Lillian: I’m going swimming in a princess lake with whales that wear crowns and dolphins with no teeth.

Henry (eager to join in on the fantasy): Can I come swimming with you?

Lillian: Yes. But your lake has sharks.

This morning Richard and I watched in silent wonder as Lillian played with her menagerie of horses and pretty ponies. They traveled from her room tucked securely in her pink baby stroller. She arranged them ever-so carefully on the table in the living room. Introducing each horse by parading it past the others until it found its designated spot in her elaborate display.

There was some conversation between the horses. But we couldn’t hear clearly enough to understand. We didn’t want to interrupt or be discovered. So we just observed her living in her own imaginary world.

Then, after a few moments, my dear spouse turned to me and said, “That’s beautiful. She’s amazing.” Then ended it with a sigh and a sobering completely male where’s-the-practicality-in-what-I-am-witnessing: “What is to become of her?”

This is my view in the shower. It’s pretty much been my view for 17 years and will continue to be for another 8 or nine. And boy do I feel blessed.

A view from the top

Richard and I attended Helen’s high school freshman orientation with a babe in arms. Lilian was just a month old. We sat there and realized that we would be attending high-school related events for the better part of the next 18 years. It made us chuckle. Little did we know then that our sentence would be extended another three years, and that just shy of 21 years from that date, we’ll be attending our dear Cliff’s graduation (God willing).

I will admit, that sometimes all the baby toys and baby-related paraphernalia gets a little daunting. I counted the days for Cliff to stop enjoying his swing so I could ditch that darn thing. I’ve been in the position three times where I’ve given away most all the baby goods, only to jump for joy when I was blessed with the need to bring it all back in. As the baby approaches a year, the big things are starting to disappear: the walker, the exersaucer, the bouncy seats and jumpy things.

But one thing that has not really changed in our nearly 18-years of parenting is that view in the tub. We’ve always had bath toys. That phase has never ceased between children, even with their age spread. Of course, the toys aren’t always on the floor but are within reach, patiently waiting for their moment in the tub. Henry is eight, and although he frequently showers, there’s nothing like a long bath with play time. I love listening to the noises (mostly torpedoes and bombs) as the bath water becomes the sea.

I know that in no time, we won’t be nagging Helen awake in the morning for school, Mary Claire won’t so willingly join in to play with Lillian, and (this is scary) Henry and Clifford will shave.

As I get older, I am becoming much more aware of how quickly these years of parenting have flown. I just hope I can always remember to enjoy this view from the top.

The view from the top can be oh so very lonely
and you can be missing such a lot that could be yours

–Cat Stevens.

The Mary I’m talking about here is ours. Mary Claire. She’s a young lady who wears her name well.

Newly a member of the rank-and-file of teenagedom (having turned 13 on New Year’s Eve), it’s hard to believe  she’s crossed that threshold. When Helen turned 13 and entered that world four and a half years ago, it was just another step to her adulthood. Helen was born old. Mary Claire on the other hand was a baby for so long. Big juicy dimpled cheeks, a sweet round baby body, and then at around the age of four … the freckles. Those still-present, picture-perfect kisses all across her cheeks and nose. She was and has been the epitome of childhood.

Mary Claire

Mary Claire has played harder, worked harder, laughed harder and (at times) cried harder than all the rest. She has embraced her childhood for all that it is worth. During this past year, we’ve watched her hanging on to it for dear life. Not because she’s afraid to let it go, but she just wants to enjoy what it is. She wants to squeeze out every last drop. She doesn’t do anything halfway.

An example? She received crochet lessons as a birthday gift. Took a “learn to crochet 1” class on a Tuesday, five days later on Saturday another class, the next Saturday another and by the next day (Sunday) had crochet a sweater for Lillian.This past Saturday, she spent the afternoon at a ladies knitting circle making blanket squares for the needy.

Our dear second daughter is an ordered thinker. She’s systematic. Deliberate. Dedicated and just plain delightful. I often say, without her, we’d all fall apart. What 13-year-old calls her mother from a visit with grandparents in Florida to remind her that she has an appointment and should be careful not to schedule any conflicts? She operates the snow blower, the lawn mower, the leaf blower and has been doing her own laundry for years. She keeps track of our library books, loves to cook, follow recipes and directions. She can identify just about any vehicle by make and model. She craves independence and can really handle much more than I can offer (mostly because of the times in which we live).  She saves and plans with the money she earns babysitting and cutting lawns. She looks for challenging opportunities and is always interested in discovering something new. And, I’m quite sure, Mary Claire could actually sell swamp land in Florida.

There’s a little true confession to this story. This remarkable young lady was our toughest toddler (and then some). She gave us a run for our money for years. When I hear parents describe their children as strong-willed, I have to be honest, I laugh and think, “Oh really? Well, you haven’t met Mary Claire.” Through my tears and frustration, I was so hopeful that the strength that she exhibited in sometimes less-than-desirable ways would someday translate into the amazing strength she embodies now.

So with that, I need to thank Mary Claire. Not just for all the help she provides us every day, or for all the wonderful things she already is and is yet to become. I need to thank her for teaching us how to really parent. She taught us the need to be stronger than even the strongest will, making us better and more relaxed parents with the children who have followed. She has taught us how to look at the big picture with each child and to always keep our eye on the prize.

I am happy to say that in our world, one of those precious prizes is a chestnut- haired, strong and compact, freckle-faced 13-year-old beautifully blessed young lady named appropriately for a Queen.

This is a great article from Dr. Ray at Faith and Family Live about children, discipline and apathy. We’ve all been there. (If you haven’t, just wait. It’s comin’.)