Time to catch up on 2 years of blog posts. It’s been a crazy couple of years. And now we’re less than 6 months away from our oldest’s 16th birthday.
15th…
14th…
Category Archives: growing-up
Foster’s Lovey says farewell
Dear Foster,
You went to bed without me tonight. I know you have been saying for awhile now that you don’t need me, that you aren’t a “baby”. I started to think back to the beginning…February 14th, 2004 when we first met. Your mommy was really into those parenting books and one of them must have said something about an “attachment object” so that a new baby would feel a sense of security. I guess that’s why some people call them security blankets. Your mommy called me your lovey. She got you as a baby shower gift and since she didn’t know then if you would be a boy or a girl…you were stuck with my color – light yellow. Although, I don’t really look all that yellow now…ten years (or 3,650 nights later) I look sort-of grayish yellow…all pulled strings and worn places.
I knew your mommy was onto something when you started to sort of pick at the fuzz on me and suck your thumb. I felt pretty happy that I could provide you with comfort when you were hurt, help you relax at nap time and keep you company through the nights. I know there was at least one night that we spent apart, you still had your thumb but I’m sure it wasn’t the same, otherwise your mommy wouldn’t have asked your Grammy to overnight express me back from her house!
We’ve been through some great times together…six years of thumb sucking, sometimes picking at my fuzzy side and sometimes petting my silky side. I know it was hard, giving up that thumb and making all those big transitions you’ve made in life. Man, each time your mommy had another baby you were treated as older and bigger, but when you and I hung out at night, in the quiet of your room, it was like old times…when you were the little one.
Then there were the really scary and sad times…when your Daddy was gone to Columbia, Iraq, Kuwait…the really long trips. The time you broke your collar bone and the time you had a stomach virus so bad you ended up in the hospital. When your Nana died and you didn’t understand it all.
I was glad you shared with me when you gave your life to Jesus, right after praying with your mommy and daddy in the living room…I was so relieved that you had found the true Lovey.
What I appreciate about you the most is that during the day you let me play all kinds of things with you…games like “smack my sister” and when you would wad me up and use me as a bomb. It was fun times buddy, fun times.
I know that when you started reading and praying at night I wasn’t as necessary as before but I was honored to still be a part of your life. You are growing up and I know I need to let you go.
I thank you Foster Owen Grubb for sharing a part of your life with me. I know that your mommy will put me away in a safe place, a place for all those truly, one-of-a-kind special things that have defined your life and hers.
Farewell dear friend,
Foster’s Lovey
you can’t go home again…
The kids and I made a trip to my hometown today to visit with my Mamaw and my Aunt Diane.
I grew up there from the time I was in 2nd grade until I graduated from high school. It’s officially my hometown. I have heard many people over the years talking of their hometowns, the ones they spent their childhoods in, the ones they love to visit, to reflect and share memories.
We live in my husband’s hometown. He’s been telling me stories of his growing up years since we were dating. We’ll be driving down the road with the kids and he’ll start telling them how he remembers wrecking his bike on that steep hill or be able to point out an old friend’s house.
I didn’t leave my hometown on good terms. I had a stormy, dramatic senior year that ended in loss of friendships that had grown since we were 8 years old. Familiar faces, homes and families became distant and silent before I packed the first box to move away to college. I think that is one reason I decided to just shut it out. If someone asked me where I was from my outward reaction was evasive and brief, but my inward reaction was a curling of my lip and a cringing of my soul. I had been wounded deeply by that town.
It turns out, though, that no matter what town you are in, there is going to be hurt and disappointment along with joy and success.
I decided today that I wanted to show my kids where I grew up. My house and neighborhood, the state park where I played and swam and hiked.
Seeing it through their eyes, hearing their excitement and questions, was a healing for my heart. As I drove around the neighborhood, past the seven tall oak trees and the neighborhood pool, I said to them “I was a very blessed little girl. I got to explore these woods, swim in that pool, ride my bike to my friends’ houses. I had the best neighborhood”.
For the first time, in a very long time, it really did feel like my hometown.
30 days of thanks: day 5
Today I’m thankful for laughter. When I was growing up, there was a lot of laughter in my home. Teasing and joking and making light of bad moods is a learned behavior. I’m so thankful that I was taught that and I hope I am passing the skill on to my kids as well. Life doesn’t have to be so serious!
