Author: Jackie

Auntie, school teacher, serving God wherever He calls me.🤍 "Will you let me be your servant, let me be as Christ to you? Pray that I might have the grace to let you be my servant, too."

Embracing Brokenness

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Sitting cross legged on a dirty floor with a hysterical child in my arms, my thoughts had time to wander as I rocked rhythmically back and forth.

I never imagined that this is how I would find wholeness – that this is where I would feel joy again.

I always thought it was the strong people, those with vibrant life and love beating in their hearts who are used to minister to the broken ones.

Who knew that a broken heart is capable of loving more deeply, more protectively, more compassionately?

Is this what God meant by working all things together for good?

Is it possible that my own brokenness could be healed through binding up others’ wounds?

The little girl sobbing in my arms, screaming herself to exhaustion, pauses to check if I’m angry with her yet. I’m not. She examines my calm face, bewildered, then resumes the tantrum, with slightly less force…

There are tears in my eyes, too. She doesn’t know that I understand the anger, the frustration she feels for all that has been taken away. And that that’s why I just hold her, and keep rocking, and don’t condemn her for expressing her pain.

It’s valid. I won’t ask her to be okay with everything she’s lost and all that’s happened to her, because it’s not okay.

Instead I whisper soothing words to her, words of affirmation, of love, of reassurance, and not a word of the judgement or anger she is constantly expecting to hear.

She doesn’t trust me yet, but I’m fine with that. I don’t expect her to.

God knows I don’t always trust that life, or people, or things can be good, either, and He’s been patient with me through many spiritual tantrums.

So by His grace I’ll be patient with her… and keep working to earn her trust.

After a long time, she finally relaxes and leans against me. Her angry sobs settle into heartbroken weeping as she tells me about the things that have been cruelly taken from her.

She leans her head on my chest where my aching heart beats inside, and there’s a rich kind of joy in place of the emptiness, because as I cradle this brokenness close, I realize I feel perfectly complete.

So many people only see the angry outbursts – but they’re not foreign to me. I hear the crying, wounded heart inside, and I get how the deep pain becomes anger that life has hurt so much, and if all that emotion has nowhere to go, these tantrums will be the result.

Anger at pain, as an emotion, isn’t wrong. It’s what we do with it. For this precious girl, she sometimes needs a safe place to cry, to just let it out…

For myself, ministering to her wounds is the best way to pour out my own emotions and mend my own broken places.

I never really understood how healing could come through giving. But it’s a concept meant to be lived, not taught, for true understanding to come.

No amount of self care can ever heal a heart the way caring for others will.

Maybe, instead of fighting our pain to mend the brokenness, we will be healed by embracing it, holding it close, weeping together, and mending each other through it all.

Maybe the little bit of love we have to offer shines brighter if we give it to those in the darkest places…

Life With the Littles

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Less than two weeks ago, I was on vacation with my parents.

The only sounds were trees rustling, the creek flowing over the rocks past our yard, and sometimes, my parents voices as we conversed about sensible, grown up things.

Also, my parents always use indoor voices… even outdoors!

That, however, was then. We left our relaxing, peaceful cabin in the woods, and I knew, subconsciously, that the idyllic days of summer were nearly over.

But two mornings later, I still felt the culture shock as I tried to grasp that the first day of school had arrived.

I was looking forward to it for so long, but I can never quite prepare for the feeling of being surrounded by so many children… especially after a summer of living with my very grown-up parents who always use indoor voices.

The first morning, a stream of excited children and their backpacks (carrying hundreds of markers and countless scented, colored, otherwise “cool” school supplies) enter the building.

I smiled. I said good morning. It felt familiar, comfortable.

Small people were everywhere – many, many small people.

A small blur careened across the parking lot, competing with the speed of sound. (I’m certain that sound still travels faster, I realized later, because we could hear him before he reached us.)

One of the tall people expressed their best wishes and I realized it will be my job to keep the distance between him and his desk to a minimum – for the next ten months.

I quickly grew comfortable among the small people, and by the second day, the possibility of an adult exiting the cloakroom never crossed my mind when I challenged grade four to a race in from recess. Thankfully the littles have a low center of gravity and dodged around the surprised mother who was innocently stepping out of the building. I don’t have that ability, so I was left to come to a screeching halt and breathlessly blurt, “Sorry!” before continuing on my way.

