Melanie 24-100

In 2007 I wrote this to describe a day-in-the-life of Melanie in 100 words or less for a Mother's Day writing contest. 

Onehundred words. Twentyfour hours. One wonderwoman.

Quiet. Sleeping. Still. One.

Cold. Snuggling. Warm. Two.

Dreaming. Wonder. Tossing. Three.

Crying. Baby. Nursing. Four.

Peaceful. Perfect. Rest. Five.

Sunlight. Footsteps. Children. Six.

Coffee. Husband. Breakfast. Seven.

Clothes. Dressing. Toothpaste. Eight.

Kisses. Daddy. Bye. Nine.

Buzz. Downstairs. Laundry. Ten.

Reading. Daughter. Laugh. Eleven.

Backpack. Son. School. Noon.

Blanket. Searching. Found. One.

Napping. Doorbell. Package. Two.

Stirring. Awake. Snack. Three.

Carpool. Home. Smiling. Four.

Fridge. Cooking. Supper. Five.

Dishes. Running. Backyard. Six.

Bath. Pajamas. Books. Seven.

Bedtime. Prayers. Goodnight. Eight.

Couch. Unwind. Novel. Nine.

Heavy. Eyes. Closing. Ten.

Bleary. Diaper. Changing. Eleven.

Quiet. Sleeping. Still. Midnight.

Melanie. Wife. Mama. Day.

And in case you are wondering: She won the contest. Go, Melanie! You are amazing.

I love you always, Aaron.

Hungry

Sweet, little Mary Elizabeth has been sick.  Not strep.  Not flu.  Tested for those.  Just a virus that won't let go.  She has had no desire to eat.  Feels yucky.  Little she does eat.  Won't stay too long.  Listless & hollow.  Wish I could make it all better.

Mama was taking ME to the Pediatrician today.  Infected cut on her hand may be complicating her virus recovery.  Weak immune system thing.  So, Mama, ME & John Mark did a little shopping before Doc.  I met them at the Docs office to take JM home just before noon.

Raiding the fridge at home this hungry Daddy says, "I'm gonna fix some lunch."  JM's toddlerspeak, "I wuhn to eee luhn too-ooo, Dah-dee!"  Fix me a sammy.  Fresh lunchmeat.  Sharp cheddar.  Good stuff.  Fix my boy a quesadilla.  Cheese only.  Microwaved.  Easy stuff.

JM is my linebacker toddler.  The boy can eat.  3/4s of his quesadilla.  A dozen cherries.  Dad knows we need fruit.  And a few bites of Dad's sammy too.  Did I tell you the boy can eat?

About then his Mama calls.  Doctor went well.  Going to get Rx.  What are we doing?

"Just ate lunch," I said.

"John Mark ate again?"  Is the not-too-surprised Mama question.

"I didn't know he ate the first time," I reply looking to see if my boy's belly is bursting.

"Yes, he had SEVEN McNuggets at Walmart.  What'd he eat this time?"  Comes the not-surprised-at-all-now Mama question.

And I told her the story I just told you.

My boy was hungry.

My boy ate.

My boy didn't tell me he'd already had lunch!

My boy.

Had to ask myself.  Am I hungry?  Like Mary Elizabeth with a sickness that keeps me from wanting to eat?  Or like John Mark who can't get enough?

And, what am I hungry for?  What do I come back to the table for?  When I've already eaten?  Can't get enough of?  As the Daddy, the adult, what drives my life?

Blessed are those who hunger & thirst for righteousness,

for they will be filled.  Matthew 5:6

I John Mark

That title is not a typo. And don't worry: The pastor hasn't gone heretical preparing to cite previously unknown scripture from "First" John Mark.

That, readers, is how my two-year old, toddler son refers to himself.

Sweet kid. Rough as a corncob.  Even when he loves you. Big for his age. Genes from Mama's side. Blue-eyed, dimple-cheeked bandit. He'll steal your heart. Tough on the outside, but soft on the inside.  So his perceptive sister says. Got big vocabulary. Yet still learning. How to be himself. Not easy being number three. How to use his words. Can't always communicate what he'd like. Yet with unwavering certainty he asserts himself.