“Never under any circumstances take a sleeping pill and a laxative on the same night”
-Dave Barry
a summary
Sometimes I just have to sit back and take stock of where my kids are. I get so busy that I can’t seem to really take it all in. So here’s my summary of the Grubb Worms:
Jonah…is walking! Just last week I could say he’s starting to walk but I have to admit, since he can make it down our hallway without falling that he’s officially walking. (sniff, sniff) He is my last baby you know. So I won’t be rushing him along. He is sleeping more, most nights, but not last night. Last night, he woke up 4 times. Oh well, good thing I don’t have to heat bottles. He’s also starting to clap his hands and has the cutest laugh. He will make his way to wherever the big kids are just to see what they are playing and squeals with delight when they pay attention to him. His personality seems to be pretty calm and laid back. I will enjoy the next 8 or so months of that until true toddler hood kicks in.
Parker…is potty-trained! Well, he’s doing well during the day. We haven’t started night-training yet. His daytime stats are probably 85% of the time with no accidents. I’ll take it. He still has the most hilarious sense of humor and timing. Not sure how a 3 year old is better at comedic timing than me but he just is. He’s also absolutely adorable with big blue eyes and blond hair and a sweet smile. God’s all about balance, I have learned, because otherwise the screaming and crying that Parker is doing right now anytime anyone disagrees with something he says or does could very well push me over the edge. Instead of parent training classes to deal with 2 to 4 year olds, they should just let us join in on the “dealing with terrorists” training classes. There’s not much difference. Parker is starting to ride a scooter and peddle his trike like a wild man. He’s pretty coordinated but still ends up bloody most days.
Theodore…is learning! Here’s the thing. I love Theodore with all my heart. I don’t want him to misunderstand the things I’ve written down here if he ever does read them. (Although, I could just be making it easier for his future therapist.) I am human so I am struggling right now with how to get through to Theodore. He is so bright, kind, funny, athletic, smart and sensitive. He brings so much to our family. But (you knew there was one) he doesn’t handle disappointment or change well. I don’t feel like he is “just a brat” or “dramatic”. From what I see, and since I’m with him 24/7 I see a lot, I see that he gets blind-sided. Think about it like this, you are driving down a nice quiet street, big trees line the sidewalks, soft music plays on your radio…then you go through a small intersection and a mac truck doing 95 miles an hour plows into your side of the car. Blind-sided. When your car stops spinning and you try and open your eyes you have this “what the ???” feeling. I see it happening with Theodore. He’s ok and then, boom, he’s not. He really has to go through a period of the actual impact, then the spinning, then it all slowing down and coming to a stop before he’s able to see and make sense of the world again. Unfortunately, this looks (and sounds) a little ugly. I’m starting to realize though that I have about as much control in these times as I would if I had been standing on the corner watching you get smashed by a mac truck. I can pray, I can run to your side, I can try to talk to you through the wreckage, I can hold your hand as it all calms down and let you know that you aren’t alone. That even though you were blind-sided, it’s going to be OK. Since this is how he responds to disappointment or change he tends to be anxious not to go through that again. You try driving back down that street without looking both ways a few extra times. No doubt you would probably try to avoid the street and intersection as much as possible. This anxiety to be prepared or avoid being blind-sided can be annoying and frustrating to me, but also to others who don’t understand his motivation behind asking the same thing 462 times. So like I said, Theodore is learning. And so am I.
Katie…is growing! At almost 7 years old, I can see her changing. She tries to be very mature and helpful. She tries to be calm and patient and understanding with her 4 brothers. She seems to enjoy nurturing them and helping me but she’s also just a little girl. She gets her feeling hurt easily (like Mommy) and aches for Daddy’s attention and time. She’s the one who will most likely cry if Daddy can’t be home at night with us. She is starting to talk about wanting to get her ears pierced and buy an American Girl doll. She is starting to read and struggles in that area more than her other subjects. She really fills my life with sweetness and smiles. She’s a beautiful little girl (inside and out) and I pray all the time that I can help keep her that way! She has just started gymnastics and seems to really be having a great time.
