Bonkin' Bonko

I get off the phone this evening to find Brett playing rodeo in Warrick's room with both of our small children. When I exclaimed, "Yeah! Playing rodeo!" I was quickly corrected.

"NO! We're playing Buckin' Bronco!" (said by the largest of the three who was playing the part of the animal) (my husband)

"Yeah!" Bonkin' Bonko!" (says the rider, Warrick)

Of course I laughed. That's hilarious, right?

But goofier/weirder still was when he was bonked off and wriggled himself under the bonko's chest and said, "I'm drinkin' milk from the daddy bonkin' bonko."

That's funny.

This pic, Jami Nato, is what most of our property looks like.

on going country, part 1

E v e r y t h i n g s l o w s d o w n.
I'm beginning to really enjoy the pace of things. Beginning to enjoy the SPACE of things.


A few weeks back, on a slow Saturday, as Brett and I had our usual conversation, "what sort of project should we take on today?" we decided to try to burn the brush pile. We had tried once before - actually, it was to be the crazy-thing-the-brothers-do-for-their-christmas-activity. That was after we made everyone, including my mother-in-law, ride the zip line. Over the pond. In not so warm weather. BUT, the pile would not burn at our Christmas celebration. Just the wrapping paper and the boxes and the gasoline.


On that note, we are certainly learning many things about living in the country by trial and error. For instance, sometimes gasoline can kind of explode when it ignites. Thank you Jesus, no one was hurt. Another instance, oppossums don't necessary die when you shoot them twice point blank after you have caught them in a borrowed live trap on your front step. (They do, however, die quickly if your husband chases them down and beats them. I hated this, but felt somewhat better about this than the first method that didn't work). I'm sorry. I know we live in the country. I know that Mick Ratliff, our neighbor who thinks we have a severe copperhead problem and provided all sorts of drama to me because of our small children, thinks I should get a gun and learn to shoot snakes.

But, we're not very good with guns. We seem to be better at chasing things down or chasing them away. I don't like guns. I DO like to run.

About that, I'm fully convinced I ran off a bobcat a few weeks back - thinking it was a middle sized fluffy dog with a short fluffy tail that was really fast, but that was trying to eat Jacks, our cat, and was moving his kennel bed all over the porch. When it turned around, under a light, I was shocked to see that this medium sized dog had the face of a large cat. I stared after it as it bounded through some tall grass and when it turned to look at me again I thought to myself, "that is not a dog. that is a very large cat. I am certain of it." Granted, it was night time, but let's be honest, we pay the city 27 dollars a month for 3 bright lights on tall telephone poles. It's not exactly pitch black out here.

Can I self-elect myself as the queen of rabbit trailing?

Back to the error of our trials. It seems important that I record our biggest country dumbness to date. On the particular Saturday we tried to burn the brush pile, we instead burned nearly 2 acres of forest ground. When we realized things were perhaps on the edge of getting out of control, Brett quickly raked a 2 foot swath of dirt around it. I was chatting on the phone with my friend Taryn when I came back to real time from her story to see that a cedar tree had caught on fire, and right after that, the grass. The wind was such that it was moving quickly in the direction of the house. Not very close, I am thankful, as I was right by it when it happened, but I was shocked to see how quickly grass can spread a fire. I kept thinking to myself, "at what point do you ask for help?"

That night, we prayed with lots of faith that we would not catch fire as we slept. There were three places that were still smoldering when we went to sleep, and consequently, still smoldering in the morning.

I am thankful that our sweet Lord protected us in our ignorance. Although, I think Brett actually handled the situation pretty well. The ignorance may have just been mine.

I am still surprised that the brush pile will not burn. It is probably the size of our first home and has parts of probably 20 trees we've cut down. Well . . . . that Brett has cut down. I watch from the window and make sure our children don't get smashed.

There will be more bloopers soon, I'm sure, as we ready ourselves for garden planting and stone wall building and animal proofing our plants. Some of them might not be funny to me until years from now, but I'll write them as if they were funny so you can laugh at me if you want. :)

The hardest thing

I know this is probably consistent with parents across the board, but doggone it if if just feels like you are not making ANY progress sometimes. You teach, you discipline, you hug and read books and tell stories to illustrate the character you want to see grow in your kid. You try as many different approaches as can be tried to communicate your love and "the best way" for your child to live. (real life time - Warrick just slammed the laptop lid down on my hand. How many times have I told him that this is a TOOL and not a TOY?)

