"Something Else" is Not on the Menu

I made an uneducated observation last month while caring for two grandsons for 182 consecutive hours. Not that I was counting or anything.

I’m grateful to have had the opportunity of getting to know these little guys well and for them to know and remember me. I will always treasure the two-year-old’s “Tankoo, Damma” for every little thing I did for him, and the four-year-old’s detailed and often bewildering explanations for life’s mysteries. I’m glad I could give my daughter and son-in-law this needed break.

But I also returned home with renewed understanding of why God gives children to young people—it takes an astonishing amount of energy! I don’t know how many times I found myself shaking my head, thinking “I don’t remember it being this hard!”

Honestly? I’m not sure it was. And not simply because I was younger.

Parents today are doing a lot of things far better than we did. I love seeing how my kids play with their kids and invest effort into creating warm, meaningful memories for them. I appreciate the safer car seats, healthier food, and appropriate disciplinary methods.

Still, experts keep telling us that today’s children (and their parents) suffer from stress-induced depression and mental illness in more alarming numbers than ever. I can’t help wondering if one contributing factor might be the myriad of choices set before them in a day. From their clothing, toys, books, food, activities—kids have dozens and even hundreds of options from which to choose.

Take television. When my children were little, we never had cable and the internet was still in the future. Weekday programming for preschoolers consisted of Mr. Dressup, Fred Penner, and Sesame Street. The only options were to watch or not watch. If you missed it, you missed it. As a young mom, I relied on those two hours each morning for my own sanity and to accomplish some uninterrupted work. No one told me it was too much TV.

Now, select “Kids” on Netflix any hour of the day and you can scroll through seemingly endless selections of shows designed to educate and entertain your children. That doesn’t include You Tube, regular TV, the Disney channel, Christian programming, or any other subscription services available. At the same time, parents feel overwhelmed with guilt as they’re warned of all the dangers to little brains and emotions that come with too much screen time.

My grandsons have more clothes in their dressers, more food in the fridge, more snacks in the pantry, more toys and books than their parents ever had. This isn’t a bad thing and I know it’s good for kids to practice choosing. I’m just not convinced a child of two or four is emotionally equipped to make so many decisions every hour of the day. Sometimes it’s more than enough for them to figure out whether they are hungry or cold or in need of a bathroom.

So when this grandmother declared that “something else” wasn’t on the menu, or when she picked out the pajamas in the interest of time, or when she narrowed down the storybook selection to only two, she felt like a big meanie. But for the most part, it worked. I suspect nobody suffered any long-term ill effects. And, in my unprofessional opinion, the result just may have been a little more peace, security, and well-being for all.

The Results are In

Readers have asked how my week of babysitting our two little grandsons went. Did my coping strategies work? A quick review of my list revealed some things.

1.     Cook no adult meals. I found the best way to sneak vegetables into little tummies was in smoothies and homemade soups. I ate what they ate and returned home craving a big ol’ salad.

2.     Take your showers at night. The only other option was not showering at all. Which was no option at all.

3.     Lie down during their nap. Easier than anticipated because I was so exhausted.

4.     Clean the kitchen only once per day, after they’re in bed. It seemed I was cleaning the kitchen constantly because they eat six times a day.

5.     Pack along little surprises for them. I highly recommend this! It became a highlight of each day for the boys to wait on mama’s bed while I brought out their boxes of little wrapped gifts and let them choose one. What I couldn’t have predicted was that God had a surprise gift for me each day, too. (Read on.)

6.     Try to take them outside for a bit every day. Our outings were limited in the coldest week of the year in Calgary, but I tried. It’s hard to stay motivated when it takes 15 minutes to bundle everyone up knowing you can stay outside for only ten.

7.     Have enough coffee and hazelnut creamer on hand. Well, this goes without saying.

8.     See if their mom can leave behind perfume to use so you smell like her. I did use a little of her lotion, but I couldn’t tell whether it made a difference.

