{"id":24,"date":"2015-05-05T16:55:00","date_gmt":"2015-05-05T16:55:00","guid":{"rendered":""},"modified":"2016-04-01T18:14:52","modified_gmt":"2016-04-01T18:14:52","slug":"joy-and-gray-hair","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/katiepolski.com\/?p=24","title":{"rendered":"Joy and Gray Hair"},"content":{"rendered":"

My youngest daughter, Lily, is almost seven years old. \u00a0My youngest daughter has the middle name Joy. My youngest daughter has given me my first gray hairs.<\/p>\n

There was a mild panic in my bathroom when I spotted the gray hair. \u00a0There were many possible ways of dealing with the situation, like quoting Proverbs 16:31 to myself: \u00a0“Gray hair is a crown of splendor…” But I chose a less spiritually inclined response: I stomped my foot and yelled, “Lily.”<\/p>\n

God has blessed us with a unique kiddo in my youngest, but I know there had to have been a snicker when He blessed me with a child who would give me as much of a run for my money as I did for my own parents.<\/p>\n

I’ve heard that there is such a thing as a laid back third child. \u00a0That kid, much like my youngest sister was, who is content to listen to their older brothers and sisters rather than fight to speak over them. That kid who you just don’t know is there unless you call out their name. \u00a0I’ve heard that these kinds exist.<\/p>\n

But this does not describe my youngest.<\/p>\n

This describes my youngest:
\n\"lily's<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>The table she broke apart doing nap time. \u00a0 Because what else is a child to do during nap time at age two, duh.<\/p>\n

And this:<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\"lily<\/div>\n
\"\"<\/a>
\n“Making pizza,” on her own accord, and dressed in a blanket. \u00a0Because what else are you supposed to wear when making pizza, duh.<\/p>\n

And then there is this gem:<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\"lily<\/div>\n
\"\"<\/a><\/div>\n

Shopping around right before I over heard this conversation between another mother and her young daughter: \u00a0“Mom, can I go under the cart like that girl?”<\/p>\n

“No, honey. \u00a0The bottom of the cart is for groceries not for little girls.”<\/p>\n

And so, I’ll chalk that one up to a mom error. \u00a0Because apparently the bottom of carts aren’t for little girls. \u00a0Geez.<\/p>\n

But then, there is this picture that I discovered after a tough day with my youngest:<\/p>\n

