Welcome to the KingZoo and Funny Farm, where we learn to live, laugh, and love together. Here you'll find snippets of life in our zoo, parenting tips we've learned along the way, reflections on shining God's light in this world, passions in the realm of orphan care and our journey as parents of a visually impaired child. Have fun!
Friday, August 19, 2016
The Good Doctor's call to ministry coincided with the conception of our first child. I'm sure there's a spiritual or Freudian or Murphy's Law explanation but I'm just going to move on. Think of it as you wish. But the take-away here is that our first-born was a PK for the entirety of his life.
That first child had trouble speaking. He was a late speaker. Some told me it was because I taught him to sign. Maybe so. At least we could communicate. Once the speech finally came, he had a bit (okay, a lot) of trouble with the /tr/ blend. He could have substituted any number of letters for that troublesome sound but he chose /f/. This was okay when he pointed out the trees in the yard. It was okay when we stopped for a train to go by. It was even okay when he was in trouble. The real trouble, however, was that he loved trucks. And they were everywhere. And he wanted everyone to know.
"Look, Mom, there's a f*&%!"
"Yes, dear, not so loud, please."
"Mom, there's a fire f*&%!"
"Yes, dear. You don't have to tell everyone."
"Mom, a dump f*&%!"
At least Noah didn't take trucks on the ark so hopefully the subject didn't come up too much on church property. But it did.
Then there was that unfortunate incident during Wednesday night kids' clubs. The preschoolers were asked what they like to do with their families. Since the Good Doctor had just taught his boys to play poker, they were eager to share their good fortune with their leaders. Who had a good laugh among themselves about the Mennonite pastor's kids playing poker. So one of them made a side comment about strip poker to which one of my boys went off on a tangent about taking his coat off. It was too much for those leaders who decided that yes, we must be playing strip poker at the King house.
For the record, we were not and still aren't.
Children's time in front of the whole church can be risky for any parent; riskier yet for the mothers of PKs. It was Christmas time and of course they were talking about the blessed event. The woman leading the children's time that Sunday (who also happened to be my aunt), asked the kids to name the various characters in the story. Mariana raised her hand when the group was asked the name of Jesus' mother and was called on. I wasn't concerned. Who doesn't know the name of Jesus' mother? Especially a PK? Mariana's response? Sally.
The same child told the whole church that the Good Doctor was not Isaac's father as we all assumed. It went like this:
The Good Doctor was preaching about our identity in Christ and how we grow in Christlikeness. Isaac was just a newborn baby so he borrowed him from my arms and held him up asking, "Who does he look like?" That was an easy one. The congregation scored 100%. Then he asked the obvious question, "Why?" Again, the congregation was spot-on with their answer, "Because he's your son." "Yes," said the Good Doctor, "He looks like me because he's my son." At this very moment Mariana decided that her father had had too much of the spotlight so she called out from her seat (too fast for me to clap my hand over her mouth), "No he's not!"
We had a few years of peace, until the Good Doctor pastored a congregation that encouraged audience participation. That particular evening he read a Scripture passage that included the word circumcision. He rhetorically asked, "Everyone knows what circumcision is, right? Is there anyone here who doesn't know what it is?" That same Sally-is-Jesus'-mother-but-Daddy-is-not-Isaac's-father spouting child innocently raised her hand. I think it's okay for the pastor's daughter to not know what circumcision is at a young age. However, the next day her father did take her to McDonald's for a little health lesson. She was duly embarrassed.
And then the peaceful years continued. Until Victor.
Two weeks ago he moved up to his new class for the school year. Later that week I received a message from one of his teachers. It seems as if Victor had made his way up to the front of the room during circle time (I can't imagine my child not staying politely seated during circle time) so she decided to make him her helper for the lesson. They were talking about how God made us. The children were to name body parts and then say, "Thank you God for making (whatever was named)." So, she asked Victor to name a body part. He very quickly and seriously said, "My pee hole."
I'm told that a few of the older kids grinned. Thankfully, most were clueless. And the teacher quickly suggested, "How about your belly? Everybody touch your belly!"
Leave it to the pastor's kid to force all the parents to have a health lesson following Sunday School.
Saturday, August 6, 2016
Victor's TVI (Teacher of the Visually Impaired): Victor, I love your smile.
Victor: I love your bubble wrap.
Eden made pancakes and gave one to Victor. He promptly stuck it up to his nose, inhaled deeply, and asked, "Do you smell it?".
