The Minivan Years Read online

  The second impact of family nights is perhaps even more significant than the first. Twenty to sixty minutes of formal fun and instruction can set up countless opportunities for informal reinforcement. These informal impression points do not have to be created, they just happen—at the dinner table, while riding in the car, while watching television, or any other parent/child time together. Once we have formally discussed a given family night topic, we naturally refer to those principles during the routine dialogues of everyday life.

  I wasn’t raised in a Christian family. But my husband grew up in the home of a Baptist deacon. Back then, parents were encouraged to invest in their children’s spiritual development through a method called “family devotions.” Motivated by guilt from the pastor’s annual sermon on fathers taking spiritual leadership at home, Kurt’s father did as he was “admonished.” So little Kurt sat between his siblings for a ritual that always resulted in his becoming bored or getting scolded. Of course, it was all for his own good. But to a seven-year-old squirming ball of energy, the supposed benefits weren’t obvious. Given the option, Kurt would have chosen a trip to the dentist over the routine of family devotions.

  In their most honest moments, Kurt’s parents had to agree. His dad would much rather watch the ball game. But guilt compelled him to force the kids to sit through his awkward presentation of a Bible lesson and prayer. Like most dads, he probably felt inadequate, ill-equipped, and embarrassed. It’s unlikely this is what the Lord had in mind when He commanded us to “teach my commands to your children.”

  That’s why we became excited about family nights as an alternative method of spiritual training in our home. And while we haven’t always been consistent—averaging every second or third week despite scheduling one every week—over ten years our children have probably experienced a hundred different impression points that would not otherwise have occurred. Family night quickly became their favorite night of the week. In fact, we often heard them ask several times per week,“Can we have family night tonight?” Music to Dad’s and Mom’s ears!

  * * *

  Mini-Tip

  START SOMEWHERE

  Pull out your calendar and choose a day in the next two weeks when you will do something for your first family night. It can be as simple or complex as you want to make it, and there are many ideas available from sources like www.heritagebuilders.com. If your husband is hesitant or creativity challenged, go ahead and gather the necessary materials and plan the activities—allowing him to enter into the fun without pressure. They key is to get started, partnering with your husband on some kind of intentional effort to pass your beliefs to the kids.

  CHAPTER 10

  Mini-Choices

  DECIPHERING UNCERTAIN TIMES

  Let’s be honest. We all use the space between our box spring and floor as storage. By my best estimate it had been at least two years since I had last looked under my bed. Like an archaeologist piecing together one unearthed shard after another, I approximated the date by dragging every last dust-laden item out from beneath our bed. It occurred during one of my organize-the-unseen obsessions—those rare days when I open neglected sock drawers, reorganize the board game closet, and wash the little grease catcher screen above the stove. I got like that around the time each baby came, somewhere between packing the “it could be any time now” overnight bag and my water breaking. It must be part of the nesting instinct. This instance had been triggered by discussions of a possible move. You can’t sell a house with clutter under the beds because, well, for the same reason you want your kids wearing clean underwear in case they get in a car accident and are rushed to the hospital.

  Anyway, I estimated it had been several years since I’d last cleaned under the bed, when I retrieved a blue, three-ring notebook filled with dozens of plastic protector sheets. Even before opening the cover I knew I had found a long-forgotten treasure; Shaun’s Pokémon collection, circa 1999–2003.

  At first I smiled. Then I grimaced, recalling the many conflicts surrounding that silly set of cards.

  The Pokémon phenomenon hit the United States about the same time my second son hit third grade. As I understand, they had been wildly popular in Japan prior to being introduced here. Suddenly, with no advance warning to unsuspecting moms, we were confronted with something they didn’t even hint at in What to Expect When You’re Expecting. I joined thousands of other moms, frantically trying to figure out why our boys were suddenly obsessed with collecting cards that had demonic-looking cartoon characters on them with “special powers” to kill one another. On one hand, they might be a seductive tool luring our precious children into the waiting arms of evil itself! On the other hand, they might be innocent fun—sort of the new version of marbles. Like I said, What to Expect said nothing about it, so who knew?

  I recall reading articles at the time, expressing concern about possible cultic influences behind the game. Fearing the worst, some of the moms at church forbade their kids to buy the cards. Lacking the time to investigate the whole phenomenon, I decided to join them. Better safe than sorry, I figured.

  But then Shaun began applying the full-court press. He begged, using those sad I’m the only kid on the planet who can’t have Pokémon cards eyes to wear me down. What mother can stand the thought of her son being the only kid on the planet without a toy? I broke down, promising Shaun that I would ask his father to buy a pack of cards to try them out himself. If Dad considered the cards harmless fun, all would be well. Kurt played a few rounds and despite a few disturbing images on several cards, he decided that it seemed like a cross between marbles and baseball trading cards. So we let Shaun buy a few packs with his own money and one stipulation: Mom and Dad would scan each deck to remove any characters we considered too gruesome or gross for young kids. Before we knew it, the blue notebook with plastic protector sheets became essential to keep track of the growing collection.

