It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas...

NOT! Honestly, I don't think God heard my prayers while I was pregnant for a quiet, obedient little girl who likes to sit still and have tea parties, play with dolls, barbies, and read books for hours on end. No. He sure didn't. In his infinite wisdom, God saw fit to give us a little boy instead. An ACTIVE, near-hyper, non-stop boy who loves all things boy-ish, including construction, as well as destruction of ... stuff. MY stuff. OUR stuff. The HOUSE.

Saturday was such a precious, precious day. Hunter was spanked with the paddle no less than 10,468,392 times. Quite literally. It was so precious. And, in the spirit of Christmas, he broke two ornaments, pulled the ribbons off of the lower half of the Christmas tree, ate 2 of the cookie ornaments ... the ones I made last year (gross), spilled powdered sugar all over the kitchen floor, dumped an entire container of salt on the counter, tried to put wood into the fireplace ... in an all ready existing fire (crazy-nut-head!), tried to plug the lights on the tree into the wall, pulled two (or maybe three, we're not sure, but it really doesn't matter) candy canes off of the tree and broke into them, screamed "NO!" and "MINE!" no less than a gazillion times at me ... the list goes on... really, it does ... but I'm sure you're exhausted by now, so I'll let you rest.

Someone please talk me off the ledge.

Just kidding.

Sort of.

It was an exhausting kind of day, and I'm only praying that it's just the "terrible two's" syndrome, and that my child really isn't going to be this bad all his life. At one point, my husband turned to me, paddle in one hand, Hunter in the other hand, eyes wild, hair disheveled, voice frantic, and said to me: "new rule -- no more spankings for Hunter today." Okay, he really wasn't frantic, wild or disheveled, but we were both feeling pretty close to comatose by the time Hunter's bed time rolled around. The words "don't touch the tree" and "don't touch the fire" and "don't touch" and "don't" and "stop" and "no" all have an empty ring in our home (as Hunter flies from the couch to the floor in a drop-sit fashion). True story.

In fact, this day reminds me of friends of ours that live in Ohio. They had three boys, and one of them was a handful. One day, the father (who was in seminary at the time, so mom worked full time while he cared for the boys) came down to find his son had dumped syrup all over the kitchen table and floor, and I think there may have been a few other liquidy substances involved, but I can't remember the story real well. Maybe ketchup. Or mustard. Or both. I think there may have been either sugar, flour or salt involved, too. It's something you just can't wait to come down to see in your kitchen ... and to find out that your precious, angelic child was responsible for "decorating" for you is a joy you soon won't forget. He's even told stories about how he's had to stop the worship service (he's a pastor) and correct his children from the pulpit because they were hanging off the choir balcony (not really, but it was something equally disturbing) while he was preaching.

The saving grace? All of their mischievous sons turned out just fine ... they are now responsible young adults with great jobs. The youngest? Syrup boy? He went into the marines and now has a great job. So there is hope for Hunter, because he is SOOOOO much like syrup boy. And I'm certain all my friends that have grown children at this point are just sitting back and laughing their butts off at me. YES. I said butt. Not fanny. Not hiney. I can say whatever I want on my blog ... because it's MINE. Sue me.

Seriously though... just so you don't think we're completely abusive parents, we only spank for direct disobedience or defiance. The rest of the time, Hunter is placed in time out where he sits in one particular spot and does absolutely nothing until we tell him he can get up (which is usually about 1 minute per year of age). We're very good at explaining what he's done wrong, and he's very good at saying "sowwy," but I tell you ... he's developing a close relationship with the time-out spot! I look forward to the day that I can go to the sink with a dirty glass and turn back around to find my house is still in order. It's simply amazing what one two-year-old can manage to do in seconds with a permanent marker, a crayon, a glass of tea -- ack! How does he FIND these things?

I constantly find myself praying that my child will one day bounce off of couches, climb walls, color with permanent markers, and break things ... for Jesus. Dead serious. I pray that God will use all his wild energies for HIS glory one day. Who knows ... maybe Hunter is in training as we speak to be a youth pastor one day! Nothing would make me prouder.

Finally, the very friend I mentioned above sent me this link: Solid Rock. The first thing I have to say is: If he's now a Christian, then Praise God for Alice Cooper's salvation. I know that heaven was rejoicing and celebrating something FIERCE when satan was robbed of this child of God. The next thing I have to say ... I still get a creepy feeling when I look at pictures of him saved or not saved! Please note: I'm not judging him, nor am I saying he really is or isn't a Christian -- I don't personally know him, nor do I know his true heart. I'm just commenting on the creepy feeling I get when I look at his pictures.