Kristen Anne Glover

Five in Tow

Birth Order Explained: It’s Your Mother’s Fault

Many smart people have spent many long years researching a strange phenomenon related to birth order.  The theory goes something like this: your personality is directly impacted by your birth order.  If you’re the firstborn, you tend to be a certain way.  If you’re the youngest, you tend to be another way.  I’m no psychologist, but I can assure you, it’s all true, and it all goes back to your mother.  May the good Lord help you if you were born after number five.

The Metamorphosis of Motherhood

After your first child

After your third child

Sometime after your fifth child

Maternity clothes are so cute!

I can’t wait to get back into my normal clothes.

These are my normal clothes.

Jake, come here!

Jake, I mean Susie, come here!

You—come here!  No, not you.  You!  Yes, you!  If I say “you,” I mean you!

Look at the homemade costume I made for you!

Let’s see what’s left at the costume store.

Here’s some aluminum foil and a Sharpie.

What would you like for dinner?

This is what we’re having for dinner.

If you don’t eat the casserole, it’s going in the soup for tomorrow.

Don’t eat that off the floor!

The floor isn’t that dirty.

Get it before your brother does.

Your birthday is only a month away!  We’d better start planning.

I forgot candles.  I’ll hold up five fingers and you can blow them out.

No, I didn’t forget your birthday.  It’s called a “surprise party.”

Would you like to learn soccer, karate, piano, origami, French pastry making, Spanish, or water polo?

You’re taking ballet because your sister takes ballet.

There are lots of great cartoons on in the afternoons for kids your age.

Let’s pick up before Daddy gets home.

Let’s pick up before Grandma comes.

Let’s just move.

Let me help you!

Let me know if you need my help.

You don’t need my help.

I’ve created a wish list of educational toys for Timmy’s first Christmas.  It includes all the Newberry award-winning books, a baby biology set, Latin fridge magnets, and a planetary motion crib mobile.

Don’t buy him anything that makes noise, needs batteries, might choke the baby, or requires parental supervision.

Just give us the money.

My husband wrote me a love note and rubbed my feet!

He watched the kids so I could go to the grocery store by myself!

He vacuumed!!!

We need to childproof the house.

How come the baby is the only one who can open the baby gate?

He’ll only do it once.

Please put on your new shirt.

Please put on a clean shirt.

At least you’re dressed.

I will never be one of those mothers.

I feel sorry for those mothers.

I am one of those mothers!

I didn’t know I could love anyone like this.

I didn’t know my love could multiply like this.

There’s always room to love one more.

Easy Art for Large Walls

I bought the wrong green.

We were in the middle of carpeting our downstairs rec room, which we use as a bedroom for the younger kids.   The previous green was too institutional.  It reminded me of hospital scrubs or cheap mint ice cream.  I felt queasy just looking at it.

I was thrilled when my husband told me I should paint the room before our new carpet arrived.  I headed to Home Depot, determined not to repeat the same mistake.  I would choose a richer, darker green, and we would live happily ever after.

But the green I picked in the store was not the green I brushed on the wall.  I gasped when I saw that first stroke.  It was darker.  Waaaaaay darker.  And richer.  Like mud.  It was the wrong green.  But we didn’t have time to fix it.  The carpet was coming and the paint had to be on the walls first.  The first coat went up, and I hoped I would like it better after the second.  But I didn’t.  I hated it.

I spent the next couple days standing in the empty room, alternately crying and brainstorming how to fix it.  The room looked like a cave, not a whimsical child’s room.  Could I put a lighter glaze over it?  Attempt some kind of faux finish?  Both of those options were risky.  Then one night, an idea came to me.  I’d paint giant silhouettes on the wall with some paint I already had on hand.   It was a free solution with many benefits: it would draw the eye away from the awful green, lighten the room, and decorate the bare walls all in one shot.  Here’s what I did.

Kya's shadow made into art

First, I had my five-year-old stand in front of a lamp so I could project her shadow onto the wall.  I quickly outlined her with a white colored pencil, then simply filled in the outline with beige wall paint.  It took several coats to cover the swamp green.  I drew the dandelion freehand, which is probably why it looks like a 4th of July Sparkler, but I didn’t have a dandelion and I wanted to have the effect of the fuzz blowing over the bunk bed, as if carried on the wind.