"Mom, come celebrate me."
Victor, upon awakening from his nap: Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord.
Me (after the initial shock of realizing he had memorized more of the prayer I pray over him in the morning): That's right. Thank you, Victor.
Victor: What does it mean?
Really, the 3 year old is asking me what this means?
"I'm going to be Isaac when I get big."
One of the issues with Victor's potty training has been the fact that when he does decide to use the potty on his own, the pants come off wherever and whenever the mood strikes. This is bothersome and awkward at home but obviously not acceptable for preschool. One day he made it from the bathroom to the dinner table bench before anyone could get the pants back on him. I caught him just in time as he attempted to climb onto the back of the bench, thereby exposing himself to the neighbors through the window. I asked him to please get down because we don't flash the neighbors. Now, whenever he climbs on the bench, he asks if he can flash the neighbors. Apparently, to him, flashing the neighbors means climbing on the bench. Great. I hope they don't have any benches at preschool.
Once, after a potty success, he came to me carrying a new pair of underpants that he had found in his drawer. "Look, mom, I got pretty undies." (I think he has too many sisters.)
Victor is finally showing interest in his violin. The struggle has been to get the sensitively challenged child to hold the instrument under his chin; he doesn't want it to touch his face. So Isaac gave him a lesson this morning and as they were finishing up, Isaac used his own fingers to play Twinkle, Twinkle while he helped Victor move the bow. I praised Victor for "playing" Twinkle, Twinkle and he yelled, "No, I want to play Orange Blossom Special!" That one will take a little more practice, my dear.
Sunday, July 31, 2016
Happy 16th birthday!
We are thrilled that we can celebrate such a momentous occasion with you but we also recognize that we have missed so many before. I'm sorry for that but oh, so thankful that you are in our home now.
As you've probably noticed in our hallway of pictures, I choose a Bible verse to pray over each child. Way back i April, when we first heard about you, I was thinking that it would take me a while to choose a passage for you; that I would have to get to low you a bit first. Then one morning I woke up around 3:30 in the morning and couldn't go back to sleep. When that happens, I choose a person or situation to pray for. As I prayed for you and your transition to our home, it came to me - Hebrews 12:2. The morning before my sleepless night, I was in a meeting where this verse was used in a devotional. When I came home, Pastor Susan had posted this same verse on Facebook with some of her thoughts. When a verse shows up more than once in a short period of time, I ask what God might be trying to tell me. Nothing came to me - until that sleepless morning. I came to realize that these verses (I have added verses 1 and 3) are meant for you and will have significance for you.
It is clear to me already that God is the author (as some versions translate it) and perfecter of your faith. I'm glad you have so many in your cloud of witnesses already and believe that you will find more and more people to support you in life and faith. Choose well. it will make a huge difference as you make decisions and choose a direction for your life.
I know that you also like Jeremiah 29:11 - 13: "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. Many people know and love verse 11 but they forget that there is more: call on Him, pray to Him, listen to Him, seek Him - then you will find Him.
i hope you know how special you are to us already. We pray that this year will be one of good decisions, spiritual growth, and bonding with our family.
Friday, July 29, 2016
Spend a few days (or even just hours) with us, and you'll soon see why Victor is occasionally wearing this shirt. It has nothing to do with his need to be reminded, but everything to do with my needs. For example, this was the third outfit of the day yesterday (yep, 14 months of potty training and counting...). Now you understand?
While cleaning up at the beach, my mom found a bottle of Head and Shoulders shampoo in the shower and, wanting to find out who left it there asked, "Who has Head and Shoulders?" Victor replied, "I do," and pointed first to his head and then to his shoulders.
Still a Beatles fan, Victor told me that he goes "to the beach 8 Days a Week." Don't worry, I've warned his preschool teacher.
Sitting underneath the computer table, Victor told me,
"I have reached my destination."
(Yeah, he likes the GPS.)
The rocking chair in Victor's room squeaks and someone told him that it needs oil. It has been months and it still is not fixed but Victor reminds us daily that it squeaks and needs oil. He tells random strangers about this phenomenon. This morning his water bottle was making a noise so he told me that it needs oil. Makes sense, right?
Along the same line of reasoning, Victor told me that his accordion needs oil. Why? Because it makes this noise when you move it in and out.
Um, yeah, that's the noise it's supposed to make. Some people like it.