Foster…is changing! I can really see him starting to pull away from being a little boy to being an older boy. He has the same needs for attention and time, even for affection, but he is wanting more privacy and alone time. He is so smart, but like me has little patience for busy work. He can sit for literally hours and design and build with Legos. He would also sit for hours of screen time if I let him. He can’t learn new skills fast enough to suit him. From learning to shoot a bow and arrow, to helping us build the bunk beds, to trying new tricks on his bike, he is busy! He’s starting to try and be involved in a more mature dialogue by making “jokes”. So there is training going on right now to help him understand what is funny and what is being a smart-alek. For the most part, he’s very helpful, thoughtful and obedient. He struggles with laziness and selfishness just like the rest of us. He’s starting to be very social and would have time with friends every day if he could.
Whew…I feel better getting all that off my chest. Thanks for listening.
is VBS just glorified babysitting?
4 of our kids have been going to VBS this week. As a homeschool parent there are very few times when I pull up outside of a building, let my kids out and drive away. Last night, after I watched them walk inside and waved to our associate pastor who was standing outside, I actually had this thought…
“Do they think I’m just taking advantage of free babysitting?”
Now, I have been one of the volunteers at VBS and I can honestly say I never had that thought. So I am sure that most of the volunteers don’t feel that way. They are there because they want to create a fun, safe place for kids from the community to hear something they may have never heard before and might not ever hear again. That there is a God who loves them and a Savior who died for them.
I’ve written before about what church was like for me growing up. I think we may have had VBS from time to time but it was such a tiny church with very few children, it wouldn’t have been the type of VBS that my kids have had the privilege of attending. I think at times because VBS has become such a production that a few critics have popped up along the way. Making comments and criticizing the time, effort and cost that it takes to host a great VBS. After all, the kids are just there eating junk food, making crafts, playing and the parents are taking advantage of a break from their kids, right?
Not really. At least not in my case. Personally, I don’t remember the VBS at my church. But I do have a strong, clear memory of attending a VBS when I was around 9 or 10. We lived in a really big neighborhood. Well, it was really big to me then, when I’ve driven back through 20 years later the streets somehow have shrunk and the houses of my friends had been squished much closer to my childhood home. I’m not sure how that happens, are you? Anyway, I was friends with a little girl whose family lived a few streets away from mine. They attended one of the biggest churches in my hometown and for some reason had ended up hosting a VBS in their “huge” backyard.
I was invited and spent a few summer nights getting bit by mosquitoes, eating popsicles, playing games, making crafts and I’m sure listening to some Bible stories. I don’t actually remember that part. But what I do remember is that I made this scroll. It wasn’t paper, I’m not sure what material it was on, but someone had painted the verse John 3:16 on except it looked like this:
For God so loved ______________
that He gave His only begotten Son,
that whosoever believes in Him
should not perish
but have everlasting life.
And in that blank we painted our names. Just another VBS craft. A little bit like the bag fulls my kids brought home last night. The difference is I kept mine. For years. It hung in my room until I left for college. It was always there, silent but powerful.
A reminder that God so loved ANNETTE.
So, no VBS is NOT just glorified babysitting and a drain on a church budget. It’s critical.
You never know just how critical it could be for some child who won’t hear about Jesus again until next year’s VBS.
free-range parenting
Since becoming a parent a little over 8 years ago, I have read numerous articles and books on how to be a successful parent. My definition of successful parenting is that we don’t screw our kids up so badly that they have to spend years in therapy.
Of course, I also would love for them to dedicate their lives to God and serving others, have happy families of their own, have lucrative, fulfilling careers and a few exciting, rewarding hobbies. But I try to set the bar low, so then if they have any or all of those things in their future, I can be pleasantly surprised. 
There are some new trends and catch phrases in parenting these days and I recently read this one that has to do with “free-range parenting”.
As I read, I kept thinking that while the idea may seem “new” it’s actually the way parents use to parent. The main idea behind free-range parenting is you don’t keep your kids under your watchful eye ALL the time. Since we homeschool and I am with my kids 24/7, I try to make a concerted effort to get away from them as much as I can. That sounds pretty bad, but what I mean is that when I send them out to the backyard to play I try to stay out of their play as much as possible.