So, when it comes to discipline, I just have trouble seeing that what we are doing is actually helping. Time outs? He doesn't care really. Go to your room and play quietly? More lego time. No chocolate? That will move mountains for him but then you have to discipline him more for the tantrum he's throwing on account of his initial punishment. Go to bed all by yourself? Not sure it's worth the lack of sleep for the rest of the family. Who's getting punished? Spanking . . . that's a whole nutha can o' worms. I realize that many people don't spank their kids. I got spanked plenty. More than my sister for sure, and less than my brother for sure. Did it help?

I remember one particular time when my brother and I were wrestling in the living room, were threatened and asked to stop, but continued our match and consequently knocked over a tall lamp. I don't know if we broke it or not. What I DO remember is that my mother quickly gave me 4 spankings. I should add . . . I thought the whole thing was funny. This gets me into trouble sometimes. Seems I take some things too seriously and need to take other things MORE seriously. Anyway, I was still laughing at the whole thing after the first four spankings when she asked me, "Do you think you have learned your lesson?" I intelligently replied, between giggles, "I don't know, mom." 4 more. Really. 8 is a lot of spankings when you have a scrawny rear.

Clarification: "scrawny rear" applies solely to the time period of the above incident.

And so, after the 8 spankings, I think I was repentant. At least I knew I had committed a violation and was guilty and was not too happy about my punishment. I was done laughing. Although, when I remember it now, it's funny to me again.

So, coming back to the parenting gig . . . I have been questioning whether or not spanking our child (we have two, but I haven't yet seen fit to spank the younger) is actually effective. He certainly doesn't like it. In fact, the other day when he knew a spanking was coming, he stole a spoon out of the cooking utensils drawer, ran to our bathroom, stuck it down my tall black Keen boot which was well placed on the bathroom floor (of course), placed a large hardback book over it and then sat on it and waited. Two small errors here. 1. We have lots of other wooden spoons in the drawer and 2. He immediately told me he was hiding the spoon in the black boot when I walked in and showed me his careful hiding spot.

Prayed last night, a little more intensely than I sometimes do, for God to make it clear what Warrick needs. For wisdom, for patience, for vision. To not take offenses personally, to not get discouraged, to not be reactive, to trust God. To trust God.

This morning, I accidentally open right to this verse. "The rod of correction imparts wisdom. He who spares the rod hates his child." Wow. Now, I would like to offer that I pass no judgment on parents who choose not to spank their children, as I think the "rod of correction" can look like lots of things. But I DO believe this. Discipline should be a time of teaching, reconciling, correcting and it should also be painful enough (somehow) that the child doesn't want to commit the crime again because he associates it with bad nasty no fun stuff. The fear of the Lord, after all, is the beginning of wisdom. I also believe that you should never deliver any kind of physical punishment - flicking the hand or a spanking - if you are angry.

The seal the deal though, and remind me that we're really just doing our best and trying to serve our kids and obey God as we think He's instructed us to, Warrick says to me this morning - hang on. Seriously, he had been awake for maybe 20 minutes, and was sitting in the bath (cause he peed the bed) and looked me straight in the eye - we weren't talking about any kind of discipline, we were talking about matchbox cars riding on his big military boat that was squishing him out of bathtub space - and says, "You are a really good mommy if you give spankings."

I'm not kidding. He said it with the sweetest voice and crystal clear. So, maybe what we are doing is working. Maybe God wanted to remind us that we HAVE tried to approach it humbly, cause let's be honest. We don't know what we're doing and need all the help we can get. We don't take it lightly and try to be selective when we use this form of discipline. But really? I kind of think that was God just reminding me to stay the course and pray my face off. Parenting is really really really hard work. The hardest thing I've ever done, hands down.

Again - I don't pass any judgment on other parents for their choice in this, although I think it's something that needs to be considerately thought through. And my kid was saying this to ME and not to some other mom and it was after I prayed for wisdom and clarity. So . . . there. A little encouraged today. And it has been a really sweet one with Warrick too. No spankings even. :)

booger prayer

Sometimes Warrick drives me absolutely nuts.
Sometimes he is unbelievably delightful and I laugh my eyes out.

Tonight I was praying for him, over him, begging God for him. I really felt such a strong sense of the Lord's presence and vision and plan for him and was passionate about it and excited. And then . . . . Warrick wiped his booger on my nice black shirt.

All my immature, reactiveness drowned out my sweet God passion in that moment. I caught my breath (bit my sword tongue from saying, "What's the matter with you? Do you want me smearing boogers all over you? ) and then calmly asked Warrick if he, instead, would like a kleenex. Except I felt like sneezing in his face. I DID ask him not to wipe boogers on me. It's just not nice to wipe boogers on people or their clothes. Even if it's their rattiest messiest play or work clothes.