That afternoon, there were balloons. As many balloons as children, and the tall people all shuffling them around – the balloons, not the children – and much loudness echoed in the school. All school activities to kick off the year – to get the students excited, the staff exhausted, and everybody has a delightful time. I may have wondered a time or two how I got involved in this craziness…

On the third morning of school, we sang “Star of the East.” I had forgotten that Christmas runs from September to June here (and probably July and August too, I’m just not at school to sing with them in the summer).

My students seem to think I am always looking out for them. And I am – get me right – but not quite like this:

A student asked to leave class and use the washroom. I said “Yes, but there are only a few minutes until recess.” The child positively beamed at me and replied, “Thank you for telling me, but don’t worry, it won’t take me that long. (Yes… okay. We are glad you will get every minute of recess this way, since you habitually leave class in time to be back just before the bell. That wasn’t quite what I meant…)

My recent google searches include “is there a house built entirely of candy”. This was to settle a lunch debate on the topic, however, before I found the answer, the conversation had moved to other, more weighty topics. Such as, is it really stealing if you can get gumballs out of the machine by kicking it – and they’re only worth 25 cents anyway?

I’m adjusting to eating lunch with 13 self-appointed professional food critics. Every day when I return from microwaving my food, the classroom goes silent. They watch me open the lid. And students in the back row call out to those at the front, “what does she have today?!”

Apparently they thought teachers always have really good lunches, and were amazed to learn that I eat leftovers from the night before. JUST LIKE THEM!!!

So I eat my extraordinarily good leftovers while listening to stories of frogs laying eggs through their mouth (remember that small people act out everything they tell, which can be unnerving). I swat bees, open yogourt, answer a gazillion questions, and try to get my lunch eaten though I am the only one in the room who doesn’t talk with her mouth full.

Life with the littles is never dull…

It’s good to be home.

Broken & Poured Out

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You know that feeling of reading something and it totally resonates deep in your heart?

Well, I had a moment like that today. They’re always great😊

As I was flipping through a new songbook, trying to find a song to play on my keyboard, I came across a song that I’d never seen before – “Poured Out Like Wine.”

The first verse is a question from Jesus, asking if His people are willing to serve.

“Would you be poured out like wine upon the altar for Me? Would you be broken like bread to feed the hungry? Would you be so one with Me that you would do just as I will? Would you be light and life and love My word fulfilled?”

Those lyrics touched me deeply.

It felt like a personal challenge that requires courage to accept…

But if I desire to pour out Jesus’ love into the lives of others, I need to embrace the fact that broken vessels pour most freely.

The more shattered a jar becomes, the greater the spill grows…

Breaking is painful.

Being poured out can feel like the life is draining from my heart.

And at that place, it’s hard to imagine having anything valuable to offer to God’s kingdom work.

But it’s not those who are living “whole” that are crying for light, life, and love.

It’s the broken who are silently, unknowingly, longing for Jesus.

And how could I walk among the broken if I’d never felt my own heart break?

I’m in awe of the way God works.

How He restores wholeness into a life by calling someone to serve others – He doesn’t wait until we are healed to ask us to give, but He offers us a place to find our healing through giving.

And even on days when we don’t feel like we have much to offer, our little effort can be multiplied into a greater impact…

And the simple rewards are worth it all when little arms encircle you and a soft voice says, “I don’t want you to ever leave, JackJack girl.”

Or a smile lights the weary eyes of a single mom and you know she’s beginning to hope…

When they start to trust, and the walls come down a fraction at a time… it’s worth every little effort to earn that from people who’ve been hurt too often.

And in it all, I marvel that God is working through a very human, very inadequate, very unworthy servant.

He has allowed me to be broken… and is using me as bread to feed the hungry.

He filled my heart with His love for people many years ago, but it couldn’t be unleashed until my heart became broken.

So here I am.

By His grace aspiring to become one with Him, to share His vision for service & spill the light, life, and love of Jesus into every wounded heart I touch.

“Lord, I’m willing to be broken and poured out if it means I may participate in the fulfillment of Your word.”

