Words and Other Fluff

I have three children who take my words seriously. Sure, they have their moments, but if I say, for example, Don’t carry your sister upside down, or Don’t go out to get the mail in your stocking feet, they listen to what I say and understand why this might make sense. Not always, but enough to put them in the category of Words Generally Work.

Then there is the other category, consisting of the other three children for whom Words are* Mere Fluff in the Wind. No matter how often they are* told not to, they continue to run outside in stocking feet or carry the sister upside down until something actually happens. Something more than the sister getting hurt or being made to pick all the grass clippings out of the socks. Something like consequences, punishment, losing a week of electronic time or not being allowed to go to Trenton’s house or getting a bunch of extra chores.

*(or rather were, since they actually do grow up, praise God)

The other week Steven was playing by the creek and got one of his rubber boots full of water. He came home and kicked off his boots in the back hall and left them there. Paul discovered a reclining boot and a pool of water some hours later.

So I said, “Steven, do you remember how we've been talking about THINKING about what you should do even when no one is there to tell you?"
"Yeah."
"And do you remember last week when you wanted to go to a basketball game and I wouldn’t let you go because none of the adults in the family were going?”
“Yeah.”
“And you weren’t very happy, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, when you want to have a privilege like that, I think back to the last few weeks and I think, ‘Has he been making good decisions? Is he responsible enough to handle this?’ And when stuff happens like leaving your wet boots lying there for the next person to step on or to get their feet all wet, then I think, ‘No, he’s not responsible enough to be away by himself and make wise choices.’”

Matt walked through the kitchen at this point. He gave Steven a pat on the shoulder and said, “Don’t worry, Steven, I used to hear this lecture all the time too.”

A few days later Steven was drinking a glass of grape juice while walking across the kitchen.
I said, “Steven, how many times do you think I’ve told you not to walk and drink juice at the same time?”
He said, “Oh maybe ten.”
“And do you remember how much you hate it when I hand out consequences like losing video time?”
“Yeah.”
“Well then why on earth don’t you take me seriously when I just SAY something and quit it then instead of waiting until I start dishing out these punishments that we both hate?”
“I don’t know.”

At this point Emily came by and patted Steven on the shoulder. “Don’t feel bad, Steven, Mom used to give me that exact same lecture.”

So while part of me is trying to figure out how to get this child to take me seriously the first time I say something, the rest of me is thinking that there is something remarkable going on here. Steven did not inherit our genes, yet he is so much like Matt and Emily it gives me goose bumps.

My adoptive-mom friends say that they feel God hand-picks children for the families they join. I have to agree. And would you believe Steven even eats like his Grandpa Yoder—big slow deliberate bites? Amazing.

Quote of the Day:
Jenny: I wish I could have glasses.
Me: You’re like—who was it, Amy or Emily?—that used to wish they could have glasses.
Emily: Me. I used to look at bright lights so I could have glasses someday.