8 of No-Longer-40: Breaking News

So, you may have noticed I didn’t make it to my 40 days of Faith, Family, and Funnies (and Friends, which I added later.) Or maybe you didn’t notice because you hid me on Facebook after I posted a link to my blog each day for 7 days.

Either way, here I am, attempting Day 8…3 Days Late.

The actual “Day 8” was Monday. Monday is a day off for me. I never got around to writing, though, because on this particular “day off,” I:

  • Corrected the last of my math and science assessments, which were on my to-do list from Saturday but didn’t get touched because of some unforeseen circumstances Saturday and a jam-packed-but-fun Sunday
  • Entered grades into 28 report cards
  • Met with my job-share partner and attempted report card comments
  • Did laundry and other household chores
  • Took the dog to the vet for a check-up/immunizations and to be groomed
  • And last but not least, taught my adorable children why it’s not okay to tell each other angry phrases using inappropriate language.

That last one wasn’t on my original to-do list, but sometimes circumstances require adjusting our plans. You can only imagine the circumstances that led to that addition to my list…

In summary: one learned from a friend all about hell, taught the other, and then they both felt the need to use their new found knowledge in discerning whether the behaviors of their sibling were going to lead them there or not. I quickly interrupted the conversation and used it as an opportunity to teach important life lessons. i.e. You should not say things like, “If you don’t stop standing on my box, you’ll go to hell.” Which lead to replies like, “I am NOT going to hell. YOU go to hell.”

The discussion was overheard in the monitor (yes, we still have one, for moments such as this), and initiated a conversation I didn’t think I’d ever have with a 2 and 5-year old. Our conversation included phrases from Annalise like, “Jacob, I’m sorry I said you need to go to hell for stepping on my box.” Followed by Jacob, “(GASP) MOMMY! Leesie just said to me to go to hell! I do not want to go to that hot place!” The Phrase came out of my little angels’ mouths far too often as I talked with them, as though they liked it even better once they realized it wasn’t appropriate. And although this was not a conversation I ever envisioned having with them, it did lead to a great discussion about Jesus’ sacrifice and God’s grace. Those are two things I am super thankful for, because you know what? I do not want to go to that hot place, either!

Later that night, after giving the kids a bath, I was telling Jacob about when he was a teeny-tiny baby ginormous nearly 10-pound newborn and had to spend 4 nights in the hospital just a few weeks later because he was very very sick. I told him that even though I knew him for just a few weeks, I loved him so so much that I wouldn’t leave his side. (I didn’t mention that I actually did step away for a short time while long needles were being poked into his spine. Daddy was with him then. I figured I wouldn’t be much help sobbing hysterically right next to him, so instead I just cried all alone in the corner of another room.)

And I told him that even though he was a very big little baby, he wore the teeniest-tiniest hospital gown I’d ever seen. It was so teeny-tiny that it made me cry when they gave it to me. I told him about the medicine they needed to give him every day, and how he had a needle in his arm where they could give him the medicine, and because he was just so little, his arm was tied to a board so he wouldn’t pull out the very-important-medicine-needle.

I told him that the medicine had to go into his body for 14 days, and he was only barely that old already. And that after a few days, they took the medicine needle out of his arm, and they poked a big hole in his ankle and made a tube run up, up, up his leg, then up, up, up his chest all the way to his heart. We touched the scar on his ankle and thanked Jesus for making him better, and we thanked Him for making doctors. And we thanked Him for medicine that helps us get better. I told him that his scar could always remind him to be thankful to God for providing all these things, and for healing.

And as I whispered the story in the silent room to my wide-eyed boy, I tickled the path on his leg and chest where the tube ran. And I told him that even though I was scared each and every time, Mommy put that medicine in the tube that stuck out of his ankle every few hours for 10 days. And I prayed each and every time I did it. And that medicine went up, up, up the tube in his leg, and up, up, up, his chest, and then it came out right where the tube stopped: at his heart. I whispered it again. “The medicine had to go to your heart.”

Annalise, doll now tossed aside so she could listen to the story and touch Jacob’s scar and watch where the medicine ran up his body, suddenly blurted out, “POOR JESUS!”

“Poor Jesus?” I asked, confused and startled from the loud noise in the quiet.

“Yeah!” She replied. “He was probably covered in medicine. You just kept squirting it into Jacob’s heart. It was probably all over him!”

Jacob looked at me and said with a hint of irritation and surprise, “Yeah, Mommy. Jesus is in my heart. And you just squirted medicine on Him!”

End of story. But I can see I have more to explain…
Oh yes. And the breaking news:

That’s right, folks. I made it on the tree. Never mind that she wanted to put Izzy on again (the dog has been a suggestion numerous nights). Never mind the pink tree made it on last week. Never mind that I was beat out – by one day – by the dog’s scarf that she got after getting groomed. Yes, that’s right, Annalise was thankful for “Izzy’s Scarf” before she was thankful for her own mother. The important thing is, I MADE IT ON THE TREE! Aaaannnndd…. I made it in the first half of the month. Never mind it was the last day of the first half of the month. Because it’s not like I’m counting or anything…  The fact is SHE IS THANKFUL FOR MOMMY!

Or even just “mom.” Whatever. I’ll take it. I even got a portrait. Even Izzy didn’t get a portrait.

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