Notes of Sweet Tea

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Greetings from Kentucky!

Or, I should say, “how’re your guyses all doin’?”

Ah yes. Traveling is great, exploring & adventure on a girl’s trip is definitely a great way to end my summer.

Tomorrow we need to head home, but for now, the to do list, the first day of school, and all of life is far away.

All the way across an international border… nearly non existent!

I love the beauty of the smoky mountains in Tennessee… the laid back culture… the ruggedness of everything… and the sweet tea that is authentic to the south.

In fact, I’ve really developed a love for it. They say you could stand a spoon up in it because the sugar content is so high – obviously that’s not meant literally.

But I did break the silence of our hotel room to ask, “if I would stick my legs straight up, how long do you think I could keep them there?”

I received giggles in response.

Giggles seem to be a common response this night, as the morning approaches.

The exercise room is closed, and running down the halls was voted out, because it would take too much effort to get dressed again.

Therefore, random conversations interspersed with seriousness but liberally punctuated with giggles won the night.

My serious side would love to have a serious conversation, but due to the caffeine in the sweet tea, my serious bones aren’t sitting still very nicely.

The pillow has been employed to muffle eruptions of laughter instead.

After a time, it turns out I can hold my legs straight up for a good long while, and do figure eights with them even longer.

And for a girl who only had 1 coffee, 3 sweet teas, and 2 iced caramel machiattos today, that’s pretty good.

Especially since she’s only used to having one coffee per day.

But, as I mentioned, real life and all of it’s problems are across the border somewhere. My brain is in vacation mode. And apparently my sense of appropriate caffeine intake was not included with all the other things I packed into my massive suitcase.

Everything about life can feel surreal on vacation…

But I know with certainty, I’ve been enjoying the sweet tea! All the way to 12:19 am.

And I doubt I will successfully start my day without it tomorrow, either.

Oddly… Relatable

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What are the requirements for a friendship to form between individuals?

This question has been on my mind lately as a new, unlikely friendship has been forming in my life.

Do you have to share a culture? A worldview? Do your beliefs have to agree? Or at least, you have some similar interests?

Ideally, sure. These things promote conversation material, which can certainly build your bond.

But I’m realizing that these things are not the main requirement for friendship. In fact, vast differences can exist and connections can still bridge the distance with ease.

Think about this… people are all created by the same God, with the same need in our hearts for love and acceptance.

Maybe focusing on meeting that need first is the basis for a friendship to begin?

Today I drove to the city again, through the business section streets into steadily poorer residential areas until I reached my destination. I parked my car in the visitor section, rode the elevator to the fifth floor, and walked down the hallway to the unit I was visiting.

I was assigned to this family by the organization I’m working for, but my heart loves them all way more than just an “assignment.”

As I fed the infant her bottle, trusting brown eyes gazing back at me… lotioning her coffee-coloured body after her bath & hearing the music of her baby giggles (that tickles my tummy!)… brushing through her coarse but adorable black curls… my heartstrings have no trouble attaching to this precious miracle of God.

The five year old – no single adjective can describe this bundle of defiant, tender-hearted, independent, scared, guarded, loveable child. She’s mature beyond her years, doesn’t trust easily, and desparately needs love poured into the darkness that is her life. No matter how rough she may try to convince me that she is, I see her heart. And when she whispers, “I just need a hug,” my own heart swells as I realize how quickly this dear girl moved right in to my heart…

And finally, their mom. A beautiful lady, broken in so many ways, but precious to her Maker.

Our differences… vast, by human standards. And that’s an understatement!

But that’s just because people look at the outer person. God sees our hearts, and when He looks at both of us, He sees a wounded heart in need of love.

In God’s sight, we’re both prone to sin, we both have joys and sorrows, we both need Him.

And although our backgrounds are polar extremes, we are similar in personality. We somehow click.

I realized it today after we shared a laugh about an amusing moment, so I mentioned it to her.

“You know, this might sound odd, but I’m starting to think you’re a lot like me in some ways.”

She laughed, motioned between us – the difference in our appearances, dress, tatoos or lack thereof, hairstyles, etc is startling to an onlookeer – and replied, “I know. It’s shocking to say this, but… you’re oddly… relatable. I didn’t expect that.”