Mariana accidentally hit Victor with the door. She said, "I'm sorry, Victor, are you okay?" He responded with, "No, I'm 19 Broadway Ln." (Which is not exactly true; he responded with his real address but we all know that we shouldn't publish our location on social media.)
Victor: I'm going downstairs in the darkness.
Me: Okay, do you need to go to the potty first?
Victor: No, I won't pee in the darkness.
He asked Eden to play Hide-and-Go-Seek and told her to hide under the table. He counted to 10 and then ran to the refrigerator. "Are you in the fridge?" he asked as he opened the fridge and freezer (I think he just wanted to feel the cool air). Then he pushed the water button on the freezer, "Are you in the ice maker?" ('Cause he always likes to get wet) Then he finally ran to the location he had told her to hide in the first place.
And just this morning, I was awakened by a very loud, "WAKE. ME. UP!!!!!!!!!" It was 5AM. On the one day I decided not to set my alarm for 5AM but to sleep in. Silly me.
Monday, July 25, 2016
Many years ago, when I first interpreted for the Deaf at our church, there were mishaps aplenty. Thankfully, our friends were very patient and understanding. There was that time that I interpreted a whole foot washing service as sock washing and they didn't bother to bring it to my attention until the whole service was over. As soon as they told me, I knew what I had done, and the correct signs for both feet and socks. For me, (and maybe for them) it has forever changed the meaning of that sacred tradition. Just imagine Jesus on his hands and knees removing the socks from his sandaled and sockless disciples and washing them right there - dipping them in water, wringing them out, wringing them out a bit more, dipping them back in the water, and wringing them out. Rinse and repeat. Can't you just see 12 pairs of socks hanging over the bench they were sitting on for Passover? Or maybe pinned to a line along the side? And Peter, protesting, as Jesus removed his mismatched Argyle socks from his dirty, dusty, sandaled feet? It's okay, just imagine; God can handle it, He created our imaginations and the ability to laugh.
And then there's yesterday, when the Good Doctor asked me to help him with communion. I get this question a lot and I often cannot help. This time I was already sitting in my seat in church so I really couldn't use the have-to-wash-the-cat excuse or the I-have-nothing-to-wear explanation or the-baby-pooped-in-the-carseat-gotta-wash-it-right-now defense so I agreed.
You might think this is not a difficult task but for me, the most nerve-wracking part is that there is this one phrase that you have to repeat over and over and over again, in a very solemn and serious someone-has-died tone. You can't mess it up. You can't smile. You can't let them see you sweat. You have to get your volume just right, too. Too quiet and the poor recipient has no idea why you are offering them a plate of tiny, clear, plastic cups of grape juice or why there is a loaf of bread wrapped in a napkin in your hand. Too loud and you spoil the suspense for the next person in line.
You get one and only one shot with each person and since there are so many people, that's a lot of chances to mess up. And once I start to get anxious over the fact that I have been asked to do this yet again (comes as part of the pastor's wife contract: Do you hereby solemnly affirm that any time you are asked to help serve communion and cannot come up with a sufficient excuse, you will joyfully yet solemnly fulfill your duties with the utmost religiosity? right above Do you hereby solemnly affirm that you will have all of the exact same skills as your pastoral spouse so any time someone comes to you for counseling, advice, or church information, you will respond in the exact same way that he/she does? and right under Do you hereby solemnly affirm that you will never, ever let anyone know that your pastor spouse has faults and do you hereby solemnly affirm that you will agree with anyone who comes to you singing your spouse's praises for something he/she has done at church?), then any recollection of what I was told to say the last time I helped serve communion goes right out of my head. I can remember that it either has something to do with bread or cup, depending on what is in my hands, but that is the extent of my memory. Of course, if the Good Doctor decides to change things up a bit and give you a new line, that is really going to be a problem.
So I always ask for a refresher and yesterday he told me to say, "This is the blood of Jesus shed for your sin." That's was all fine and good for the first person. The second one came along and I repeated, "This is the blood of Jesus shed for your sin," only this time it came out, "This is the blood of Jesus shed for your skin."
I blame Andrew for all of those years of snake ownership in our home. We must have put shed and skin in the same sentence one too many times in those years.
Father, forgive me, for I cracked a smile.
Okay, I outright giggled.
I apologized, corrected my mistake, and moved on.
Now I was afraid of the bishop finding out and the possibility of excommunication so I was very careful with the next person, and the one after that, and the one after that...
But even so, it happened again.
Father, forgive me again, for I almost peed my pants. In church. During communion.
And believe it or not, since some of us are slow learners, it happened a third time.
