crayon-colored walls
7:45 a.m. Nannying, here I come.
I admit, I often drag my feet to arrive. But once I get there, something wakes up and lights up inside me. It's a constant, stretching, all-encompassing juggling act to clean, teach, do homework, read, entertain, cook, plunge toliets, wash hands, change diapers, wipe potty-training bums, listen, talk, help, care, love, watch, care for, worry about, and try to give my greatly-lacking best to these five precious children.
This morning I arrived as their dad was making breakfast for the two-year-old, who was the first awake. I went up the stairs to check on the other sleepers. I was greeted at the top of the stairs to a work of art of dark blue/blackish crayon circles, squiggles, and varying undiscovered shapes--across the white wall. That certainly wasn't there the day before.
Before their dad left for work, I mentioned I would clean it up. He said it would be ideal for the one who made the mess to clean up the mess. That means a magic eraser in the hands of a two-year old.
Agreeing with the principle, after breakfast and getting dressed, the little one and I started on the task. I showed him how we have to "clean up" and motioned how we do it. He did the best a two-year-old can. His four-year-old brother watched by us. He offered to help, and helped clean the magic eraser when it started getting covered in color. He watched and cheered on the littlest one. Soon, I became the bystander as the two worked on it.
Then, when the littlest one tired, the four-year-old explained that he was going to do it now. His arms reached further, he had more strength and didn't tire as quickly. The caring older brother stepped in when the littlest one no longer could.
The moment was too perfect not to teach. "That's what Jesus does for us," I explained. "That's why we repent. Sometimes, we make messes, and He helps us clean it because we just can't do it ourselves."
The four-year-old nodded in agreement.
At one point, he said, "My arms are tired." But did he stop? Did he hand the magic eraser to his little brother? No. He switched arms and kept working at it.
I left the day touched by the experience.
I admit, I often drag my feet to arrive. But once I get there, something wakes up and lights up inside me. It's a constant, stretching, all-encompassing juggling act to clean, teach, do homework, read, entertain, cook, plunge toliets, wash hands, change diapers, wipe potty-training bums, listen, talk, help, care, love, watch, care for, worry about, and try to give my greatly-lacking best to these five precious children.
This morning I arrived as their dad was making breakfast for the two-year-old, who was the first awake. I went up the stairs to check on the other sleepers. I was greeted at the top of the stairs to a work of art of dark blue/blackish crayon circles, squiggles, and varying undiscovered shapes--across the white wall. That certainly wasn't there the day before.
Agreeing with the principle, after breakfast and getting dressed, the little one and I started on the task. I showed him how we have to "clean up" and motioned how we do it. He did the best a two-year-old can. His four-year-old brother watched by us. He offered to help, and helped clean the magic eraser when it started getting covered in color. He watched and cheered on the littlest one. Soon, I became the bystander as the two worked on it.
Then, when the littlest one tired, the four-year-old explained that he was going to do it now. His arms reached further, he had more strength and didn't tire as quickly. The caring older brother stepped in when the littlest one no longer could.
The moment was too perfect not to teach. "That's what Jesus does for us," I explained. "That's why we repent. Sometimes, we make messes, and He helps us clean it because we just can't do it ourselves."
The four-year-old nodded in agreement.
At one point, he said, "My arms are tired." But did he stop? Did he hand the magic eraser to his little brother? No. He switched arms and kept working at it.
I left the day touched by the experience.
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