So, it turns out that humans are humans. People are people. No matter what we wear, believe, or live like.

What if the basis for friendship is to first of all love and accept eachother as we are?

Contrast

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In the busy pace of life and living it, I haven’t taken much time lately to evaluate where I’m at.

So when the question was raised today, “How are you doing?”, I paused to reflect.

How can I describe the heart-full of emotional richness that swells in my chest?

My life is… a tangible awareness, in every aspect. I’m living more fully than ever before.

If you’ve ever been through a season of not wanting to exist in your reality another day, and you’ve reached the other side of that valley, then you know the incredible journey of falling in love with life again.

I catch myself smiling or laughing, with genuine joy bubbling up inside – and the feeling takes my breath away. I have to pause and silently acknowledge the gift of joy, after being without it.

Rose petals are so intricately delicate in my fingers… the grass is more lush than ever before beneath my feet… the setting sun commands me to stand still and watch in silent awe.

As the colour comes flooding back into my world, I want to absorb it ALL!

I don’t think I’ll ever be as carefree again, but that’s okay. Life is richer now.

Knowing the darkness of a long night allows you to fully appreciate the light of daybreak, because you can feel the contrast.

I never knew that the simple things of nature could become breathtaking, awe inspiring sights. But now, they bring tears to my eyes with a deep sort of aching joy in my chest, because as my eyes take in the beauty, my heart knows that not all in this world is beautiful.

But the sorrow of life is what teaches us the capacity to recognize and appreciate beauty.

It’s a gift hard won, fought for with many tears, but it takes life to a depth and height I would never return from.

And most exciting of all… If life here is so much more meaningful when earthly beauty is contrasted with our pain, I can’t fathom the fullness of joy that we’ll feel when heaven’s perfection erases all the brokenness we’ve only ever known!

What a glorious contrast. And so definitely worth holding on for!

The Deeper, Hidden Meaning of Sufganiyot

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First of all, a disclaimer: This post holds a high potential to make my writing instructor cringe.

It will not be edited, as the hour is late – more on the reason for that later – and I am currently halfway through a 4 day teachers’ conference.

(Think overload in all categories – socially, spiritually, intellectually, emotionally… even physically, if you drag yourself away from those wonderfully conversational strangers to engage in a few games of volleyball. Enough said.)

This exhausted human, now home in solitude, is apparently unable to break away from the endless flow of words I’ve been alternately drowning and delighting in.

Instead of listening to a talented speaker who has prepared an organized topic, I’m now the one needing to release words. Random words. 1:00 am words. Words that capture the essence of various, disconnected aspects of teachers’ week. And you, brave soul who has made it this far, are the recipient of it all.

So, here goes… I warned you!

Breakfast with strangers is a pleasantly awkward way to begin an event. Today (the second day) was slightly noisier than yesterday, however I am still grateful that no crunchy foods are on the breakfast menu. Yogourt and fresh berries are as silent as the people waking up at my table.

Singing from my heart with an auditorium full of humans who have now had their morning coffee is definitely awesome. I love looking across the group and seeing the beautiful diversity in God’s family… how we all share a common passion for Christian education, yet so many different walks of life are represented. It’s like a glimpse of the Bride of Christ to me – His kingdom is not limited to one people group or way of living out the Bible!

By mid-morning, my arm is tired from writing. Possibly I overdo note-taking… but when you place a pen in a teacher’s hand… especially if it has nice ink, well – it’s inevitable. The pages will be filled.

Lunch arrives. We’re all abuzz about our personality types, and specifically how to deal with personality clashes with students. How much do we unconciously frustrate our students, simply by being us? How can we as educators intentionally embrace the unique characteristics of each God-designed child in our class? Eventually, our plates are empty, and it’s time for some volleyball.

You can’t solve every school problem during teacher’s week, so when ideas have been sufficiently shared… postpone the issue. It won’t take care of itself; it will remain for further discussion… but those courts look inviting and the game is happening now.

After an afternoon of more instruction on teaching, my mind is wearily whirling. I should feel brilliantly equipped and inspired to teach – but I really feel like I just need my bed.