If you were to say to John Mark, "You are so cute!" He'd respond, "No, I John Mark."

If I were to ask him, quoting Mary Elizabeth, "Are you tough on the outside & soft on the inside?" He'd respond, "No, I John Mark."

Most any question. Most any statement.

He responds, "I John Mark."

He doesn't understand that we're just describing a characteristic of who he is. All he knows is that he is. He is "John Mark" period.

If this is still around. If he cares to read it. For the record. Let me state: Yes, my son, you are the one, the only John Mark Householder. Unique. Absolute treasure of your father. Given by God. Made in His image. Filled with His Spirit.

If only when life asked of me, I could respond every time with such unwavering certainty. I am Paul Aaron. Unique. Absolute treasure of my Father. Given to the world by Him. Made in His image. Filled with His Spirit.

Attractive

Got the kids all ready for bed. PJs on. Looking cute. Hair still a bit damp from bathtime. Smelling sweet. I think the Johnson's people must have done lots of research to know that making their shampoo smell like Flintstone vitamins would be pleasing to Daddys.  Sorry, the sweet smell of clean kids got me off story...

So, all five of us are in Seth's room.  Prayer time.  John Mark, two, is usually in bed before his siblings.  He's still awake tonight.  Overly energetic.  I'm kneeling down beside Mary Elizabeth. Trying to bring calm.  Melanie is about to sit on Seth's bed when he announces contrary plans, "I want John Mark to come up here on my bed with me.  Daddy, you come up here."

Me & John Mark together on Seth's bed doesn't compute in my Daddy brain.  Maybe I blew that fuse during my morning sermon prep.  Maybe I tripped that breaker running around with the kids before suppertime. So I ask, "Why do I need to come up there, Buddy?"

In second-grader simple logic Seth states, "John Mark's attracted to you, Daddy.  If you come up here.  He will too."

There you have it, friends.  I am attractive to my two year old son...

At least in the eyes of his almost eight year old brother I am.  That's something, right?  I may have thinning hair, an average face, & a less than stunning physique, but I can attract the toddlers.  Watch out, world!

I have to ask, however, as a Christ-follower: Who am I attractive to? What might make me attractive?

Jesus says he will draw all men to himself if I will lift him up.

He is attractive.

Lift him up.

Drop Zone

We call it the drop zone.

My boy, Seth, & his carpool pal, Landon, are undoubtedly, without reservation the absolute fastest kids at exiting a car that Zeman Elementary has ever known. They're like paratroopers bailing out the door each morning.

We've got the routine too. En route I check them off. Weather report. Check. Jacket zipped. Check. Hats & mittens. Check. Backpack. Check. Lunchbag. Check.

Their need for speed is not my doing however. Turning into the parking lot each morning I've got to hold them back. "Don't unbuckle yet." The troopers are restless. "One more car." They're leaning to the door. "Wait." Hands on buckles. "We're almost there." We roll into the drop zone & I give the word, "Okay, go!"

Quicker than a Dad can say "Have a nice day!" they've bailed out & are running to class.

The drop zone.

This morning watching Seth run, yes run to class because he wants a good spot in line, a wind swept over me faster than the breeze in a paratroopers face. He's gone. His focus. His mind. They're not on me. I said, "I love you, Buddy," but did he even hear me? He's doing life without me. He doesn't need me right now. He's growing up. Look at him go.

I choked up, but I was already pulling out lest some other Dad berate the silver Saturn driver for being slow.

Just as quickly as the first wind of emotion came another. When he did need me. Yesterday. No reason. No prior plan. Seth says, "Dad, let's play Monopoly." We played for hours. He's shrewd. It was fun, simple, time together. What a joy!

My job, as a Daddy, is to spend as much time with him as I can. It also my job, once I have spent time with him, to free him to run into life on his own.

A wise son brings joy to his father. Proverbs 15:20 

Heavenly Father, please teach me wisdom that I might bring you joy. And, Father, please teach my children wisdom too that they may bring joy to You, me & all. Amen.