Childhood Archives - Page 2 of 4 - Kristen Anne Glover

Disney Surprises

Yesterday, I told you the beginning of our Disney surprise for the three oldest children. They had already received their first clue at home and were on their way to the second, but they had no idea where they were headed.

The prevailing assumption was that we were going to a movie theater to watch a Disney film, perhaps even Peter Pan.

But then we pulled up to Nana’s house.

“Get out of the car!” I sang. I had been singing Disney songs the entire way but the kids weren’t particularly interested in my vocal acrobatics or my touching rendition of “Part of Your World.” If I didn’t know better, I’d say they were blocking me out. “Get out of the car!” I sang again.

The kids stared at me. “Get out of the car?” Faith repeated. She sounded a little worried that we might have arrived at our destination, and while Nana’s house is great, it certainly didn’t blow her mind like Daddy promised.

“Aren’t we going to be late for the movie?” Jonathan asked.

“I don’t know, but if you don’t hop out, you won’t get your next clue,” I teased.

The van emptied immediately. Children ran into Nana’s house and children squealed when they saw Nana and children read Nana the first clue and told her all about the fun they’d already had. Nana told all the children to calm down because she had to go to the bathroom.

But really, she was bringing me her suitcase to load up into the back of the van with the others. Oh, the trickery!

After the suitcase was stashed, we lined the kids up on her couch. I gave them each a wrapped package with a little note that read:

Bibbidi bobbidi boo!

There’s an adventure waiting for you!

You’ll need a bit of faith,

A lot of trust,

And don’t forget your pixie dust!

(Have you ever Googled “bibbidi bobbidi boo?” I have.)

Moving right along.

The kids opened their boxes.

Each child had a little pixie dust necklace.

“Pixie dust! Can we eat it?” asked the child who did not care about being able to fly. He’s going to regret that when Captain Hook gets ahold of him.

But, in point of fact, he could eat the pixie dust.

After looking high and low and trying all sorts of things to create little vials for pixie dust (including taking apart little light bulbs so I could use the glass containers, which totally didn’t work) I found these little plastic containers in the bead section of my local craft store. They cost $0.49 each. Score!

Plus, they came with a plastic lid that already had a hole in the top for stringing ribbon. Yeah me!

I created the pixie dust by mixing a bit of sugar with just a drop of liquid food coloring. I created several colors, then baked them in the over at 350 for 10-15 minutes, just until the sugar was no longer damp. I layered the sugar into the vials, added pretty ribbons and beads, a few stickers, and of course, Tinkerbells.

I thought this might be a dead-giveaway for the surprise, but I was wrong.

With the video camera rolling, I prodded. “So, you have pixie dust. What do you need pixie dust for?”

“Flying!”

“Yes, flying! So, where do you think you’re going?”

“Neverland!”

Face palm.

“Get in the car.”

These children would make terrible detectives

Nana hopped in the car too and we all headed off to the airport, although the kids didn’t know that. The airport is all the way through Seattle for us, and I wondered how long it would take the kids to figure it out. So far, their powers of deduction left a lot to be desired.

But, they were about to find another clue.

Kya happened to peek in the back of the van. “There are suitcases back there!” she yelled.

Rats.

“Suitcases? We are going to Beachwood!” Jonathan shouted. “I knew it! I thought of that! I thought of Beachwood!”

“Jonathan, Beachwood is in the other direction,” Nana noted.

“Then we’re going to Whistler! I knew it!”

“Whistler is in the other direction.”

“What’s south?” I hinted.

Silence.

“Nothing,” Faith said.

I’m sure she meant no offense to Oregon and California.

We zipped right past Providence Classical Christian School, where Jeff used to work, so that meant we weren’t picking up Kiri and Moira for a movie date. We zipped right past the Space Needle,

and said many laudatory things about the glories of Mt. Rainier on that particular day.

Too bad the children were not particularly interested in the view. They were languishing in the backseat. Ahahahaha….this adventure is taking forever. Weeping and gnashing of teeth and are we there yet?