9.     When your daughter asks if she should cancel the babysitter for her usual one-day-per-week, say no. Guess what? I cancelled the sitter myself. Not that we didn’t all need a break. I chickened out of driving the kids over there despite two practice runs with my daughter in the vehicle before she left. The combination of a strange car with a manual transmission, strange city, ice, and the world’s most precious cargo in the backseat— plus the whole bundling and strapping into car seats routine—was a perfect storm. I couldn’t do it. Less stress to stay home. I’m not proud of it. This may fill a whole column by itself, another week.

10.  Most important of all, DO NOT skip your prayer and scripture time. Nightly, God amazed me with the precise scriptures I needed most. This was not planned. I didn’t say, “Today I’m feeling weary, let’s find Bible verses about weariness.” Not at all. I used the same reading guide I’ve been using for years. I had no idea what each day’s passage held for me. Look at this:

When I felt tired: Isaiah 40— “God will not grow tired or weary…He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak.” And Galatians 6—“Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest…”

On the day the water heater quit: James 1—“Consider it pure joy whenever you face trials of many kinds…the testing of your faith develops perseverance…”

When my patience with the children wore thin: James 5—“Be patient…”

There’s more, but you get the idea. You can’t make this stuff up. No one can tell me God’s word is not alive and powerful and sharper than any sword. (James 4). I’ve experienced it. New every morning—and every evening, too.

Patchwork Promises

 If you happen to know my husband, you may have noticed he’s nearly always in blue jeans. Has been since I met him in 1973. What you may not know is that for decades (probably since I stopped trying to patch them), I’ve been saving his torn and worn jeans—along with a pair or two of my own—with the intention of one day cutting them into squares and making a quilt.

Eventually, I filled a large box labelled “Old jeans for quilt.” After the box filled, the jeans began piling up on top.

One day I took an honest look at that box with its added pile. “Who am I kidding?” I thought. “This quilt is never going to happen.”

Too stubborn to part with them, I thought I’d make time once I retired.

Then I retired.

Months passed. The jeans remained untouched. Not being one who enjoys hanging on to useless stuff, I reached a decision about the jeans. “If one year goes by from the date of my retirement,” I told Hubby, “and I still haven’t begun cutting those jeans into squares, they’ve got to go.”

I took his silence to mean he held no opinion one way or the other.

Where exactly they would ‘go,’ I had no idea. Do thrift stores want them? I didn’t know, but the pressure was finally on. I began cutting out squares while watching TV. Or, as I like to call it, redeeming the time. At some point after the cutting began, it occurred to me that ripped jeans are trendy and expensive. I was probably sitting on a gold mine which, now that I was cutting it all up, would once again be worthless. Oh well. I never did have a head for business.

The box now contains 250 seven-inch squares of denim waiting to be pieced together. In varying shades of blue, faded blue, grey, black, and faded black, I figure I can arrange them into some sort of pattern. I even cut out several back pockets which I plan to randomly apply at assorted angles to camouflage the blunders I’m certain to make.

Next step: stocking my sewing box with heavy thread and sturdy sewing machine needles. 

Accounting for a half-inch seam allowance, my questionable math skills tell me I can make a quilt about eight feet square if I want it that large. Maybe I should make three twin-size, so each of our kids gets one. Or five lap quilts, one for each grandson? Should I continue saving jeans? How long do I expect us both to live, anyway?

Maybe I should hang onto the finished quilt in case my husband becomes a celebrity. We could raffle them off and donate the proceeds to charity. Can you imagine how much a quilt might go for if made from blue jeans once worn by Dwayne Johnson or Kanye West or Ed Sheeran? How about Elvis or O.J. Simpson or Billy Graham?

Well, I suppose if Hubby becomes famous, whichever of our kids ends up with this masterpiece can cash in. Meanwhile, I have a project to finish. If a year goes by and I still haven’t begun stitching this heirloom together, the pieces have got to go.

“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens…a time to keep and a time to throw away, a time to tear and a time to mend…” (from Ecclesiastes 3)