\"mean<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/div>\n
Let me interpret: \u00a0“To\u00a0Mom\u00a0<\/span>Kit Love Lily. \u00a0Thank you for being my friend.” \u00a0And the two girls are labeled “me” and “Mom<\/span>\u00a0Kit.” \u00a0Yup.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
It’s the incessant questions. \u00a0I try to be patient with them, but when they start as soon as I wake her up in the morning, I know it’s going to be a rough one:<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Mom, why in the world are you waking me up?\u00a0<\/i><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Because you have school.<\/i>\u00a0\u00a0Like we haven’t done this since September<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
It’s just like. \u00a0WHY. \u00a0I mean WHY do I have to go to school. \u00a0I mean they just make me work, work, work, and that’s all I do is work! \u00a0<\/i><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/i><\/div>\n
So, I’m sure there is a mature way to deal with this sort of morning conversation, but I’m still working on maturing, and so I simply told lily she had five minutes to get dressed for school, and if she didn’t get dressed in five minutes, she would stay home with me and I would SHOW her what work really is.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
It’s just that I don’t get why I have to go to school. \u00a0It’s just that I don’t get it. \u00a0Not. At. All! \u00a0<\/i><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/i><\/div>\n
Seriously? \u00a0And she was still in bed whilst talking. \u00a0You see, she has a bunk bed, so I can’t just pull her out (I’ve considered all the different ways this is possible and have concluded that all my various tactics would seriously injure one of us). \u00a0Therefore, she remained in bed.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
And, of course, we were late getting out the door for school. \u00a0Somehow on the mornings my husband drives, he manages to get them all in the car and out the door with plenty of time to spare. \u00a0This is not one of my spiritual gifts. \u00a0So, while I know I share in the fault, on this particular morning I reminded my youngest that because she did not get out of bed, we were now going to be late.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
That resulted in a full body sprawl across the kitchen floor: \u00a0“But I’m the child of the day at school!” \u00a0<\/i><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/i><\/div>\n
“And you will still be child of the day when you get to school.”<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
“But I’m never going to get there now because you’re driving and then I’ll never be child of the day again because I’m going to be late. \u00a0Always when you drive we’re late!” \u00a0<\/i><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/i><\/div>\n
Oh my word. \u00a0The drama could win an Oscar. \u00a0I let the commentary on my driving roll and peeled her off the floor. \u00a0Our late drive was a non stop commentary from our youngest alone. \u00a0And our drive, after dropping off my oldest, is a good forty-five minutes. \u00a0And I kid you not when I say she filled each minute with words.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
I have no idea what all she said; survival calls for me to tune some of it out. \u00a0I do know she about did in my two oldest, along with their mother, and I do recall a particular line of questions (complaints) regarding the smoothie I drink:<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Mom, I just don’t get why you drink those gross things. \u00a0It’s like eating grass or dirt or something. MOM! They are so gross that they make me want to puke. \u00a0MOM! I mean every time I see that smoothie, I just want to puke. \u00a0Mom, if I puke in the car, what would you have to do? \u00a0Like would we get a new car? \u00a0MOM! Can I puke in the car so we can get a new car? \u00a0But what if I puked on my clothes, then what would I wear to school? \u00a0MOM! \u00a0I mean what would I wear? \u00a0I don’t even know if I puked on my shoes. \u00a0Then I wouldn’t even have shoes. \u00a0MOM! \u00a0But, then would I have to go to school? \u00a0MOM! \u00a0They don’t let kids go to school when they don’t have shoes. \u00a0MOM! \u00a0I mean, do they? \u00a0What about kids in those other countries? \u00a0You know the ones with EBOLA? \u00a0MOM! \u00a0Do they have to wear shoes? \u00a0Do kids with EBOLA puke too? \u00a0 I just hate that smoothie so much. \u00a0MOM! \u00a0<\/i><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/i><\/div>\n
To say I was undone when I dropped her off would be an understatement. \u00a0I called my husband at work after listening to an afternoon commentary on what songs are good and what songs are bad and why we can’t just sing Taylor Swift in church sometimes. \u00a0I told him she had successfully used up my capacity to listen to words. \u00a0I had no words left to hear from anyone. \u00a0Not my oldest, not my son, and not my poor husband. \u00a0I just needed him to understand that if words were directed my way that evening, I would not hear any of them. \u00a0Lily had used up my ability to process words.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
He got it. \u00a0But she didn’t get it. \u00a0The night unfolded in a less than peaceful way after I found doll hair under her dresser as well as several other treasures from her brother and sister’s room. \u00a0“But I was hiding them to wrap them up for them for gifts!” \u00a0<\/i>Nice try. \u00a0And, of course, after being in trouble, she “rearranged” her art picture, posted above, and left it outside her door for me.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
And the next days morning conversation went something like this: \u00a0“Mom, today is going to be a good day, right mom? \u00a0Mom, you were in such a sour mood last night. \u00a0Like the sourest I’ve ever seen. \u00a0But I think you’re better today, right mom? MOM!” \u00a0<\/i><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/i><\/div>\n
It just takes me a few minutes to answer right away in the morning. \u00a0It’s a firewall of questions that just take me a minute.<\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/i><\/div>\n
But eventually Lily and I had a talk. \u00a0We talked about her middle name: Joy. \u00a0I told her that she is a delight to me, and even when we have really bad days together, she’s still a Joy. Just like her middle name.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Oh, so it’s like you have to decide on joy. \u00a0Like today…I’ll be joyful today! \u00a0<\/i><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/i><\/div>\n
Out of the mouths of babes. \u00a0Decide on joy<\/i>. \u00a0I think she’s right. \u00a0I think there’s a lot of rather difficult days here on earth, but man, oh, man, there is no doubt that if we are in Christ, we can choose joy, no matter what the circumstance. \u00a0No matter what <\/i>the circumstance: \u00a0A kid who won’t listen, a rambunctious toddler, a pile of bills, a terminal illness, or even a dreadful disease. \u00a0Lily’s right: \u00a0I can decide on joy. \u00a0It doesn’t make the difficult go away, but it certainly changes my perspective. And sometimes it’s all about perspective.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Lily ran through the common area (ran) in the care center where my mom lives yesterday. \u00a0It was like watching a video game where the goal is for the a kid to make it to the room without running into wheel chairs – but unfortunately it was real life. \u00a0She jumped right on the hospital like chair and began using the remote to lift herself up and down. \u00a0And then the chair literally catapulted her out. And then it was the chair’s fault and thus began the commentary on why Ya Ya needs to get a new chair and why everything was wrong with everything. \u00a0And thus the new gray hair. \u00a0It has been a long time coming.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Today, my friends, I choose joy. \u00a0In the midst of the gray hair.<\/div>\n
\"lily<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\"\"<\/a>Lord, You have chosen me and redeemed me, crowned me with love and compassion. \u00a0I can do nothing less than overflow with joy at Your great love for me, for those I love, and for the world. \u00a0<\/i><\/div>\n
Our Daily Bread<\/i><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/i><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/i><\/div>\n
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 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

My youngest daughter, Lily, is almost seven years old. \u00a0My youngest daughter has the middle name Joy. My youngest daughter … <\/p>\n

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