I decided to send them to Argentina. So I took the exit to the airport.

“Are we getting off the freeway?” Faith asked. “Are we going to the airport?”

Perhaps…

The exit to the airport curved around and put us on another freeway for a second.

“Aw man, another freeway!”

But wait…

“It is the airport! We’re going to the airport! Are we getting Grandma?”

Never mind the fact that my house was in a crafting state of despair and there was no way I’d let Grandma come over with it looking like that no matter how much I’d like to see her, I let the kids ponder that possibility.

I zipped my little blue van-that-does-not-indicate-I’m-a-soccer-mom right under a glaring DEPARTURES sign, but no one read it.

I zipped my little blue van-that-does-not-indicate-I’m-a-soccer-mom right past the loading zones just to tease the children and not because I misread the signs that led to parking.

“Why are we at the airport? Why are we at the airport? Why are we at the airport with pixie dust and a bunch of clues about Disney?”

I don’t know, kids. Why are you?

We parked.

“Okay,” I said. “Time for another clue!” We tumbled out of the car and I opened the back of the van, which was stuffed with suit cases and three bags loaded with Disney-themed treats. I handed each of them another wrapped package and started rolling the video again because surely, surely they were going to get it now.

Wrapping paper flew into the air and each child got one of these:

Personalized reverse tie-dye Disney shirts for Kya, Faith, and Jonathan

“Huh. Mickey Mouse shirts. Thanks, Mom.”

Face palm.

“Put them on,” I commanded while pondering the fact that this generation of uneducated children has no idea that Mickey Mouse is Disney. This generation of children knows nothing of The MOUSE!

It’s a shame.

“They just don’t get it,” Nana said, shaking her head. She was taking it hard.

“So. Let’s review,” I said, holding on to the last fragment of hope that my children could put the pieces together. “What do we know about Mickey?”

“He’s a mouse?”

“He has a clubhouse?”

“He’s from Disney!” Kya came in for the save.

“Yes! Disney! So. We are at the airport with pixie dust necklaces and Mickey Mouse shirts…where do you think we’re going?”

The video was rolling, waiting to capture this precious moment for all posterity.

But.

They didn’t get it.

Face palm

It’s Disney, people! Disney!

I wanted to shout it but I didn’t. “Okay, pause,” I said, putting the video camera away. This was going to take a little more work than I thought.

Stay tuned tomorrow for another edition of, “How long will it take these kids to figure out they’re going to DISNEY?”

(Also, I’ll have a t-shirt tutorial up later this week so you can make your own reverse tie-dye mouse shirts in case you want to test your child’s deductive powers by surprising him or her with a trip to Disney).

Dandelion Bouquets

“Mom! Mom! I have something for you!”

It is Jonathan, charging in to my place in the kingdom where I am wrestling with a vacuum cleaner and thinking about scrubbing toilets. He smells like outside and boasts a green smudge on his knee where his jeans used to be.

“These are for you, Mom!” he says, thrusting a beautiful bouquet of spring flowers into my hands. His fingers are grubby because he’s been collecting worms again. They match the muddy spattering of freckles that are just beginning to make their summer pilgrimage across his nose.

Jonathan smiles. “I picked them for you,” he says, using the same phrase he has used every year when the earth wakes up and flowers grow where the snow drifted deep.

The same little hands—bigger now—have picked countless bouquets, and little feet—bigger now—have run up countless steps, eager to share the breathtaking beauty with me.

This time, it is a wild assortment of dainty bluebells, snow-white camellias, restless dandelions, and one cheeky blue pansy from the flowerpot by the back deck. I notice he’s included a few specimens I’ve never seen before.

“Those are from Mrs. Smith’s yard,” he says, pointing to some flowers I hope grow profusely.

“They’re beautiful,” I say, and he nods because he knows.

“I’ll put them in a cup!” he says, grabbing the flowers back and charging out of the room.

