SPRING 2006
Tom Smith
Director of Institutional Advancement
n January my wife Karen traveled to Tennessee to visit with her mother for four days. That part of the story is simple. Where it gets complicated is that the children (all three) and I stayed home!
We often refer to the kids as "three under five." Yes, I was left with three kids under five for four days. Three, five, four—what magical numbers!
Here are some more magical numbers: fifty-six diapers, twenty-seven bottles, twelve naps, twelve meals, twelve bedtime stories, eight snacks, seven baths (the odd number accounts for Danny getting three baths—he figured out how to open the mayonnaise jar), seven loads of laundry, and continually rewinding their favorite VHS tape, Elmo Goes to Graceland. (I learned that the King and Elmo do have something in common: The camera never shot below either one's waist.)
Some of the brighter highlights over the four days included Danny's mayonnaise-finger painting incident, Madison's twenty things to do with toilet water seminar, and Abbie's how to hide things in your diaper trick—I didn't know that one diaper can hold a baby, six Cheerios, and a red button, along with the normal items that diapers were designed for. I learned not to give all three a bath at the same time unless it is outside. And lastly, that the Teletubbies and Barney are real. …
At the end of the fourth day, I was lying in bed, waiting for the aspirins to kick in. I could not stop thinking of how blessed Karen and I really are. We are the parents of three very unique, loving children. They have their own social system, their own interests, and their own temperaments. As parents it is our job to teach them, among many things, how to co-exist and to respect one another. At times they were ready to go to war over the blue crayon, and other times they would have their own little concert in the middle of the kitchen with Madison singing, "It's a Small World After All," while Danny and Abbie were drumming away on the pots and pans. It was a simplistic yet accurate sampling of how the adult world works.
As children, their job is to remind us how simple life really is. As an adult, I have lost that vivid imagination I once had. Responsibility and worriment have taken over that place in my mind that once housed the ability to make a log cabin out of Popsicle sticks and the ability to fly by putting my arms out in front of me as I ran around the house. They live in the moment, rarely looking back, and everything is a game. They can solve world hunger by making cake out of coasters, and fix disease with a Band-Aid. They settle world wars by hugging and saying they are sorry while avoiding pain and misery with constant laughter. Can it be that simple? Have we lost the ability as a society to imagine? Some of the most successful humanitarians never lost the ability to imagine—as adults we call it "thinking outside the box." Perhaps the term was developed by children who created ways to play without the contents of their toybox.
Spiritually, love is their god. They have an abundance of it and are never afraid to use it. Love is the reason their little hearts beat, and love is the driving force behind all of that energy. There is something to be learned here as adults: If we could open our hearts to love in new ways or revisit the things we used to cherish, we would have more energy. We could be excited about waking up and going to work, excited about spending time with friends and family. Excited to volunteer, and revisit those hobbies and interests you used to have before life got in the way. It all is still there, it never goes away. Like a muscle, love grows stronger the more you use it. And don't worry about those around you, love is contagious. So go out and infect the world.
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Last modified:
Sunday, March 05, 2006 at 05:42 PM
