Word Wednesday: Black Walnuts

We’ve yet to crack them open . . . the black walnuts.

I know from this video it is going to be a messy process.  However, when the beloved Sunday school/Awana teachers mention anything, Mr. Smackdown instantly grabs hold of the idea.

We are homeschoolers.  They want to learn, I shall teach. 

I’d like to call a sub in for “opening” day, though.

I will be brave.  I’m a little scared of what lurks inside these walnuts.  Namely the black pigment . . . that can and will seek to dye my hands.

I will wear gloves.  Perhaps three pairs thick.

I really thought the video would dissuade them.  Nope.  We ended up watching approximately five . . . and with each one they became even more enamored with the idea of harvesting our own walnuts.

They don’t even like walnuts.

I do.

Perhaps they will learn.  There is something to be said about harvesting your own food.

Thanks, Pat and Al!

Our Weekend(s) Project

Being married to an engineer has its perks.

Like surveying equipment.

For small home improvement projects,

such as designing and constructing a drainage ditch.

So really . . . anytime we do something around the house . . .

the kids and I almost always learn something . . .

(you are viewing a theodolite set on a tripod)

Like how you have to rock the meter stick back and forth (I think this is called a beacon). And take the average of the lowest and highest reading.

You learn how to drive an excavator. (Yes, I drove ours for a short distance.)

And quickly realize that they are touchy little guys!

You learn about the flow of water.  And how to divert it.  Divert its habits.  Drive it away from the house.

All so that you can save your basement from flooding.

Spend time with your kids.

And use your money wisely.  Because sometimes you can do it yourself.

But you have to make sacrifices.  Those sacrifices can mean a better vacation next year . . . or daddy working less at the office . . . or not going into debt. 

Thank you Engineer.  You rock.  Even when you are using a diesel excavator at 10:30 PM . . . though I don’t think the neighbors appreciated your handyman expertise at such an hour.

But you acquired hero status in the eyes of your sons.

And a special thanks to Papa for spending the day with us . . .

. . . for Mama watching Gabey and providing some birthday dinner. . .

and lastly, to Naomi . . . for sleeping so well.

Alas . . . we aren’t finished, though. 

There is more dirt to move, gutters to hang (with help from an expert), walls to be cleaned, drywall to be removed and rehung (also with some help), carpeting to be ripped up, and new to follow in its footsteps.

Don’t get mad. Take a picture.

Allow my title to express my sentiments.  A certain older brother gave a certain younger brother a marker.  Even though said younger brother is ONLY supposed to have markers under adult supervision. 

It is a simple rule that we all know in our family, but not all of us apparently follow.

Don’t get me wrong. 

I like the color red.

Red looks good on a Gerber Daisy.

Just not on my two year old. 

Who I found happily coloring his face and ears in the school room shortly after dinner tonight.

And it WASN’T a washable marker.

A 500 Piece Puzzle and a Stupid McDonald's Toy

The last time I suspended reason and went to a fast food joint, I believe it provided a valuable learning lesson. Today was no exception.

It began with a conversation where I ended up tongue tied before an innocent Mr. Smackdown.

"Why are we going to McDonald's? Isn't that the bad restaurant? Why would you be taking me to a place that is bad for me?"

Gulp.

"Ummm . . . we are going because it is raining and so that you can play with your friends. The Bible doesn't say that McDonald's is bad. So we won't be sinning by going. McDonald's just doesn't have food choices that make our body function at its best. I can bring your lunch or we can make a wise decision about what you eat."

"OK, Mommy. Bring a little bit of fruit and I will eat the rest of my lunch there. Will Matthew be there to play?"

The conversation ended as quickly as it began. But I saw the influence I have on my children. They watch. They listen. They learn. They question. Then try and figure out their moral compass through my life.

Fast forward. Play. Lunch. New toy (stupid ball--I have decided all Happy Meal toys are of the devil. Just kidding. Well . . . kind of!) Play. Time to go. Put shoes on.

Drop stupid ball. Ball rolls into an unreachable location.

I swear the whole restaurant went into a muffled silence as I heard the evil toy drop out of Mr. Me-Too's hands in slow motion and roll under the play area. I saw my body propel itself forward, silently screaming "Noooooooooooooooooooooooo!"

Too late. Very unhappy three year old. Positively no self control was anywhere to be found. No ball. Hard lesson. Going home. Miserable car ride. Nap time.

As the two younger boys entered the world of dreams, Mr. Smackdown asked me to help him launch his new 500 piece puzzle. Inwardly I groaned. I honestly wanted to be alone. I was wiped from remaining mostly calm and self-controlled with my hostile, desperately-seeking-ball, little boy.

But being a professional mom, I realized that the adult thing to do was to show my eldest some love and help him sort through all 500 pieces to find the straight edges.


Isn't that what a mom does in real life? We set boundaries for our children, morale standards by which they can live their life. We have to help them sort though all of their thoughts, others actions, countless words--in order to grasp reality, to find facts, to discover their relationship with God.

But learning how to interact with the world can be difficult.


Can you find the one straight piece that I placed in the picture?

And our life, the life that God has planned for us, can be derailed . . . all for a ball. A stupid ball made in China that will be forgotten about in next week's trash. All for an idol.


Moms, we have big jobs. Important jobs. Help your child figure out life. Take that time, even though it takes energy. Find the straight edges of their puzzle, of their life. Take the time to read the Bible to them . . . to choose straight puzzle pieces through the word of God in a mismatched world that contains more than 500 choices.