It isn’t healthy or necessary for me to be correcting every ugly thing they may do to one another as siblings or even to their neighbor friends. Kids do need the time and space to learn about relationships on their own. I have been letting my 8 year old climb a fence to play with our neighbors, who have a pool and a creek and lots of land to roam on, since he was 7 years old. I usually give him a watch and time to be back. He has always been back on time and that has given him a chance to earn my trust. Believe it or not, I have never even seen this neighbors property past their home. I haven’t driven down the long driveway to check out the pool, the chicken coop, the creek and the woods.
Are there things that could go wrong when Foster visits the neighbors? Of course, he could wreck his bike (that he mostly rides with no helmet) or he could drown in the pool. But I have to trust that he is making good choices and that God is caring for him. He has been hurt emotionally while out of my sight. But I realize that I can’t protect my kids from every uncomfortable thing in their lives. They have to have some space, so they can learn to navigate life on their own.
To me, free-range parenting doesn’t mean you let your kids run wild and never address negative behaviors, it means you let some of the consequences come naturally. If you punch your friend in the gut, you might get punched back. If you speak hatefully to your sibling, they probably won’t share their treat with you.
I’m not raising little robots who only know how to behave when I am around and controlling the situation. I am raising little people, who have free will and need a chance to exercise it.
What types of freedoms do you give your young children?
Monday Memory : 1989
I am fairly sure I was 13 in this picture, making it the end of my 8th grade year. I don’t remember exactly how old I was but I do remember exactly what my friends and I were doing. We always poured over those teen magazines that were full of “before and after” pictures. Since most of us were dealing with acne, braces, raging hormones and insecurities we decided that we would prove that if we took “before and after” pictures that we would end up looking like superstars, too. We took “before” pictures of ourselves with no smile, no make-up, an ugly shirt, no jewelry and flat, uncurled, hairspray-less hair. Then we spent a couple of hours putting on make-up, nice clothes, curling and spraying our hair A LOT, then smiled huge smiles for the “after” shot. I don’t have the “before” picture. Maybe it was so bad I burned it, I don’t really remember that part.
Turns out we still just looked like our awkward 13 year old selves. Not superstars. Not anyone who would make River Phoenix turn his head anyway.
Mother Lion
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| Foster age 7 (at Aunt Lele’s house) |
For January, we have had a few really warm days this week. My kids LOVE playing outside. Foster has had 2 of his neighbor friends come over and jump on the trampoline and wrestle and chase and do all that fun boy stuff with him the past couple of days. It makes me really happy to see him happy, hanging out with his friends. But today, when we got in the van, he started to tell me that his friends had been calling him names, being really rough with punches, spit on him, kept his shoes from him after I told him to get ready to go, and blocked him from coming in the house. He is not a tattle-tale kind of kid. So when his lip was quivering and his eyes starting to water, I knew it had to have been bad. I felt like a mother lion. All of a sudden I had this surge of anger, I wanted to go over and let those boys have it. I tried to remain calm and asked Foster if he would mind if I called their mom. Surprisingly, he said that he thought I should. I told him they need a chance to teach them not to act like that. I hurt for him, they are 2 of his closest buddies. The phone call was well-received.
When I took Katie to a all girl birthday party this evening I remembered another “mother lion” moment in my past. I was on the other end of things though.
When I was in middle school I had a TON of slumber parties. I’m not sure why my parents indulged me with them, maybe because my brother hadn’t come along yet and I was still an only child. They would allow me to invite 8-12 girls at a time! I was not in the “popular” crowd in middle school. I was, however, only one level lower, which meant that I could still invite the popular girls and they would come as their own clique. I also invited girls who were actually my friends, some from my huge neighborhood or from my classes. One particular party, the “popular” girls got to my house and asked if a girl named Katie would be there. I told them yes. The problem was they didn’t like her. The next 15 minutes was a blur, it all happened so fast. The doorbell rings and one of the girls answers the door. Katie is there. The girl yells at Katie “THERE’S NO PARTY HERE! GO HOME!” laughs, and shuts the door in her face. Just a few minutes later the doorbell rings again and I answer, wanting to tell Katie that I am sorry and explain what happened. Well, it wasn’t Katie. It was her mom. She started yelling at me and the main thing I will always remember is her saying “I AM LIKE A MOTHER LION WHEN IT COMES TO MY CHILD.” I thought then that I understood what she meant. I didn’t. Not then. But I do now.
All the Little Grubbs 