So I joined another conversation. Stayed there for a lengthy time, transitioned to someone’s backyard to continue socializing around a campfire…

Someone asked what our goals are for the coming year, since we’re receiving this training. My response? “I had specific goals, before this. Now they’re crushed under the weight of awareness that I have so much to improve in!” (I know myself, though. Those goals will revive with more passion than ever after this week.)

After many more random topics had been covered, and my mind journeyed in several more abstract directions, my car and I journeyed home. To solitude, quietness, and bed.

Instead of feeling sleepy though, my brain started regurgitating every piece of information that’s been thrown at me. Not in a cohesive manner, mind you.

And this is where this post’s title finally enters the picture. (I apologize. It’s terrible to delay this long. Possibly it’s only sheer curiosity that has kept you until now… and if you’re skimming, I understand.)

So I got home, with all these thoughts spinning, and as I’m wondering how I will ever retain all of this, I heard one thing replaying distinctly. The speaker’s voice rang confidently in my memory, I could see the earnestness on his face as he declared, “Sufganiyot.”

Then the crowd’s tentative response, according to the direction given in how to pronounce the word. “Sufganiyot.”

And my very overwhelmed mind, replaying this moment, could not remember the meaning of the word!!! This Hebrew word, taught by a couple who spent several years living in Jewish culture, must have some deep spiritual meaning attached to it that I must not forget!

I was desparate. My binder is at school, so I can’t access my notes until tomorrow. Would google really embody all that the word meant to me? I couldn’t even remember in what way it resonated in my heart, but it must have if my mind was so clearly recalling it?!

But then, suddenly, it came to me. The speaker saying, “Sufganiyout is the Hebrew word for donut.“

Yes. That’s correct. It means donut. And I had it in the same category as words like shalom or gelassenheit…

Sometimes things aren’t as deep as we make them.

But for me, personally, the deeper and hidden meaning of sufganiyot will always be this week. These moments.

And sure, a donut.

Turning the Page

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First of all: It’s true that I get this restless feeling every summer, when the teacher in me is dormant and my classroom is silent. I wonder why life feels stagnant and what God might be doing in my life next.

But this year, it’s different. I’m not feeling restless and empty…

God is filling my heart with something new. It’s exciting. It gives me a sense of purpose. (And I feel like I’m on the edge of a diving board, about to plunge into a future unknown…)

But sometimes, you just know. You sense that God is turning a page, writing a new chapter into your story.

I signed up as a volunteer to support families in crisis in my local city – originally for a summer job, and a way to keep my life centered around children during the months that I’m not teaching.

This past week, as I drove to an unfamiliar neighborhood to pick up a child, it hit me – this is the realization of a dream I’ve carried for years. Not in the exact form I pictured through my teens, but it’s definitely the beginning of living out what my heart has wanted to do for so long.

Yes, teaching school is a huge part of my life, and something I’m extremely passionate about. But in the years I’ve taught, the desire has been growing in my heart to specifically work with underprivileged children. To mentor them, love them, and teach them about Jesus.

I’m so grateful for the opportunity of teaching at a Christian school, where I can relax when I dismiss my students because I know that they’re going home to loving, godly parents.

For the last four years, that has been my sole passion and purpose, and I’ve found it incredibly fulfilling to work alongside Christian parents in loving and guiding their precious children.

But now, God has opened a door in my life to care for children who don’t have the abundant blessings that my students do.

These children crave love and security from me far more than my students do, because their lives don’t have the stability that my students’ lives have.

It’s new territory, but it’s exciting to this heart that has held this dream dormant so long, but never lost the passion for it…

It’s time to turn a page in my story, to move forward in faith, and step out into the next chapter of lif

God’s timing amazes me. I spent years wondering when, and how, and if I’ll ever find the right opportunity… and if God even wanted me to fill that kind of role, if so much time was going by…

But He knew I needed the experiences I’ve had to prepare me. To strip me of self, of false expectations of God, of prejudices in my heart… and to equip me to more accurately represent Jesus’ love to the lives I touch. (This is a lifelong challenge, to become stripped of self and equipped for service! Definitely not complete yet!)

God also knew I needed more time focused solely on teaching before I could take on another responsibility. He knew that when teaching has become a comfortable routine, like my morning coffee, I’d have more mental space for other things.