Next, I painted Faith up against the steps, reading a book.  I used the same technique: I had her sit in front of a lamp until I got the shadow where I wanted it.  I traced it quickly and filled it in with paint.  So simple.

Faith's silhouette

After I drew Faith, I decided I wanted her leaning against a tree, so I painted a tree on the wall freehand.   I didn’t sketch it out first, but you certainly could, or project a branch on the wall if you’re nervous about it.  I added leaves, and a little J+K heart detail for my sweetie.  After looking at it, I thought the whole thing could use a little color, so I painted a couple more leaves in a lime green.  I didn’t want too many, because I wanted to keep the shadow effect, but a little color is nice.  Here’s another shot to show you how BIG it is!  What a great way to cover a lot of empty space.

A tree grows in the rec room

I also added some butterflies, snails, and toadstools around the room.  Maybe I’ll even paint an owl.

A snail for Faith

Then, I found the sweetest sheer curtains at World Market.  They look like they were made for the room, and they were on sale!  I had to buy them.

Curtain detail

The furniture in the room was old and mismatched, so we moved my great-grandmother’s lowboy dresser downstairs.  I love the look of it in the room, even without its mirror.

Another view of the room

On the very left of the picture above,  you can see the edge of the frame of a watercolor done by another great-grandma nearly 100 years ago.  The colors are perfect for the room, as is the charm.  She picked great greens (unlike me).

Watercolor, done by my great-grandma Barnhill, 1925

The other wall was really dark because it has no windows, so I painted an abstract of flowers for a pop of color.  It didn’t turn out quite the way I hoped, but it still works.  I hung it over a dresser I found on craigslist for $25.  The basket-weave adds to the “picnic” feel of the room, and goes with the antique dresser.  We also have lots of kids’ books to display!

Here’s another perspective to show the scale of the shadow art.  It’s about 1/3 bigger than the real child.

We’d love to trade that bright blue bunk bed for a wooden one, but for now, it’s functional for our big family, even if it doesn’t quite work with the theme of the room.  If you look closely, you can see the dandelion fluff blowing over the bed.

Five little monkeys jumping on the bed...

All in all, I am happy with the way the room turned out, given the color mistake!

What do you think?  Are you ready to try shadow art on your big walls?

The Trouble with Juice

Juice=love

Every Thursday morning, Jonathan puts on his boots and heads over to Mrs. Smith’s house to take out her garbage and recycling containers.  It’s a job he’s had since Mr. Smith died over a year ago, and things changed.  Mrs. Smith walks with a cane, and even though she’s as spirited as a much younger woman, it’s hard for her to do some things on her own.  Jonathan lives to help others, but he’s given up telling Mrs. Smith not to pay him a dollar every week to do the very thing he loves to do for her because she won’t hear it.

The truth is, Mrs. Smith loves my children just as much as they love her, and she can’t resist taking every opportunity to show them.  A little candy tucked in here or a package of cookies sent home there—even though her budget has been tight since she became a widow, Mrs. Smith delights in finding ways to spoil her “grand-neighbors.”

One day, Jonathan came back from garbage duty lugging a jug of apple juice.  His siblings rushed him at the door, eager for a glimpse of the prize.  The twins jumped up and down and the girls cheered.  Apple juice is a rare commodity at our house.  The kids have become accustomed to drinking kefir water and kombucha tea, which I make in abundance, but juice…that’s something to celebrate.

“Can we have some?  Can we?”  They begged.  It’s hard to say no to children who are hugging a carton of juice.  Besides, breakfast was almost ready so the timing was perfect.

“Sit up at the table!” I said, and five bodies scampered enthusiastically up to their places.  Faith had already put the skillet of fluffy scrambled eggs on the table.  She had made them, all by herself.

“You’ve gotta try them!” She beamed.  She was so proud and she’d done such a great job, I decided to serve the eggs before getting the juice.  Everyone was happy with this arrangement, except for Micah.

“I want apple juice, Mommy,” he said.

“I’ll get it, Micah.  Just a second.  Why don’t you eat a bite of eggs while you wait?”

