainbow with Selina Gomez's pictures on it.

Josiah:  "but nooooo, she had to live at 127th.  I was surrounded on all sides..."

Matthew:  Are we eating watermelon tonight?

Mom:  (to Matthew)  Son, you guys have eaten like a dozen watermelons in the last two weeks.

Matthew:  I don't understand the problem with this.

Dad:  (to all)  Anyway, the first sin is get so frustrated with...

Matthew:  Actually, I'm serious.  Are we eating Watermelon tonight?  For real.

Dad:  (to Matthew)  You are obsessed.  And, yes, I'm sure we're eating another watermelon tonight.

Joshua:  I think I have poison ivy from mowing.

Isaac:  Dad, Dad, Dad, Daaaaaaaaaad!

Dad (to Isaac)  WHAT?

Isaac:  Out

(Dad again unbuckles Isaac's booster seat and Isaac immediately commences rebuckling it.)

Josiah:  "In my mind, I knew I shouldn't cross 100th, so my mind had an argument with my pants.  (pause)  When I got to 127th..."

Mom:  (to Josiah)  Seriously?  We are at the dinner table with the little ones.

Dad:  (to Josiah, chuckling at Josiah's imitation of the comedian)  Use some discretion please

Hannah:  (arms almost on the ground and head hanging)  Are we done yet?

Mom: (to Dad)  You really do need to wrap it up

Zechariah:  Have you ever seen an Angel Shark?

Dad:  OK, so the first sin that is way to easy to fall into in America is to do what the Bible calls "turning a deaf ear to the poor".  Basically to put blinders on and pretend like there aren't people in the world that are dying every day from starvation and preventable disease.  In the U.S., it's easy to get so frustrated with our welfare system that you lump all poverty into the catagory of American Welfare and just let the TRULY poor, both in America and the rest of the world, suffer while you skate along happily through your life.

Hannah:  Are blinders those things that they put on horses?

Dad:  (To Hannah)  Yes.  They keep the horses running straight.

Joshua:  Did I tell you the name of the horse in the book I'm writing?

Bekah:  Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom

Mom:  (to Bekah)  WHAT BEKAH?

Bekah:  (to Mom)  Can I go poop?

Mom:  (to Bekah)  Yes, goodness.  Go.  Just stop yelling at me.

(Elijah leaves the far end of the table and moves to the empty seats vacated by Bekah who is now in the restroom offstage, and Eve who has never returned.)

Josiah:  Oh Nut!  Really?  You're moving closer?  He's never going to stop now.

Matthew:  Oh No.

Dad:  Anyway, ignoring real poverty is the first sin that is very easy to fall into as an American.

Elijah:  That reminds me of a Movie.

All:  (in perfect unison)  EVERYTHING REMINDS YOU OF A MOVIE!

(Elijah drops his head grinning sheepishly)

Samuel:  Dad, can you tell Grace to stop hitting me?

Grace:  (snatching her hands away from Samuel)  He did it first

(general noise comes from the desk in the living room where Zechariah, Hannah, and Noah have congregated)

Bekah:  (from down the hall)  CAN SOMEBODY WIPE MY HINEY?

Elijah:  So what is the second sin?

Matthew:  Dad's pants sagging.

Mom:  (to Matthew)  For real?

Matthew:  (to Mom)  No, for fake

Josiah:  So I figured out the name of that Irish band I couldn't remember.

Dad:  Holy Cow, can I finish?  The second sin, and probably worse than the first, is a general lack of gratitude.  Are you guys listening?  I seriously do want you to get this.

Bekah:  (From down the hall)  CAN SOMEBODY COME WIPE MY HINEY?

Mom:  Nut, go wipe your sister's hiney.

Nut:  (sigh's deeply and assumes a sunken posture) OK

Isaac:  Dad, Dad, Dad, Daaaaaaaaaad!

Dad (to Isaac)  WHAT?

Isaac:  Out

(Dad again unbuckles Isaac's booster seat.  This time Isaac stands up in his seat, then sits back down and starts rebuckling his belt on his booster seat)

Matthew:  Oh man, Isaac, you are stinky!

Mom:  He told you he was poopy a long time ago.

Matthew:  Nut won't change him.

Mom:  Seriously?  You are completely capable of changing him.  There is no reason for you to push all the bad jobs off on Elijah.  He's wiping Bekah's hiney already.  You need to change Isaac.

(Matthew starts to rise)

Dad:  (to Matthew)  Wait, I want you to hear the rest of this.

