“I hope we are going to learn about Jesus!” These were the words my three-year-old, and newly minted preschooler, spoke to me as we chatted about what she might do at school the next day. “We didn’t do any activities, but we did learn about Jesus!” was the report from my four-year-old after his first day of school.
Back-to-school season feels full of possibilities this year. The possibility that school will feel a little more “normal” this year seems within reach, as some schools shift away from the pandemic-related restrictions they used last year. The possibility that school will be just as messy, with a return to quarantining and virtual classes, is also on the table. The possibility that some kids will get sick and some kids will not is also a real threat. School field trips or organized sports and activities may be possible again . . . or not. And in the midst of all of these possibilities, there are the traditional transitions of adjusting to new classmates, teachers, and routines.
Do you usually write or speak when you communicate with another person? With rapid advances in technology and widespread use of social media, you probably switch back and forth between those two methods more than you realize. You write an email or text. You send a voice message or video. You write something to post on a social media platform. You comment on a friend’s picture online. You talk to your family. You give a presentation at work. Back and forth, back and forth. We are constantly communicating and doing it in so many ways simultaneously.
As a mom to two children under the age of five, I am constantly in the throes of laying groundwork for what I expect and teaching boundaries in a world that doesn’t seem to expect boundaries at all. However, as I have conversations with moms who are in the later stages of parenting, I am starting to understand that conversations about boundaries and expectations aren’t going anywhere anytime soon!
In our house, we are navigating these conversations about boundaries and expectations using the fruit of the Spirit from Galatians 5 to shape our framework. As we work through difficulties with sharing toys or taking turns, the fruit of the Spirit gives us a great framework and simple language to use to help our littles understand how to treat one another. Inevitably, we face many moments when our actions (both on the part of the children or the parents—or both—in our house) not only need an apology but, more important, these moments need forgiveness.
My son, who loves to spend time drawing, has a hard time with his drawings not turning out exactly how he envisioned them in his mind. For a long time, he would only spend time drawing if I was going to draw with him and draw everything the ‘‘right way.’’
Last year, our church celebrated Easter with a drive-in Easter service. In-person gatherings were not an option, but not gathering at all was not an option either. After weeks of planning—which felt generous in some ways, since most of our planning was on the fly while we adjusted to shifting health and safety guidelines last spring—we made it to Easter morning.
Recently, on social media, I have engaged in a weekly conversation about worshipping with little people. On Sundays I share what my family and I are up to as we go throughout our morning. Every time I do this, mom after mom will reach out to share a struggle their family is having with worshipping together, ask a question, vent, to say “we do that too!” or to ask for prayers. One disclaimer I always give when I share about our family’s time preparing for and in worship is that our successes are not magic. Tips or tactics that are working for our family come from lots of trial and error and many, many years of practicing and learning together.
There are plenty of times while raising a child that, as the parent, you have control over the choices being made. One area where this does not apply is the day that your child is old enough to drop their nap. As their body grows, your child naturally reaches a point where the only time he or she needs sleep is during the nighttime hours.
In our house, we have two little people, and they seem to be constantly going through growth spurts. Lately, my four-year-old has started using his growing as an opportunity to always have an “out” when he doesn’t want to do something. When it’s time to clean up toys or help with a small task, he likes to respond: “I am too tired to do that.” And sometimes he probably is actually tired, but we have started to talk through the difference between being tired and just not wanting to help out, even if they go hand in hand. When he declares he is too tired to do something, we have started asking him about the root of that statement. “Are you really too tired, or is helping your sister just something you don’t want to do right now?”
Over the course of this year, I have had countless conversations that ended with lamenting the difficulties this year has held. When something difficult happens, it has been easy to respond to the situation by adding it to the list of wrongs 2020 has dealt out:
“2020 just won’t quit.”
“Man, this year!”
“Of course that happened—it’s 2020!”
“2020 is the worst!”