Pastor’s Kid

My Aunt Patti said last night, "You’re not a real mother until your child embarrasses you."  I’ve been a mom since the "I" incident with the Eye Patch Lady.  In fact, I’ve probably been a mom since the first time Isaac’s diaper leaked all over my clothes.  Either way, here’s the latest event that caused me to be a "real mother".

Isaac graciously was checked in at church for eight of the ten Christmas Eve services.  He REALLY knows the story about baby Jesus now…  I picked him up after the sixth service the other day and he runs up to me saying, "Mommy!!!!  I hit someone."  With a big smile on his face… I said, "You hit someone?!" "Yah," he says, same big smile on his face.  "Did you sit in a Naughty Chair?"  "No."  "Well then we’ll sit in a Naughty Chair at home," I say loud enough for the volunteers to hear.  After getting our stuff together I approach one of the volunteers and let her know that I would like them to give Isaac a time out when he does something as unacceptable as hitting someone.  The volunteer says, "I was going to ask you about that, because I didn’t see him hit anyone today, but I know he has in the past."  I was mortified!!!  I just wanted to cry for the next whole day…  My kid has always been the best behaved and smartest kid.  I just don’t know what to do when he’s not under my care and acting up like that…

Anyway, so I told (the other) Aunt Patti (who is in charge of all Kidz ministries) about the incident and asked her to let every volunteer in his class know that he needs time outs when things like that happen.  She said, "Well I will definitely follow up on that.  We don’t want to show any special treatment to your kids."  That didn’t even occur to me.  I hope that they always treat Isaac the same, if not more strictly because he is the youth pastor’s kid.   We all know the stereotypical Pastor’s KidJitcrunch
  who is the worst behaved in the church.  God, I pray that won’t be our kids.

To Kill a Mockingbird

Wer_die_nachtigallatticus_und_scout
"Now that I was compelled to think about it, reading was something that just came to me, as learning to fasten the seat of my union suit without looking around, or achieving two bows from a snarl of shoelaces.  I could not remember when the lines above Atticus’s moving finger separated into words, but I had stared at them all the evenings in my memory, listening to the news of the day, Bills To Be Enacted into Laws, the diaries of Lorenzo Dow– anything Atticus happened to be reading when I crawled into his lap every night.  Until I feared I would lose it, I never loved to read.  One does not love breathing."

It was as I read this very chapter, that Isaac came down from his nap and curled up in my lap.  He sat there for a good 20 minutes without stirring as I read Scout’s words aloud.