Mom:  (to Dad)  Babe, he's going to get a diaper rash.  He has a sensitive hiney.

Matthew:  I have a sensitive hiney

Dad:  Oh, Brother

Elijah:  (returned from bathroom without Bekah, in his best Big Labowski voice)  I got a rash

Mom:  Seriously?

Dad:  (setting off in a "this is the final monologue" tone of voice")  Anyway, and I really do want you to hear this, the best way to explain the second sin that is really easy to fall into in America is like this.  If you work really hard.  If you make all the right sacrifices.  If you use good Biblical wisdom.  If you take advantage of every opportunity that come your way.  If you do all these things in America, and you succeed, it is really easy to feel like you deserve the good you have.  If you work hard, make sacrifices, use wisdom, and take advantage of opportunities, it is really easy to feel like you earned it, and you sort of did.  All four of those things will give you a better life here than you'd have if you didn't do those four things.  The hard thing to remember is, in most of the world, if you work hard, make sacrifices, use wisdom, and take advantage of every possible opportunity, you still starve.  And for no reason other than the fact that you were born in a country where those things aren't enough to make a difference.  No matter how far you go because of hard work, sacrifice, wisdom and taking available opportunities, your success still boils down to the fact that you just happened to be born in a place where those things actually make a difference.  It could have just as easily been the other way.  You could have just as easily been born somewhere where you have to spend six to eight hours of every day just trying to get enough water to survive.  A place where hard work, sacrifice, wisdom, and opportunity are what it takes just to survive, and often times still aren't enough for that.  No matter how successful you may be, you always have to recognize, be sensitive to, and do all you can to help those that have nothing, and you always have to be grateful that you were born in a place where success was even an option.  That's it.  I'm done.  Dinner Chores.

(all characters exit stage in various directions)

If you've ever had dinner with us, you've probably heard much of this before.  If you haven't, come on over.  We'd love to have you.  Just realize that as fantastic of a cook as Esther is, at our table, the conversation has far more variety than the meal.

Things I've Learned From My Kids- Part 2

I pulled our Dodge mini-van into the parking lot of Quik-trip.  I was sharing the vehicle with my children, five at this time.  Esther was not with us.  I was just running in for 30 seconds to get coffee, but I got all the kids out of the van and took them into the store with me because the news is always full of horror stories about kids left in vehicles while their parents run into the store.  Okay, Okay, Okay!  I'm lying.  I've heard all the horror stories and yet I am still too lazy to get everyone out of the car when I know I'm only going to be a second.  The true story of this day is that I turned around in my seat and anounced to the occupants of the van, "One rule.  Stay in your seats.  You can sing, you can cry, you can play games, you can fight.  Just do-not-get-out-of-your-seats!"  I stressed each syllable in an impressive display of Dadness.  I finished with, "Josiah, don't let anyone get out of their seats.  Other than that, let everyone be."

I entered the store, got my cup of essential nutrients (I'll have to blog some day about my love affair with coffee), paid the cashier, and returned to the van.

I grew concerned as drew near my van.  With each step my anxiety grew.  The van was where I left it.  There were no windows broken.  All the tires had air in them.  The doors were all closed.  I paused, fears of toxic fumes from an open sewer drain wafting into the van and wiping out my offspring paralyzing me.  It simply had to be something that sinister because I couldn't hear fighting, or screaming, or cursing.  Something must be wrong.

I open the door and slid into my seat.  I slowly turn in my seat, surveying the van, expecting the worse.  I found five quiet little faces looking back at me.  "Everything Okay?" I asked, a slight tremor in my voice.  This is when Josiah gives me an explanation.

"I didn't want anyone to get out of their seats," he started, "so I made up a couple extra rules."  He then went on to explain his rules and the reasoning behind them.  I was quite impressed with the train of logic that he used to create these rules.  Today I can't remember them specifically, but I have never forgotten the impact they had on me.

As I drove home, sipping my hot, delicious coffee, I was curious about how naturally we make rules.  My eight year old did it instinctively.  It is so hard for us to be satisfied with simplicity.  We are given enough rules to succeed, but fear that others will not, so we assist them with extra rules.  These are born out of a heart to help, but do they?

Church legend has it that John the Apostle, towards the end of his life, answered every question with the simple answer, "Love one another."    No matter how deeply theological these question were, "are you a supralapsarian double predestinarian, or a sublapsarian single predestinarian?" (bit of an anachronism I know, but you get my point), John's answer was, "love another."  That's a pretty good rule.  I imagine most of us could stay pretty busy just trying to follow that one.  Why do we, like Josiah, so naturally draw to, "God, I didn't want anyone to break the rule, so I made up a few extra"  Good question.

