the elder

About three weeks ago, I finally ordered a book that had been suggested (unsolicited, mind you) to me by more than one person (including Rachel's pediatrician): Raising Your Spirited Child. For whatever reason, I resisted. I think I did not want to label Rachel, even if "spirited" is supposed to sound positive. I have been around kids a LOT in my life, and, well, they're all spirited. I had to really humble myself to buy the book. It was like admitting that I don't know how to handle my own child. It was as if to suggest that Rachel needs something extra, something I don't know how to provide. I guess it really has uprooted something I didn't even know I believed: that all children are basically the same, and that it's more about how they are raised that makes them either calm or crazy, pleasant or annoying, polite or attention-seeking. I'm kind of embarrassed to say that's what I thought, but I guess it is.

And so, as she has since her birth, Rachel has been paradigm-shifting. She is spunky. She's creative (and left-handed...is there a correlation?). She's persistent and shrewd. She will negotiate anything, often successfully and before the other party even realizes what has happened. She loves her sister to pieces. She cries when she doesn't get something she wants, and then later tells me she was fake crying. She delights in imitating me, and in pretending to be in charge. She is notorious for changing the subject when she's about to get in trouble for something, or when she's just been disciplined.

And she's funny, and she loves her mommy and her daddy. She's starting to notice more of the interactions between Jarrad and me, and she's picking up on tones in my voice, sighs of frustration, or a furrowed brow, regularly inquiring, "What's wrong, Mommy?" One night, I was washing dishes, and Jarrad came over and quickly grabbed the cloth out of the sink to wipe the table. I pretended to be so shocked and offended, and said, "HEEEEY! What are you doing??" He playfully replied that he'd give it back in a minute, and then he threw it back at me and we had kind of a flirty exchange. Rachel got the biggest kick out of the whole thing, and she asked me about it several times over the following two days, laughing as she recounted how Daddy took my cloth. It's sweet to know that she's for us--that she wants Mommy and Daddy to love each other and get along. Research has shown that a good marriage between a mom and dad is absolutely the best thing for the child, but you don't have to tell a child that; they know. Rachel knows.

I love watching Rachel grow and learn. She's really into "activities," which are worksheets from a little Preschool activity book Poppy gave her. She practices writing letters and doing the exercises with Daddy or me. After much prayerful consideration, we opted not to put her in preschool just yet, if at all. A part of me is sad for that, because I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that she would love it. But, for now, God was telling us, "No," and I know He has a good reason, even if I never know what the reason is. I trust Him.

I love my big girl so much. I love her little scratchy voice. I love the intonation she uses when she's "teaching" me something, and the way she cocks her head to the side and puts her hands out for emphasis. I love that she throws me a curveball every time I think I have her figured out. I love that she tries so hard to be good, and I hate how I react sometimes when she isn't. I pray for her--that she will gain wisdom and understanding of those things that really matter: faith, hope, and love, and that she will put those things into the only context in which they make sense--a relationship with Jesus Christ. And I pray that the Lord will use me to show her those things in the way I live and respond to those around me.