  For a while Pokémon cards became a hot trading commodity. Some of the rarest cards could be resold at hobby and trading shops for a hundred dollars or more. Of course, one had to buy a thousand three-dollar-per-pack sets in order to find one of those hundred-dollar cards. Still, the possibility inspired millions of kids—my own included—to justify their investment.

  The good news about what I now refer to as the Pokémon era was that it didn’t last forever. The bad news is that, as we suspected, the craze died down before Shaun found a single valuable card. He eventually lost interest but not before amassing a worthless collection now on the scrap heap of childhood—causing me to wonder why I hadn’t trusted my initial gut instinct instead of allowing such a silly, unproductive distraction.

  Should I have an epidural or endure the pain of natural childbirth?

  Should I nurse or bottle-feed?

  Should I let the baby cry herself to sleep so she’ll rest or intervene to avoid emotional trauma?

  Should I use time-out or discipline by spanking?

  Shall I potty train at two or wait until three?

  Should I let him start kindergarten after his fifth birthday or wait until he is six?

  These are just a few of the thousands of questions every mom faces in the early days of parenthood. They highlight the never-ending, sometimes perplexing options that confront us as we seek to balance a child’s immediate demands or desires with what we think, or hope, will be in his best long-term interest.

  Seeking advice provides some help. But more often than not, you get conflicting opinions from equally trusted sources. So what’s a mother to do?

  Adding complexity to the process, some questions come at us that have no precedent in the annals of mommyville council because they haven’t existed before. The only thing a woman who served as one of my mentors said about Pokémon cards was “What are Pokémon cards?” Not much help.

  The same thing happened with the Harry Potter phenomenon. Kyle fit squarely into the target age for that series when the first title hit nearly every boy’s bookshelf in the English-speaking world. An
avid reader, Kyle wanted to read Harry’s magical adventures. Because the series was brand-new, I couldn’t seek advice from those who had gone before. So we had to read the books ourselves to determine whether or not they would be appropriate for Kyle. Not exactly something we had time to do but necessary nonetheless.

  And then came Troy, our sports nut. He wants to play (and is quite good at) every athletic game known to man. Do I let him enroll in YMCA basketball and hockey during the same season, or do I insist he pick one sport at a time? One adviser suggests strict limitations; another recommends maximizing his opportunities.

  Nicole introduced a whole new set of questions. What about those Barbie dolls? Do they affirm a girl’s interest in all things feminine, or do they make her think an impossibly proportioned body is the only acceptable shape? Again, it depends upon who you ask.

  I suppose it is the curse of every mother to endure such uncertain times. No book will cover every possible topic. No mentor will have experienced every possible scenario. No Oprah, Dr. Phil, or Dr. Dobson show will have discussed every possible decision you must make. The tension between what a child wants and what he or she needs will always exist, putting us in the unenviable position of needing to use our best judgment, make a partially informed decision, or—when all else fails—hope for a lucky guess! One way or another, however, choices must be made.

  So I have one bit of advice I wish I had absorbed when I first entered motherhood. It is not necessarily profound, and it won’t likely change which direction I choose in any given situation. But I now consider it among the best advice I’ve ever received.

  Relax! We must learn to worry less and trust our instincts more. After all, God has placed that child in your care because He trusts you to make good decisions. Not that you will be perfect in every choice. But you are the perfect mommy for your child. I know, because God chose you for his or her protection, nurture, and training.

  And, confusing as they may be, He also chose you to make the occasional decision about allowing Pokémon, Harry Potter, and Barbie into your home. And if you make a different choice from other moms, so be it. As long as you do so with your child’s best interests at heart, I think you’ll come pretty close most of the time to the right decision.

  And even if you don’t, there is always room under the bed for another childhood collection that ended up being a waste of time and money but did your child no permanent damage!

  * * *

  Mini-Tip

  GO WITH YOUR GUT

  When faced with a decision that includes a variety of options for your child, do your best to gather wisdom from trusted mentors and friends. Take the time to do whatever research you can to learn the pros and the cons of each possibility and spend some time talking to God in prayer. Stir those ingredients into your decision stew and then go with your gut and trust your instincts when it comes to your child’s best interests. It does no good to let various options and differing opinions paralyze you.

  CHAPTER 11

  Mini-Charms

  CELEBRATING FEMININE TIMES

  Nicole is all girl, through and through. Just walk into her bedroom and you’ll see what I mean. It’s decorated in pink, and contains dozens of stuffed animals. All of them, even Winnie-the-Pooh, have been given a girl’s name. In her closet hangs dozens of frilly dresses that, when she is given the choice, trump any pair of shorts and shirt I could quickly pull from her drawer. And of course she must also wear matching shoes and hair clip.

  Nicole owns a large collection of dolls with accessories and has several dress-up costumes that transform her into most of the Disney princess characters, a fairy with wings and wand, a cheerleader with pom-poms, or even Little Red Riding Hood. Her toy box contains none of the boys’ former playthings—no toy spiders or snakes, baseballs, or hockey equipment. Rather than a solid blue or black backpack like those her brothers carry, Nicole totes a Strawberry Shortcake bag. We couldn’t even hand down one of the boys’ bicycles. Hers is pink with streamers, not red with flames.

