What Big Teeth You Have!

Last night I was awakened by a terrified call from Adelade: "Mama! Mama!" I scrambled for my glasses (picture Thelma from Scooby Doo feeling around for her glasses after they've been knocked off by a clumsily exiting Shaggy), finally located them, and hurried to her room. Adelade was in tears. Her hair, still damp from her bath earlier in the night, hung in her face while she cried like her heart was broken.

I immediately held her and rocked her like she's a baby, asking what's wrong. Thankfully she still lets me do this. As a child I was afraid of EVERYTHING. I mean, I was terrified of my own shadow. So, I have a lot of sympathy for kids in their rooms alone in the middle of the night.

She managed to choke out between sobs, "My (gasp) tooth is (gasp) wiggling around in my (gasp) mooooouuuuuth!" I felt of the tooth she pointed to, and sure enough, it was wiggling. A lot.

My mind immediately went back to the days when we were waiting for that little tooth to pop up. She was only months old, and we were so excited about seeing her first tooth break through, such an adorable little pearl in her tiny mouth. Now, here I was, six years later, realizing that that precious little tooth was about to let go and remind me again how quickly time passes.

But, before I could stroll too far down memory lane, I was snapped back to reality by Adelade's next question, "What am I going to DOOOOOOO????"

So, I started saying all the things mothers say at such a moment: "It just means that you're getting to be a big girl," "Lots of your friends have already lost teeth," "Another tooth will come in to replace it," and finally, when nothing else had consoled her, "When it comes out you can put this tooth under your pillow and get a little money to go buy something!" I was sure that would perk her right up. But, she never missed a beat. The tears kept streaming, and I just kept holding her and pushing that hair, even more damp with tears now, out of her eyes.

Finally we turned on a light so I could have a better look at the precious wobbly tooth. This brought on more tears, so I asked, "Why don't you want to lose your baby teeth?" She buried her head in my shoulder and choked out, "Because (gasp)....because I love them!"

It was all I could do not to cry as I sat there holding my baby, whose feet now almost touch the floor when she's in my lap. I was thinking, "I know! I love them, too!" But, I said, "Everything's going to be just fine. Just wait and see. You'll get a brand new shiny tooth and you won't miss this one so much."

She is so her mother's daughter. I feel for her. Really. When I was younger I hated growing up. I really dreaded lots of milestones, always feeling in my heart that I wasn't quite ready for them. Having boyfriends comes to mind. Spending the night with friends. Wearing a bra. Riding roller coasters. And, yes, losing teeth. Losing teeth was one of my all-time least favorite activities as a child.

She finally settled down and went back to bed. By morning she had remembered that her teacher gives little tooth-shaped necklaces to kids who lose teeth, and she was feeling better about it all.

Me? I'm ok. It's a tooth--it's not the end of the world. But, I'm sure you've noticed if you've been reading my blog long that I have a tendency to be a tad sentimental. Okay, I'm a horribly gushy mushy abnormally sentimental-type person. But, one thing we sentimental-types rarely do is take a moment for granted. And I'm pretty sure I'll remember that adorable and somewhat sad and quite exciting and happy middle-of-the-night crisis for as long as I can remember things.

For: Ever

Sawyer has become a forever kind of fellow.

I first noticed it a few weeks ago when I told him that he wasn't allowed to jump on the couch. He's had the crossed arms pout down for quite awhile, but this particular time he paired the crossed arms with this declaration: "Fine. Then I'm going to my room and I'm going to stay there FOREVER!"

Kids don't just suddenly come to points like this, though. He started with smaller statements. A few months ago he began expressing his dislike for anything that wasn't working out to suit him. If his food was too hot: "I don't like food anymore." If his shoe was untied: "I don't like shoes anymore." And sometimes, if he was really in a funk, he disliked whatever was closest to him. For instance, if I told him he couldn't go outside: "I don't like Woody (or my house, or church, or Adelade, or my clothes, or my hair) anymore."

As time went on and saying "I don't like" wasn't quite as satisfying, he moved on to his declarations about forever. Probably my favorite forever statement lately happened the other day. Sawyer hates being in his room by himself, so he altered his outburst a little: "Fine. Then I'm going to my room and then I'm going to sit on the couch and watch TV FOREVER." He says it so often now that I've begun telling him that even with forever as a timeline, he's going to have a hard time fitting in all the things he's said he will now do FOREVER.

Of course, I can't help but get a little philosophical about it all, especially since I am always so aware of how little time I have with my babies. I started thinking about how a time will come when he really will make some forever statements that matter. I pray that in the coming years I hear him say, "I want to devote myself to Christ FOREVER." Someday he will probably find himself a girl that he loves even better than he loves me (gasp!), and he'll say, "I'm going to be with her FOREVER."

But, for now I am content with my time with him. I know it can't last FOREVER, but it will last quite a while, and no matter what he chooses to fit into his lifetime, I know that as far as I can see, I will love him devotedly. Maybe the next time he does something exasperating I should cross my arms and say, "Fine. Then I'm going to love you FOREVER!"

My Heart Said WHAT?

Today I was having lunch with a friend. I was in the middle of a story in which I was seriously questioning the judgment of another mother and basically ridiculing a child when our food arrived and my friend offered to bless it.

I paused in the telling of my story while she prayed. Then she said something that hit me like a freight train. My sweet friend prayed, "May You be glorified by our conversation here today." Ouch. Seriously, double ouch.

Christian friends are a blessing. Now, my friend was in no way trying to redirect our conversation or to let me know that I shouldn't be saying what I was saying. But, God used her simple prayer to remind me that every moment of our conversation matters. And everything I say matters.

I have always struggled with a wild, loose, crazy, often mean, sometimes biting, sometimes downright vicious tongue. I so want to get control of my mouth. And that means I need to give God control of my heart.

"For the mouth speaks what the heart is full of." Matthew 12:34