Fall Leaf Creatures

The inevitable email I get from the kindergarten teacher asking parents to send in empty toilet paper rolls turns my stomach every time. Quite frankly, my youngest ones haven't exactly gotten wiping down to a hygienic science yet and I'm pretty sure it's the same story with all their happy-go-lucky cohorts. So while I'm all for recycling-bin crafts, I'll pass on giving anything from my kids' bathroom a second life. Yuck.

Instead, we use empty paper towel rolls, trimmed to size, for our fall leaf creatures. It's a huge event for Halle. She spends weeks collecting nature's whatnots- twigs, tiny hemlock cones, and "helicopters."

"Look, Mom! Look at what I found for our leaf creatures this year!"

The outside world steadily trickles through our front door, sometimes left to break down into a sort of organic litter on my desk.

We wait for a dry windy day to blow down lots of leaves that aren't quite crispy and still have lots of color left.

"Ooooooo...here's a pretty red one! Look, there's a whole bunch of them over here!"

We gather more than enough and head back inside. Fall scatters across our kitchen table.

We sort. We try this leaf and then that one. We glue.

This year Halle lined up all the creatures. She studied them, then looked around for how she could round out the scene. She added leaves, stood back, then started stacking rocks in the foreground.

I sat there silently, impressed with how she thought about her composition.

Her eyes narrowed; it was clear she wasn't quite satisfied.

"I know!"

She reached for the unused empty paper towel rolls and placed them carefully in the background, adding depth.

If Halle's intuitive sense of composition someday lands her a chapter in "America's 50 Greatest Artists,"  I can expect at least a paragraph on the leaf creatures she made every year with her mom.

Right?

A Birthday, a Blanket, and Some Fuzzy Math

As a mother of five, I often push the boundaries of what is mathematically possible.

Three hours between kindergarten drop off and pick up? No problem. Costco is twenty minutes away. Right around the corner from Target, The Grange, and Home Depot. Sure, I can squeeze it all in. But wait! The car needs gas, too. 

The math somehow works out often enough that I keep using it. Really? Intuitive math? Seems kind of...fuzzy.

But it's the same math I turned to when Halle came to me two weeks before her birthday with a special request.

"Mom, I REALLY miss my silky blanket that we left in Idaho. Why did we have to leave it in the hotel? I'm SOOOO sad about it. And Lyla uses the other blanket you made me when I was a baby and ANYWAY it's too small for me now. So can you make me a new one for my birthday? Pleeeease?

Thoroughly amused by the expression of her extra drama chromosome, I began calculating the insanity of the end-of-school-year rush, two family birthdays, and a baptism occupying the next two weeks. An additional calculation including the five children to feed, clothe, clean up after, and run around in five different directions brought my available hours to just shy of, um...zero.

"I think that's a great idea, Halle!" (What?!)

Shortly thereafter, we headed to the craft store, where Halle's color choices went all over the map before finally landing somewhere near the intersection of Christmas Joy and Pepto-Bismol.

                                                                                                                                                

I didn't waste any time getting started.

It's amazing how much I accomplished by removing certain household tasks from the equation. Ignoring dishes, laundry, and apparently Lyla's facial hygiene, I was able to finish the grid in just over a week.

The pattern? Oh, I stink at following patterns. I'm much better at intuitive math, remember? Even when it comes to making blankets.

I turned the finished grid on its side and crocheted back through each row.

My children ensured they were not left out of the equation, stopping at nothing in their attempts to redirect my focus.

Finally, a few pizza deliveries later, I got down to the last few rows.

The moment I set my crochet hook back in its bucket and fanned out my aching fingers, Halle came running in to snatch up her new blanket. It was, after all, two days late.

Nothing like a little bit of fuzzy math to say 

Happy 6th Birthday to my Halle.

Just Listen

We came home late last night from a friend's house. Halle had a tough time keeping it together as she got ready for bed. There were tears, dramatic scowls, and some very unkind words to her mother. I was just grateful that I kept it together. With my own eyelids heavy, it wasn't easy.

By the time she crawled into bed, her sobs were deep and overwhelming her attempts to catch her breath. Her eyes were puffy and the messy strands of hair framing her face were damp with tears.

She had been downright mean to me in the last twenty minutes. I took a deep breath and told her I would sit down on the end of her bed while she calmed down. She begged me to curl up beside her instead, so I did, wrapping my arm around her trembling frame. I could tell she was hurting. As she struggled to overcome her sobs, a list of grievances exploded from every pressure-packed inch of her kindergarten mind. There was no holding them back now.  

Almost imperceptably the Spirit counseled me to just listen.

So I listened.

"I DON'T LIKE CHANGE! I don't want my best friend to move away! I don't want my big sister to move out of my room! I want my little sister to move back to HER room! I don't want to meet new friends! I want MY friends!  

My heart is breaking!"

(Just listening to her, so was mine.)

"I want Sophia to move back in my room! 
 I promise I'll keep my room clean. My heart is cracked and it all just doesn't make sense!"

Her rant included a few other heartbreaks, but I could tell she was most upset about change. And really, this is not breaking news. I've always known Halle to have difficulties with even the slightest hint of change. But last night she let me know that she knew it, too.

I'm so often amazed at how well all of my children evaluate their personal thought processes.  In fact, at nearly six-years-old, I think Halle displays greater frontal lobe development than I reached by age thirty. Ridiculously sad on my part. I know.  

But that's not the point. The point is as subtle as the Holy Spirit's prompting was to just listen. Halle's Heavenly Father loves her. He knew exactly what she needed last night and exactly how to give it to her. He prompted her mother to overlook the offense she might have taken and to just listen.

I stroked her hair as she fell asleep. Wow. She had been really disrespectful. And that's putting it nicely. I could have thrown my arms up and walked out. I could have "taught her a lesson" about respect. But that's not the lesson the Lord knew she needed to learn last night. He wanted her to learn that she was not alone. That she was loved.

And I think she felt loved. She may have only recognized her mother's love, but someday I hope she will recognize her Heavenly Father's love as well. And that with His love, she can handle ANY change.

Spring