  Kyle, Shaun, and Troy all participated in YMCA soccer, basketball, and other sports. Nicole, on the other hand, took gymnastics and dance lessons. She loves to pirouette around the house to whatever music happens to be playing at the time—often wearing tights and ballerina tutu.

  Needless to say, Nicole brought a whole different culture to the Bruner parenting experience. After three boys, we thought we had the process down cold. We didn’t. But we couldn’t be more grateful. I recall the excitement we felt when the ultrasound technician told us we were having a girl.

  “You mean you think we’re having a girl,” Kurt responded. After three boys, the odds were not in our favor. “I’ll believe it,” Kurt continued, “when I don’t see it!”

  We had been half protecting ourselves during the months leading up to Nicole’s birth. “We’d love to have a girl,” we told ourselves, “but would be just as excited with another little boy.” But when Nicole entered the world without “it,” we realized just how much we had wanted a girl after all. I wept in gratitude to God for giving me a female ally in an otherwise masculine domain.

  And I do mean masculine. When Troy was four years old his preschool teacher decided to teach the kids a dance to perform for the parents. Big mistake! As he watched the dainty moves Miss Deb expected him to mimic, Troy perceived a conspiracy to undermine his manhood. So he rebelled, throwing a tantrum of self defense that nearly got him expelled from snack time.

  As much as Nicole is all girl, Troy is even more all boy. That’s why a recent experience caught me by surprise. Seated beside each other on the couch one evening, Troy scooted close. He’s never been much of a cuddler, so I enjoyed the gentle expression of affection from my otherwise rough and rugged eight-year-old.

  “I love you, Mommy.” He melted my heart.

  “I love you, too, sweetheart,” I replied.

  He continued, in part childish ramblings, part love sonnet. “I love your hair, your smell, and the pretty clothes you wear.” He smiled a satisfied smile, like a teenager relaxing after mustering the courage to express his affection for the cute girl.

  Troy is the last boy you would expect to appreciate feminine charm and beauty. But even he couldn’t help expressing an admiration he himself couldn’t understand at so young an age. All he knew is that Mommy is more appealing than Daddy. She has nicer hair, smells better, and wears prettier clothes. He doesn’t know why, but he likes that in a woman.

  Apparently, so does Shaun. I remember the time he announced that I was the “prettiest mom in the world.” Touched by his childish admiration, I thanked him for such a sweet comment. Concerned that I thought his compliment mere flattery, he continued, “No, I mean it. I’ve seen a lot of them!”

  Kyle also seems drawn to his mom’s feminine charms, even if he finds himself confused by Dad’s attraction to the same. He especially didn’t understand the way Dad expressed it on Valentine’s Day 2002 when Kurt decided to write me a series of six or seven love notes to be opened one hour apart, each celebrating a different womanly quality he appreciates in me—from my nurturing spirit to my soft skin to the maternal care I give our kids. As one might expect on a lover’s holiday, the final card mentioned some unmentionables and came with a beautifully wrapped gift from Victoria’s Secret attached.

  Kyle watched in excited anticipation as I opened one card after another throughout the day. Everyone loves presents, even when they belong to someone else. He could hardly wait for me to get to the final note and unwrap the gift. I finally opened the box and looked inside, so Kyle asked what I got.

  After I explained, a look of perplexed disappointment on his face said it all.

  “Dad!” he scolded, as if the whole thing had been a cruel gag. “You mean after spending so much time writing seven cards and making Mom wait all day for her gift, the only thing you gave her is a pair of underwear?”

  Like I said, our boys appreciate feminine charms even if they don’t yet understand why.

&nbs
p; Kurt and I have always tried to model for and emphasize to our kids the goodness and beauty of love between husband and wife. Part of that process is giving them a healthy sense of sexual identity by affirming the differences between the sexes. In order to do so, we capitalize on critical events in their lives.

  Taking Nicole shopping to buy a frilly new dress or a cute outfit tells her it is good for a woman to feel feminine and pretty.

  Bringing Troy to a professional sports event lets him admire the strength and aggression that are uniquely masculine, showing how his boy-ness reflects the image of God.

  Verbally praising the uniquely masculine or feminine qualities in Dad and Mom in front of the children reinforces their own gender qualities and celebrates the healthy attraction between the sexes. When Dad says about Mom, for example, “I think Mom is the prettiest girl in the world. I’m lucky she is my date!” or “Mom has such soft skin—I love to touch it!” Or when Mom says of Dad, “We are blessed to have a daddy who works so hard” or “You’ll have to ask Daddy to lift that—he is stronger than Mommy.”

  We also try to model how to treat the opposite sex at home so that our children learn there are differences that should be respected. For example, make it clear that it is okay to tackle and punch Daddy for fun, but not Mommy. We let our boys know that Mommy and Sister deserve privacy when they are changing clothes and vice versa.