Cats and Dogs

I recently posted about a particular instance of sibling rivalry between my youngest son and my youngest daughter.  Upon reading my post, and doubtless after spending everyday with these two adorable midget demons, Esther has come to the conclusion that the reason Eve and Isaac don't get along is because Eve is like a cat and Isaac a dog.  I've been meditating on this possibility and have come to the conclusion that this metaphor may hold true for more than just my two youngest.

Let's analyze some well known attributes of cats and dogs and see what you think.

Dogs growl and look like they are going to bite your head off, while cats arch their back, hiss, and look as scared as they are angry.

Dogs drool and enjoy rolling in things that smell foul.  Cats clean themselves incessantly.

Playing with a dog usually involves thumping the beast about the head and neck.  Cats play with string.

Dogs have three looks; viciously angry, stupidly happy, and occasionally pouty (if they chewed up something they shouldn't have).  Cats seem to have the ability to access an endless supply of attitudes.  These include welcoming, expectant, aloof, pissed, seductive, regal, polite, and many more.

To be friends with a dog, you must wrestle it, feed it, rub its belly, and talk to it in an exageratedly dumb voice.  To truly befriend a cat requires a great deal of respect and tenderness.

Many of you who have pets could probably make a list 10 times as long, but hopefully this gives you an idea of where my mind is going.

I once heard, I believe from Gary Smalley, that the problem boils down to brain damage.  Something about the synaptic fibers between the two hemispheres of the brain being burned away by a boy's testosterone.  Makes good sense to me.  From my perspective, girls are able to think and feel way too much.  They have the ability to multitask in a way that puts Mac to shame, they schizophrenicly blend logic and emotion, and when they love, they do so with both sides of their brain, instinctively blending the feeling with thoughts of family, home, and health.

Men, on the other hand, feel simply.  They can access either logic ("dear, let's think this through"), or emotion ("I don't care if fighting doesn't solve anything, he ticked me off and I'm going to kick his...").  They task (notice the absence of the prefix "multi"), and when they love, they assume that that is enough.  Thoughts of family, home, and health either sneak up on them later, or get beaten into them with a rolling pin.

I have eight dogs and four cats.  The dogs are easier to raise.  When they piddle on the rug, you rub their noses in it, give them a swat, and send them outside.  The cats are too delicate for that.  Somehow they are born with an understanding that even though they are the pet and I am the master, they actually run the place and I am here to serve them.

Sometimes my house is a pound.  There is howling and hissing, petting  and purring, and teaching and training.  We change litter and we scoop poop.  We groom.  We feed and we feed and we feed.  Many ask us why we have so many.  They are so much work and so expensive.  My answer?  I go to bed every night having been kissed and hugged by 12 little pets who adore me.  That is enough for me!

All About Poop!

If you have followed any of my blogs, you know that I am inconsistent at best.  Well, android may have fixed my problem.  You see, I now have this little app on my phone that will allow me to create, edit, and publish blog posts from my phone.  How does this really help me?  I'm glad you asked.  It seems to me that the reason I have such a hard time keeping up on my blogs is the fact that I get very little time in front of my computer these days.  What I really need is a way to take advantage of those moments of the day when I am otherwise occupied, but free to think creatively, and type on my phone.  If you are not picking up my reference, let me put it plainly.  Now I can blog when I...  well, read the title.

This new breakthrough in technology seems like the perfect time to tell a couple Samuel stories.  You see, Samuel is fascinated with poop.  This not only means that we get to listen to top 40 hits like, Happy Poop Day To You and P-P-P-Pooper Face, but it also means that we get some pretty crazy stories to tell.  Samuel is almost nine.  He will doubtless someday be embarrassed by this blog, at least that is my prayer.  The alternative is too scary to contemplate.

Samuel poop story #1

It's Samuel's forth birthday and two teenage girls that were a very big part of our family at the time took him out for his birthday.  They took him to the mall and then to a fast food joint for some b-day grub.  After dinner, Samuel's healthy digestive system demanded a prolonged trip to the restroom.  The two girls, Samuel's chaperones, took him into the restroom, but allowed him to go into the stall by himself.  Samuel commenced his business in a rather loud and energetic way.  He punctuated his activities with many grunts and groans and a few whoops.  Needless to say, the girls were giggling.  Admit it, you would giggle too.  Standing with a friend in a public bathroom, listening to a four-year-old try move his bowels while while sounding like he's 78 and constipated.  Well, the giggles gave way to an explosion of laughter when the pre-K voice in the stall yells in a grunting voice, "Come on.  GET OUT OF ME!" 