I come down a minute later to find Jonathan with a jam jar, carefully arranging the flowers so the blue touches the yellow and the pink settles in against the white. “I like arranging flowers,” he says with a shrug, because an eight-year-old boy with a birthday in two days can’t very well say he likes arranging flowers without a shrug that says he doesn’t.

It is beautiful.

I stare at it a moment and marvel. Dandelions and bluebells, a wisp of a white-flowered weed and a pretty pink camellia, all nestle in to the same cut glass jar because they are beautiful to a boy who has not yet been told any different.

I realize I am partial to dandelion bouquets.

A bouquet like that means there is a child in my life who hasn’t been taught what beautiful is, and isn’t. It is the priceless kind, brought in by grubby-handed boys with green smears where their jeans used to be. It is the kind that is selected by sweet-smiled children who forget not to pick the neighbor’s flowers because they are filled up with the happy task of gathering all that is beautiful and bringing it in to the one who is the most beautiful to them in all the world.

A few years from now, the world will try to tell that boy what beauty is, and isn’t. But for now, I have a jam jar on the kitchen table and the dandelions and camellias are keeping company. I have a boy, two days shy of nine, who brings me beautiful flowers because he thinks I am beautiful.

For now, I have a boy who doesn’t know any different.

*100 Beautiful Days of Motherhood: 37

Rainbow Brite and My Selfish Heart

Click for graphic credit

When I was a girl, a little brown-haired friend invited me to her birthday party. I got a real Rainbow Brite invitation in the mail with my name written on the envelope in purple pen. It was so official. A real invitation meant there might be store-bought cake smothered in unholy amounts of store-bought frosting. A real invitation meant there might be party games with real prizes and goodie bags filled with stickers and candies. My brothers seethed with envy.

The week before the party, Mom drove me to the mall so I could forage through KB Toys to find a gift for Jenny. The boys scampered off to ogle over Micro Machines and He-Man figurines while Mom ran across to Hobby Lobby because she thought yarn was more interesting than Barbie. As if.

I was left alone in the aisle of Strawberry Shortcake dolls and Pound Puppies and an overwhelming amount of sparkly things. “Just pick out something you would like,” my mom had suggested the night before.

“But make sure it’s under ten dollars,” Dad added. He did not understand that I could not buy a Cabbage Patch Doll for under ten dollars. “It’s just a birthday party.”

Just a birthday party. Clearly, he did not know that the invitation had real glitter. This couldn’t be just any gift. It had to be perfect.

But standing in the toy store, surrounded by dazzling displays of perfectly packaged toys in every shade of pink and purple imaginable, I had no trouble picking out a toy that I would like. I just couldn’t find one I wanted to give.

Suddenly I saw the perfect toy. It was a My Little Pony Sticker Factory. It came with rolls of blank stickers and scented stamps and glitter pens so some lucky girl could make her own one-of-a-kind pony decals. Plus, as a special bonus, the package included 15 limited-edition Puffy Pony stickers. Be still my heart.

It was the only package left. I grabbed it off the shelf and waited for my mom to come back and pay. My hands shook. I had found the perfect gift.

“How fun!” my mom said when she saw it. My brothers rolled their eyes.

She wrapped the present for me on the day of the party because she knew how to make the corners just perfect and I didn’t. It was the most beautiful present I had ever seen. I held it on my lap on the way to the party and thought about my own sticker collection, which I had carefully arranged in an old photo album.

I had been saving stickers for my whole life, or least since the first grade, when my teacher put a sticker on my paper that smelled just like a dill pickle. But I only had three puffy stickers, and one of them wasn’t even sticky anymore. Now Jenny was going to have more than a dozen limited-edition pony stickers. My heart hurt.

The closer we got to Jenny’s house, the worse I felt. I loved stickers more than anything else in the whole world. Once, I thought I’d lost my album. I almost died. Now, I was about to give away the very last My Little Pony Sticker Factory to little brown-haired Jenny, and she was going to be the only girl on the entire planet who could make stickers that smelled like cotton candy.

Then I had an idea. I opened my backpack and slid the present in. When my mom pulled up to Jenny’s house, I scampered out and waved good-bye before she could remind me to be good.