So, here I am. Stepping into a new, unknown chapter of life, on the brink of a dream that could lead to so much more…

Ready to give my life to investing in children who might not otherwise have a chance, as my role of service to my King.

Only God knows how much of my time will be spent doing this, or how long this chapter will last. Only He knows at this point where I’ll go from here.

But step by step He’s led me to this place, where the dream I carried along the way has finally become a call to answer.

And I know that whatever He leads me through from here, every winding path is somehow preparing me for the place He’ll lead me to next.

Lead Me to the Rock

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“When my heart is overwhelmed, lead me to the Rock that is higher than I.” Psalm 61:2

This verse holds so much meaning that I never noticed until recently, and it’s packed into those two words lead me.

I’ve read this verse at various times in life when my heart was struggling, and I’ve always known and believed that the place to turn then is to God, my Rock.

But what about those times when my heart is truly overwhelmed?

Life holds disappointments, tragedies, heartbreaks… dear hearts, you can probably fill in the blank with your own pain. We’ve all had something to endure.

Then while we’re still fighting not to go under the waves, another, greater blow comes. Something that cuts us to our very core, and suddenly our exhausted store of strength can’t keep on.

It’s in those times that we learn the meaning of overwhelmed to its full definition, and no, that knowledge isn’t pleasant to gain.

But in that place of being overwhelmed – that’s where I found myself wondering for the first time if I had the strength to go to the Rock. Or if I even wanted to.

For those of you who have been in this place, you know. You know that it can be really tough, wrestling with doubt and asking questions in your heart that you know “no good Christian should ever ask.”

It’s especially tough when you don’t tell anyone, because you’re afraid of being judged. You feel guilty and ashamed for asking things like,

“How could a loving God…?“

“What’s the point of praying, if He doesn’t intervene?“

“Is God not the type of God I thought He is?”

“Why doesn’t God show up in my story?”

“How can God say this is for my good?”

There are so many more questions people may have, I’m sure.

But no matter what we’re going through, when our hearts are overwhelmed, we get shaken. We doubt things we never dreamed of questioning.

That’s why I’m so grateful to God for showing up in Christian family, friends, and mentors, to speak truth to my doubting heart in those times, and lead me to the Rock.

You see, Psalm 61:2 doesn’t read, “When my heart is overwhelmed, I will go to the Rock that is higher than I.”

It doesn’t say, “then I turn to the Rock that is higher than I.”

The Psalmist wrote, “lead me to the Rock.”

This isn’t an action that the one who is overwhelmed will take, this is a request, a plea for support! Because an overwhelmed heart needs the Rock most desparately of all, yet doesn’t have the strength or maybe not even the will to pursue it.

So when I’m struggling to reconcile what I know is truth, with the brokenness I see in this world, it’s okay. It’s okay to be tired after fighting through a long hard season, and it’s okay to let others lead me to my Rock.

The key is going to God and staying close to Him, it doesn’t matter as much whether we go there on our own or leaning on others. What’s crucial is that we’re willing to go to the Rock.

If you’re ever in an overwhelming place, I sincerely hope you have the courage to ask those around you to stand up when you’re down. Some people are judgemental of struggling doubters, and I pray you’ll have wisdom to discern them from those who truly have a heart full of Jesus’ compassion. These are the people who, like Jesus, will be gentle and loving. Let them lead you to the Rock, and speak the truth to your doubting heart until you again can say with firm conviction,

“My Rock IS higher than I!”

I pray you’ll have those people in your life. I pray you’ll have the courage to ask them, and the humility to be led to the Rock. I pray that I may become a person to lead others to the Rock in their seasons of doubt. I especially pray in gratitude and ask a special blessing on those who have stepped in to lead me.

May our Rock sustain us, and may He prove His truth, goodness, and sovereignty to all of us who cry, “lead me to the Rock!”

From the Circus to the Zoo

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Okay, so maybe I shouldn’t call my classroom a circus, or my sister’s house a zoo…

But I did jump straight from one form of chaos to another, and no, I don’t mind. I thrive on chaos, especially when it’s created at least partially by children.

Those last weeks of school were slightly circus like, when I think about 23 children & a slip n slide obstacle course (oh, and their 2 soaking wet teachers, who may have taken a slide or two as well…).