There are no excuses that can cover that. I'm old? I have too many kids? We used to own a snake who shed her skin? All sounds so lame when you try to put it on paper.
And to add insult to injury, the Good Doctor insisted that I have to share it with the cyber world because as he said, "It will set you free from the performance trap."
Might set you free from your job, too, dear husband, but just remember, it was your idea to confess. In fact, that was in your sermon yesterday, wasn't it? Confession, right? Yes, I think it was. See, I was listening (but truth be told, that's in the contract too. I do hereby solemnly affirm that I will always be in attendance during my spouse's sermons, sitting with him upfront, looking lovingly toward my spouse but not too lovingly as to be a distraction, nodding my head at all of the profound points, never criticizing my spouse's words, content, or clothing).
Forgive me, Father, for I keep forgetting that one.
Tuesday, July 12, 2016
First, he asked the Good Doctor where he would have go if we could go anywhere. The Good Doctor said he wanted to be on a boat. Andrew obliged. It was as traumatic as I suspected a cruise would be. Unfortunately, the vacation suddenly ended early.
Then, to be fair and equal, he asked me where I would like to go to celebrate my silver anniversary. I said a missions trip. He said, "No, really." I said, "Yes, really."
Disclaimer: Andrew vehemently argued against this trip because "it's just wrong" but I forced him to send us on a missions trip since it was my dream to celebrate our anniversary serving somewhere. Everyone knows you can't give one parent his dream vacation without giving the other parent hers. That's not how parenting works.
2nd Disclaimer: This was the only time we actually smiled, dressed up, or stood still on this missions trip. The rest of the trip we were busy digging wells, building houses, worshiping with our new friends, and (of course) holding the most adorable babies.
Just because he had a little extra money in his wallet, Andrew then asked if we wanted to go anywhere else. The Good Doctor admitted that he had looked into a trip to Niagara. He said he found a very cheap hotel. Andrew said, "Why not?"
And since we were going the cheap and cheesy route, he decided a quick trip to Disney was in order. It would have been a great souvenir photo if it wasn't for that guy who walked right behind us.
With such good deals on the Niagara and Disney trips, he went for cheesy of all cheesy and sent us to the Poconos. It was amazing, as soon as we arrived at the resort, we felt and looked years younger. In fact, we looked surprisingly like the cheesy advertisement that lured us there, even with the fake orange tans.
And since there was a special on flights to northern Indiana, he threw in one more trip to the Good Doctor's hometown to visit the egg, the solitary stoplight, and the King Memorial Home.
This was definitely an anniversary with experiences that brought us closer together and smiling all the way. I can't imagine how we will top this 25 years from now.
Monday, July 11, 2016
In preparation for that glorious time in the future, I have started my bucket list. I am not putting places I'd like to visit on the list because I assume that the kids will be all over the world and I'll get my traveling in.
This is a bucket list of all the things I'd like to do while visiting my beloved, perfect, always compliant, forever grateful children ...
1. Empty the cupboards of all the cups, place them in the sink, and then be offended that they would accuse me of having a drink of water that day or of not washing my own cup.
2. After showering I am going to leave my soaking wet towel on the floor, right next to a huge pile of water I accidentally splashed onto the floor but somehow didn't notice was there.
3. Bring a backpack of books, pencils, devices, jackets, sneakers, etc. and randomly place items on the floor, sofa, and table. No need to pick them up, just go to bed when tired and let my kids deal with the mess.
4. The day after #3, repeat but this time shove items in hard-to-find and difficult-to-reach places like behind furniture and under sofas and chairs.
5. Wear every pair of socks in my suitcase (I'll pack extra for good measure) and then leave them scattered around the house, remembering to separate all matches so that when they are found, there will only be one of each. I'm sure that as soon as they decide to throw one away, the match will be found.
6. Every time I open a door to the outdoors, or a to a cabinet, or even a drawer in a dresser, I'll leave it open. When questioned, I will claim short-term memory loss and argue that there is no way I was ever in that area today.
7. Volunteer to unload the dishwasher but only unload half of it. I will then leave the room with escaping laughter as I watch my kids load the rest of the washer with dirty dishes and run them through another cycle. Wasted time, water and electricity? Who cares? I will no longer be paying for it. They will. Repeat daily throughout my visit.