Anyway, I'm thankful for the quick reminder that I need as much guidance and change in my life as he does. If I can almost so quickly fly off the handle for getting a boog from my son, what would I do if someone really actually did something horrible to me?

Oh Lord Jesus, bring more of Your sweet self into my spirit.

hand foot mouth

I've heard of it before and was shooed away from the YMCA KidZone once in Wichita when there had been an outbreak. Never had it. Come to find out, adults don't get it very often. I'm thankful for that now, as I watch my son suffering and drooling and desperately wanting to eat. Vera was a little luckier. She just has bumps on her booty, her hands and feet. But Warrick's mouth is horrific and his breath would make anyone who is weak of stomach hit the floor. The entire under side of his tongue looks like a giant kanker sore. I don't know how to spell kanker. Or Carribeaner, still.

He can't control his drool, his tears, or his whining, it seems. He can eat peanut butter if he holds it on his tongue for 5 minutes while he musters his courage to swallow. That's about it. We got him a Sonic milkshake tonight. Even then, he had to take frequent breaks. I had to pin him to brush his teeth and it was a sloppy, bloody, crying mess. I was so sad for him.

But one thing has been particularly interesting about this virus.

It has made our son stop talking.

For 2 days.

I could count his sentences on one hand.

Usually, he can talk about anything, faster than his mind has even actually made up what it is he wants to say. Stuttering and lisping in his barely detectable manner. Our house is rarely silent. (Even at night, lots of times, as we have not managed to raise good sleepers). He and his sister can easily fill the walls with their noises.

I'm sure it's a combination of his silence, the New Year, my starting a book called "Kisses from Katie", but it's caused some good reflection in me. Some remembering, really. And some of this has not taken on intelligible language yet, but is still quiet hints and whispers in my soul. But I'm starting to ask questions again . . . the kind that make you either have to change or to resolutely choose what you know full well is not quite right - even though it may be what all your neighbors are doing and what your best friends encourage of you.

So, I'm asking things like, "If God tells us to take care of orphans and widows in their distress, does that make adoption an obligation? A byproduct of really loving Jesus? Am I really taking care of orphans by occasionally giving some money to a mentoring program? I don't want to say obligation, but I used to think people were "called" to adoption. But I keep wondering if that's a bunch of bunk. I keep wondering how I would justify the fact that I've been parented pretty darn well, and loved well and have now been given an incredible husband - a real leader of our family and an intentional father, and also given a home with extra rooms, and land that begs to be explored and run around on . . . How would I justify this to a child that just wants to be held, wants to point at us and call us his family, to a child who can't get enough to eat when I throw away food just from off our floor that could easily sustain another life. What would my reasons be? Do I actually have any? Am I being really selfish to keep all this to our 2 little ones? At the same time, I know full well, that if we were to adopt, I would probably quickly realize that I'm actually the one that needs rescuing, and that instead of teaching someone else about God and holiness, I'm the immature one that is deceived and needs to change.

Another thinking that won't settle down in me. I want a hardwood floor. A light, solid HARD hardwood floor. Hickory or oak, but probably hickory. I could get over 1000 ft for less than 4000 dollars I think. I don't like the floors we have. I don't like the light fixtures or bathroom fixtures or the front door or the storm door or the color of the basement or the drop ceiling or the cabinet finish either. And Lord help me, I really don't like the hallway carpet.

But seriously. I have a warm house. I have electricity. I have warm water. I don't have to pee in a hole in the ground and I generally only sleep with one other person in my room. There is NOTHING really wrong with the floors we have. Except that I don't like it. And I'm a creative person and need to express myself through creative things, blah blah blah. Perhaps I need to get more creative and think of ways I could help people that need alot more help than I do. Remodeling seems like a crazy luxury to me today. And sometimes kind of wasteful and shallow.

I don't know what to do with the battles in my head over these things.

I'm just having a little bit of trouble justifying some of my life. A lot of places in my head are die hard dedicated to a lot of things and thoughts that really just don't matter. And I can feel that it's true. That my life could hold a lot more purpose and that I could stop feeling wasted so often, if I would do something about it.

So, I am writing them down as a means of accountability. Again. So I'll continue to remember.

And then too, I'm asking myself, cause I think the name for this virus is so weird. What are my hands doing to help and love and serve? Where are my feet going to take the truth of Jesus? Is my mouth communicating encouragement, HOPE, vision?

Just using my son's silence as a reminder to me to change.

From the silent, drooling, bleeding, kankerous mouth of babes.