Jenny’s house was full of streamers and balloons. Her parents had set up the basement with Pogo balls and roller skates and even a set of stilts. There was a giant Rainbow Brite piñata and Rainbow Brite napkins and Rainbow Brite plates . And there was a plastic Rainbow Brite tablecloth decorating a table full of presents.

Everyone else had dropped their gifts on the table. There were dozens of them. My plan could not have worked out more perfectly. Jenny would never even notice that my gift was not in the pile.

Jenny’s parents led the games and passed out the cake (store-bought, as I had hoped). Then it was time for the presents. “Why don’t each of you girls go and get your gift from the table,” Jenny’s dad said.

Wait…what?

“That way, Jenny can thank each one of you and I can write down what you brought,” her mom said as if this was not the worst idea ever.

All the other girls scampered off to the table. I followed along and hoped no one would notice that I did not have a gift. But I was not so lucky.

“Kristie? Can’t you find your present?” Jenny’s mom said in front of everyone. “Girls, did anyone grab Kristie’s present by mistake?” All the girls looked at their presents and shook their heads.

“Maybe it fell under the table,” Jenny’s dad said. He got down on his hands and knees before I could say anything. “Don’t see it!” came his muffled voice.

That’s because Jenny’s present is in my backpack, I thought. I could have said it, right then, and everything would be okay. Everyone would think I had just forgotten to put it on the table. I could have said it, but I didn’t. Instead, I looked at Jenny’s mom and lied. “I must have left it in the car,” I said.

“Oh, that’s alright,” she said. “Those things happen!”

Jenny opened the rest of her presents and soon it was time for my mom to come again. I grabbed my backpack and tried to keep the present from crinkling inside.

Later that night, I carefully unwrapped the My Little Pony Sticker Factory from its beautiful wrapping paper with the perfect edges. I crumpled up the paper and hid it in the very back of my closet until I could sneak downstairs and hide it in the trash where no one would find it.

Then I crawled under my blanket and opened the package. It smelled like cotton-candy, just like the package promised. The limited-edition stickers were indeed puffy. They were brilliantly colored and shiny with newness.

But I couldn’t put them in my sticker album. My mom might see the, or my brothers, and everyone knew brothers couldn’t be trusted. I couldn’t even stamp my own My Little Pony sticker because I would have to hide that too.

Worse still, I felt sick. My heart didn’t hurt, but my stomach did. I looked at the present, Jenny’s present, and I realized it didn’t seem so wonderful anymore. I had envied my friend’s gift. I had resented her because she was going to get the very thing I wanted the most in the world. Then, I had betrayed her. I had taken her good gift and tried to keep it for myself.

For weeks after the party, I worried. I worried that Jenny would remember she never opened my gift. I worried that her mom might ask my mom about it. I worried that I smelled like cotton candy and puffy stickers.

Days and weeks went by. The gift was forgotten. But not by me. I would think of this gift for years to come because it revealed a weakness in my heart that could not be attributed to normal childhood selfishness.

Far into my adulthood, I would find it difficult to rejoice when the gifts I desired where given to others. Just this past week, a friend of mine was given the very thing I have desired. If I could pick out any blessing for myself, I would have picked the blessing God gave to her. But God did not give it to me, and I felt a pain in my heart like I felt years before, when I had to attend a Rainbow Brite birthday party with a gift I wanted to keep for myself. It was back, the same ugliness I had let rule in me as a kid.

It took me a whole day to be truly happy for my friend without any thought to my own lack. It took me a whole day to get over my self-pity. As I struggled with my own selfishness, I felt just as ashamed, just as greedy, as I did when my hands held a stolen gift.

But I am not a child, and my Father does not have limited gifts to give. He is able to give abundantly the very things I’d like to take for myself, if I could. My childish heart might tend toward tantrums, but I have learned enough to know that a gift freely given is much better than a gift selfishly taken or enviously desired. It might not be my turn now, but I don’t have to worry. My Daddy has enough puffy pony stickers to go around.

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