8. When the grandkids ask me to play Monopoly (my ultimate least favorite game), I will gladly agree. Within 10 minutes, another grandchild will have asked to play checkers, I'm sure. Even though he is too young for this game, I'll agree. I will abandon Monopoly without cleaning up (and neither will the first grandchild) to play Checkers. Since he is too young for games of skill, we will just shoot the checker pieces around the table. Many of them will land on the floor but who needs them, there will be enough on the table to keep us busy. Then someone will want to go outside to ride bikes and kick soccer ball, and draw with sidewalk chalk. We will have one last checker shooting match to see who can get the remaining checkers onto the floor the fastest and then we will go outside without cleaning up. We will have a great time playing outside. When we are finished, we will put the bikes right next to the closed garage door, on the outside of the door, never inside. We will leave the chalk in the driveway to be run over when my adult child returns home from work, and the soccer ball will be right at the bottom of the front steps.
9. Hopefully DVDs will be around just long enough... Each time we watch one, we will leave it out of the designated cover. We won't pile them neatly, either. We'll just leave them all over the TV stand, a few on each shelf. Scratches might be a nice, added touch, for good measure.
10. Take the kids to the library and to Redbox, using their library card and credit card, of course. We'll stock up for the week. Then I'll forget where I've put them and when they're due.
11. Roll my eyes, sigh, and complain to my friends each time they ask me to watch their kids for a few minutes or help them out by taxiing one of them somewhere, even though I'm getting free room and board during my visit and I'm borrowing their car and using their gas.
12. Bring a few tiny Legos that I have saved before dividing them and sending them to the kids for their kids. Choose a Lego piece that best matches the floor and accidentally drop it when no one is looking. Ignore the cries of pain that come from your child when he or she steps or worse yet, kneels on said piece. When questioned, I will tell my child that I don't have any idea what Legos are being referred to or how it could have gotten out of its designated location.
13. Buy grape juice for the kids. Spill some on the refrigerator shelf, the front of the fridge, and the kitchen floor. Look at it, look around the room to see if anyone saw me, and then if not (and they won't because I'll choose my timing well), just walk away. The next day, repeat with honey or caramel sauce.
14. Dye water to the color yellow. Put drops on the toilet seat and a larger puddle on the floor in front of the toilet. Admit to nothing. (Could do this with actual pee but just can't see myself doing that. On the other hand, I may be persuaded by the time my kids are on their own.)
15. Go through their closets and pull out perfectly washed and clean clothing. Put it into the laundry still folded. Refuse to do laundry while at that house.
16. All day long, ask what is for dinner. Turn up my nose every time. In-between, remind them of the foods that I hate (which will be in the dish they are preparing). Sit down for dinner and remind them once again that I hate certain foods. Put a tiny amount on my plate. Stare at it. Give some to the dog. Hide the rest in my napkin. Tell them I am full. Ask for dessert. Eat lots.
17. Between meals, take food out of the fridge to be eaten in the living room and other off-limits locations. No need to use napkins. Just use the furniture. Best done with spaghetti or other messy foods. Leave plates, bowls, and silverware in the off-limit location but don't admit to being the offender. If napkins were used, leave these, too. Works best if they have a dog.
18. Carve my name into furniture, write my name on car upholstery, put stickers that won't come off onto expensive antiques, bang holes into the kitchen table with a fork. This way, my children will never, ever forget that I have been there.
19. Volunteer to cook a meal. Leave a little bit of food at the bottom of each pot, skillet, and bowl. When asked to clean them, I will insist that I need to wait because the food has hardened. I will put water in each container to soak, and then each successive day, when asked to clean the dishes, I will emphatically state that I will get them but they are still soaking.
20. Pretend to lose multiple items, barely look for them, and then ask my child to find them for me. Of course they will be in obvious or appropriate places and will be found immediately.
21. Say my child's name repeatedly but when acknowledged, I will have nothing of real importance to say or I will ask my child to get something that I could have easily gotten for myself.
22. When a band-aid is needed (or even if it is not), separate the wrapper into two pieces, leaving one next to the trash can and the other in front of the toilet. When I no longer need said band-aid, I will just drop it wherever the mood strikes. Face down on the floor is a good location as the ends stick and are difficult to remove. Another good choice is next to the sink where it can be both bloody and wet.
Note to my children who are about to abuse me in my old age, let me state for the record that this is a compilation of comments on a FB post where I was lamenting the issue found in #1. None of the rest of these are my own ideas or are actions perpetrated by children in this house but are clearly ideas formed by parents less loving than I.
Oh, and I have never, ever lied to you.