Micah looked at his plate and wrinkled up his face.  “I don’t yike it,” he sulked.

Faith looked offended.  “They’re good, Micah!  Try a bite.”  Everyone agreed.  Faith was becoming quite the little chef.

“I want JUICE!” he stated again with fervor and banged his spoon on the table.

I stopped with the eggy spatula in mid-air.  “Micah!  That is not how you talk!  I will get you some juice just as soon as I’m done.  Now, eat your eggs.”

The other kids were making short work of Faith’s breakfast.  “Mmmm!” Paul said as he gobbled up his share.  “It yummy!”  Paul could eat his body weight in eggs.

Micah pouted and wouldn’t eat a bite.  “Micah,” I said sternly.  “If you don’t eat your eggs, I’m not going to give you any juice.”  I opened the jug and began filling glasses.  I didn’t even water it down.  It was like Christmas.

Micah refused even to taste his eggs.  He pushed his plate away and said, “I only want JUICE.”

“I am not going to give you juice when you talk to me like that.”

Quickly, he descended into the biggest tantrum we had seen since an unfortunate incident at the dentist’s office.  We all watched him, feeling sorry that he was making the choice to behave so poorly.  The juice was a delight.  It should have made him happy.  Instead, he was choosing to be disobedient and defiant.

I gave everyone else their juice, but Micah was too far gone.  I made him get down from the table and said quietly, “Micah, I have juice for you, but I can’t give it to you when you behave like this.”  He squirmed in my arms and wouldn’t look at me.  “I won’t reward you for your disobedience,” I repeated a line he had heard often from me.  But instead of melting into submission like the others do, he began to cry, not soft, repentant tears, but hot, angry ones.  I had no choice but to send him away so he wouldn’t ruin breakfast for everyone else.

The kitchen was quiet except for the sound of Micah crying in his room.  The kids ate their eggs solemnly.  “I wish he’d just eat his eggs,” Faith said.

“Then he could have juice!” Kya added.

“He ready now, Mom.  He ready.”  Paul was always willing to come to the defense of his twin.

But we could hear Micah downstairs, and he was most certainly not ready.

What Micah didn’t know is that I wanted him to have the thing he wanted.  I stood there in the kitchen with his cup in hand, ready and willing to give it to him.  It wasn’t a question of sufficiency; I had an abundant supply.  It wasn’t a question of willingness; I desired for him to have a share of this good gift.   It wasn’t even a question of timing; I was ready to give it to him now.

It was a question of obedience.

As much as I wanted Micah to be happy and to enjoy the good thing we had been given, I would not grant him happiness at the exclusion of obedience.  I loved him too much for that.

From his behavior, I knew Micah thought I was being mean and unfair.  What he didn’t know was that my heart was breaking for my son, who had taken a good thing and turned it into an idol.  He had taken a privilege and made it a right.  He began to demand something he had already been freely given, and instead of producing joy and happiness in him like a good gift does, it drew out his selfishness and anger.  His heart was tight and closed, hardened by stubbornness and defiance.

Just like mine.

I listened to his tantrum and I couldn’t help but think of the many times I have behaved the same way. How often have I railed against my Father, demanding what is not mine, idolizing gifts without thought for the Giver, thinking I deserve something I have not earned, giving ultimatums like a person who has never tasted grace?

Just like a child.

In my stubbornness, I forget the truth about God, who says he’s my Father.  I wondered if his fatherhood of me is about more than just his unconditional love, which I hold close even when I’m being particularly unlovable.  I wondered if it’s about him standing in my kitchen, waiting to give me good gifts that I’m too stubborn to accept on his terms.  I wondered if it’s about him letting me press into his power and riches and glory, if I’d just turn around and go to where He is, instead of running headstrong in my own direction and expecting him to meet me there.  I wondered if he’s ready, like a good father, to give me everything I need for life and godliness.  I wondered if he’s waiting for me to stop feeling sorry for myself so he could show me how he’s already conquered, already victorious, and already willing to give me everything I need.

I wondered what kind of Father God would be to me if I’d simply let go and obey.

Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you.  For everyone who asks receives; the one who seeks finds; and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened.  Which of you, if your son asks for bread, will give him a stone?  Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake?  If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!  Mt. 7:7-11