Now that Christmas is over (and we have finally taken down our tree) we are getting back into a more scheduled lifestyle. Kathy has hit the homeschooling trail hard, and I’ve re-established Special Days with each of the kids. Strangely, most of them have come to prefer that I snuggle down on Big Blue (our new double recliner) and read to them, preferably with ice cream at the end of the hour. I recently started reading The Hobbit to Joshua and All Creatures Great and Small to Rachel. David and Sarah gather up a huge stack of books … only Daniel holds firm as a computer game player.
I was very impressed with little Sarah last week by the way she handled David’s Special Day. Her day is on Friday, and when Tuesday rolls around (David’s day) it seems to her to be about time for another day of her own. It is very hard for her to accept that I am reading to David and not to her. Traditionally I exclude the other children from whatever activity I am doing with the ‘special’ child, but David graciously allows Sarah to listen when I read him books … although he makes it clear that she may not sit between us. When it came time to have ice cream, Sarah had a hard time. I told her that it was not her Special Day and that the ice cream was only for David (and, of course, me). I reminded Sarah that her Special Day was on Friday and that she and I could have ice cream then. (Note that Special Days come, and Special Days go, but I get ice cream every weekday. I wonder who came up with that plan?) I’m thinking about marketing it as a new best-selling eating program — maybe I’ll call it the Fat Beach Diet?
Sarah actually handled it very well. She went and reported to Kathy with a sad face that the ice cream was only for David and Daddy. Then she came back and sat on the love seat and watched us eat. I’ve known a few two-year-olds in my time, and I can’t think of many that would handle such a thing without fussing and ruining the time for everyone involved … I was very proud of her character. After waiting a few moments to ensure that she was not about to launch into a tirade, I gave her the rest of my ice cream. I wonder if God sometimes waits to see how I will react to hardship before he rewards or blesses me? How much ice cream have I missed in my tantrums, and was any of it double chocolate chunk? Reflections of this sort can keep one awake nights.