Samuel poop story #2

We are at a party at our church.  There are people milling about, eating, drinking, and making conversation.  A friend comes up to me and says, "Some day you'll have to explain to me your theory on restroom hygiene for your children." 

Well I'm hooked.  "What do you mean," I ask.

"Well," he begins, "I'm in the restroom washing my hands."  He mimes washing his hands as he relays the story.  "I notice that there is a very small pair of feet in the first stall, facing forward.  Then, while I am looking at them, a head shows up right next to the feet.  Chris," he continues, "I don't even know how he could have bent over far enough for his head to show up in that position."  He looks at his own feet as if to demonstrate the distance either of our heads would have to travel to lie beside our feet.  I followed his gaze, also impressed by the reality.  Kevin continued,  "His head turned toward me, and I kid you not, it seemed detached.  His eyes wandered and found me.  'My mom and dad told me that I shouldn't wipe my bottom, but I'm going to wipe it anyway.'"  Well by now, Kevin is laughing pretty hard.  "He was as serious as can be.  He even knodded when he said it which was almost dizzying to watch with his head being upside down between his feet like that.  I told him that I thought it was a good idea, he knodded again, his head vanished from under the stall, and I head him start pulling paper from the dispenser."  My friend and I had a good laugh. 

For the record, Samuel was at an age when either Esther, myself, or an older sibling accompanied him to the bathroom to do the paperwork.  He was anxious to take over this job for himself, but was not yet thorough enough for dad's standards and was therefore told that he was "not too wipe his OWN bottom."  He told my friend that he was not to wipe his bottom.  It was a simple and understandable mistake, and in Samuel's defense, it was a party where rounding up an older sibling could be remarkably difficult.

Samuel Poop Story #3

It's evening at Casa De Heintzelman, and everyone is inside and accounted for, or so we thought.  Esther hears the front door shut and assumes someone has stopped by to pay us a visit.  Friends don't knock at Casa De Heintzelman.  She goes to the door to welcome whoever has entered and passes Samuel who by all appearances has just come inside.  "Where were you?"  Esther asks.

"On the porch."  My three-year-old son replies.

"Why were you on the porch?" The mom questions.

Samuel looks up at his mother with a face that screams, "duh, what else would I be doing?" And he says, "Pooping."  He shakes his little head as if to add, "grown-ups?  You have to spell everything out for them," and he walked off.

Esther was stunned to silence. She opened the door, and sure enough, there was a pile of fresh scat on the porch.  No paperwork was filed on the event, just the poo.  We now hire a pet cleanup service to maintain our yard and porch.

Samuel Poop Story #4

I feel obligated to offer a warning for this story.  It may not be acceptable to children or those with a weak constitution.  Please feel free to exit the blog at any time.

Samuel doesn't like to shut the door while he is on the toilet.  I am afraid he gets this from me.  We have all grown used to seeing Samuel sitting on the toilet, but nothing could have prepared me for what I saw this day.  My only true regret is that I can not unsee it.

I'm walking down the hall towards my room.  I will have to pass the hallway bathroom.  As I pass said bathroom, I look in and see Samuel pooping.  This is not a surprise for as I said, Samuel doesnt often shut the door.  As I looked away and began to turn towards my bedroom, the image that I just saw began to register.  I stopped, stepped back, and looked back into the hall bath.  Samuel was standing on the toilet seat hunkered down with his arms wrappd around his knees.  His head was tucked down between these knees until I said,"what are you doing?"

So picture it.  Young boy has his feet on the toilet seat, his rear-end hovering just above the plane of the toilet seat, his head tucked down as though he's looking into the toilet.

"What are you doing?" I ask incredulously. 

"Pooping,"  Samuel answers simply as his head pops up and turns towards me.  "I like being able to see it fall in the water." 

I turned and walked away.  I know, I know, I should have given a lecture or something.  I should have dug into his phyche to try and understand where this fascination comes from.  But I couldn't.  I was truly speechless.  If you know me, you know how rare this really is.

Samuel is into poop.  I'm pooping while finishing this Blog.  You thinking what I'm thinking?  Yeah, he gets it from his mom.