Sunday morning was a bit...hectic. Unfortunately, that is a bit of a norm around here, and mom depends greatly on each of the young children taking care of their little parts of the morning work to get out of the door at a reasonable time. And Bear has a new chore.
Packing monkey.
Monkey is his backpack he received from his grandparents. The dog long since chewed off the straps, so he is more of a pack than a backpack. But he is the perfect size, ensuring that no unreasonable quantities of stuff accompany us on outings. Church is a new thing for Bear. He has only been in service with us for three Sundays. Thus far, he has done fairly well, diving under the chairs and scampering off only once. In three Sundays.
Anyway, he was delighted with this little task and buckled himself and monkey in for the ride to church. We even got there on time. He stood on the chair next to me through the songs, then took to his place on the floor at my feet when "the talking part" began.
I heard clanking, jingling and metallic sounds coming from Monkey. Looking down, I saw a pile of blocks and toy cars raining down. I had expected crayons and coloring books, but obviously I had not communicated that very effectively. I had only said, "Pack Monkey."
At home, I do not think twice about teaching through the noise of a busy block town, complete with blaring horns, train whistles and the occasional demolition job. I did not, however, think the pastor particularly wanted to preach over the low din. But then, I know what kind of distraction he can become with nothing to occupy him for 45 minutes. And believe me, that would be far greater than anything he'd ever do with the road he was constructing under the chair of the man in front of me.
We compromised and I took the noisiest things from him. And he spent most of service sitting in my lap playing with his train engine. And, knowing how much he picks up while playing with his cars at home while I teach, I wondered how much more he would get out of service if I were able to just let him run tracks under the chairs while the pastor is speaking.
Packing monkey.
Monkey is his backpack he received from his grandparents. The dog long since chewed off the straps, so he is more of a pack than a backpack. But he is the perfect size, ensuring that no unreasonable quantities of stuff accompany us on outings. Church is a new thing for Bear. He has only been in service with us for three Sundays. Thus far, he has done fairly well, diving under the chairs and scampering off only once. In three Sundays.
Anyway, he was delighted with this little task and buckled himself and monkey in for the ride to church. We even got there on time. He stood on the chair next to me through the songs, then took to his place on the floor at my feet when "the talking part" began.
I heard clanking, jingling and metallic sounds coming from Monkey. Looking down, I saw a pile of blocks and toy cars raining down. I had expected crayons and coloring books, but obviously I had not communicated that very effectively. I had only said, "Pack Monkey."
At home, I do not think twice about teaching through the noise of a busy block town, complete with blaring horns, train whistles and the occasional demolition job. I did not, however, think the pastor particularly wanted to preach over the low din. But then, I know what kind of distraction he can become with nothing to occupy him for 45 minutes. And believe me, that would be far greater than anything he'd ever do with the road he was constructing under the chair of the man in front of me.
We compromised and I took the noisiest things from him. And he spent most of service sitting in my lap playing with his train engine. And, knowing how much he picks up while playing with his cars at home while I teach, I wondered how much more he would get out of service if I were able to just let him run tracks under the chairs while the pastor is speaking.