The craziness of June was packed with delightfully fun moments to spice up the dryness of review lessons and final tests. But overall, fun as it is, June at school is a little chaotic. It just is.

So I was all ready to exhale, when instead I found myself thrown into mom world. My sister was recovering and caring for her newborn, and I had a toddler in my care.

When I heard him talking in his crib that first morning, my first thought was, “oh no, now I have to figure out how to feed him breakfast. What does this creature eat, anyway?!” (I was relieved to find a sticky note on the table with instructions… and I was pleasantly surprised to learn that he eats cereal with milk. Just like me. No baby food grinder needed, no specific preparation methods.)

I optimistically thought that it would be a breeze after the breakfast hurdle was so easily conquered. After all, I’m used to doing life with a room full of 10-year-olds. Just one barely-two-year-old couldn’t be too hard to handle!

I was wrong.

Add a morning and afternoon snack besides meals (yes, he gets to rub food on his face 5 times a day!), naptime, a big labrador retriever, and a new baby brother… and you have all the ingredients for a zoo. Then try to coordinate it all while getting the housework done.

As I work, my mind analyzes every task according to my newly acquired priorities.

If I leave this task for later, will anyone go hungry? Will anyone run out of clean clothes to wear? Does it need a diaper change? Is it crying? Is anyone going to be grumpy? Is the baby in danger of brotherly displays of affection which may not be entirely gentle?

Therefore the laundry gets washed regularly, but doesn’t always get folded promptly. There have been 3 meals on the table every day. (That might be easy for some of you, but this is from a teacher who hadn’t cooked supper since her March break!) I’ve even been pleased to discover that I DO enjoy cooking, now that I know what’s around to cook with, and I have the opportunity to work in the kitchen.

The dishes get washed routinely, not because anyone is crying or hungry, but because I would get grumpy if I had to work in a messy kitchen. So I make that a priority, next to diapers, hugs, and snacks for my assistant… who willingly has his fingers in all my tasks whenever possible.

It’s been absolutely delightful.

Toddlers are smart, I’ve discovered.

The educator in me has attempted to teach him lessons such as how to use a watering can (pour at least some of the water onto the plants, not just on yourself) how to pick lettuce (only the green stuff goes in the bowl, even if clods of dirt produce a more exciting sound), and how to chase bubbles (because babies trying to catch bubbles is simply an adorable scene).

He’s learning at a much faster rate than my students do, because there is so much to discover about the world at his age. He learns with all 5 senses, but tasting seems to be a favourite method.

Chocolate chips are delicious. Always. The first time he gets into the bag, and the second…

Mama’s garden flip-flops, although they were so tempting for sore teething gums to bite, didn’t have a great flavour. Just going by his disgusted expression…

We had just come inside one day, and after washing the garden mud off myself, I used a cloth to wash puppy kisses off him. He bent forward suddenly and licked my recently soapy arm. “Oh my!” the little voice proclaimed in a horrified tone.

He hasn’t tried eating flip flops or licked me since. He still loves chocolate. Learning by taste seems to work well for him.

Today his daddy made a profound comment while he sat in his high chair, eating.

“Um – don’t blow your nose with lunch meat!”

(Unfortunately no one could hold their laughter in, so… we may see that episode attempted again.)

He is also practicing how to show affection to his little brother. He kisses him, offers him his toys, climbs up to peek into the bassinet, makes gagging noises in his face and giggles (why, I have no idea – he loves discovering new sound effects!), shares his soother (yes, we have to sterilize it many times a day after rescuing it from big brother’s mouth), brings him any baby blankets he finds, rocks the baby swing to make the ride more interesting, kisses him again… and all day, every day, we hear him softly repeat “baby, baby, baby,” as he plays.

The bath water sprays everywhere. He follows me up the stairs and investigates the contents of my drawers. We walk slowly back down the stairs, hand in hand – it would be faster to carry him, but he’s SO proud. As he carefully places his foot on the next step, he says “mmHMM!” each time.

Now he’s sound asleep and I’m home for the weekend. My house is incredibly quiet… and for some reason, I feel tired. And I realize what happened to my life as soon as school was out.

I went from the circus to the zoo. And loved it!