Tired.

I give up. I can't do this. I don't have the strength of will. I will learn to grow content with being ugly and with being by myself. Somebody's got to do it, I suppose, as an example of how not to be, right? Fine. Whatever. Screw everything.

Eenie Meenie Miney Mo, Should I Stay or Should I Go, and other answered questions.

How I spent my time yesterday night depended on what I decided to follow--the sneaking suspicion I had for what God wanted of me or my own personal crusade for acceptance. The day camp that I work at is attached to a church, and every summer this week-long event called NBT takes place. NBT stands for Neighborhood Bible Time, and right at the beginning of the summer, hordes of exorbitantly cheerful male evangelists descend upon the place to start preparing. There are activities and services for kids from every age group, from pre-school through high school. Part of the deal I struck with my mother that allows me to go to a different church on Sundays (for the sake of my spiritual growth) mandates that I have to attend at least one service regularly, and I picked Wednesdays. This Wednesday was right in the middle of NBT. I went, but for adults there isn't much to do other than help out. My old Bible Quizzing coach is the NBT coordinator, and he said it'd be great if I could just chill with the teens and help out with the girls. You'd honestly have to drop by to understand why they'd be needing help. Bethel is a predominantly white, extraordinarily straitlaced, relatively quiet place, and the bus ministry they run brings in predominantly black, most likely ghetto, pretty freaking loud group. During NBT, the numbers swell and, for the teens, being white means you're now in the racial minority. Pastor Koontz didn't say as much, but he probably thought it'd be easier for me (black, yo) to deal with the rowdier girls than someone else. There are a few reasons why this isn't necessarily true, but I digress. The point is, I helped out. I didn't play any of the games, but I struck up conversations with girls that refused to play and opted to stand on the fringes of the action. During the service portion, I was assigned the role of counselor. Bethel's really big on keeping apples with apples, as in girls with girls, etc. If any girls came forward with questions, or if any girls wanted to talk about how be saved, I was there for that. Wednesday night, I didn't do a single thing. I went out of the room with a couple of other people, but there was only one girl and someone else took her aside. Basically, I was off work early. My mom and my siblings were done, too, so we left not too long after that. I saw Pastor Koontz as we were leaving, and told him I was debating about whether or not I should come back on Thursday. At Charlene's church, the place I've been going almost every Sunday that I've been home, there's a college-age Bible study type gathering every Thursday, and I have yet to attend one. All week I had been planning on going that Thursday, since it was close enough to walk and I had walked the route before anyway. After Wednesday, though, I felt torn. Should I go to AFC (the church) or should I stay to help out with NBT? Pastor Koontz just told me to pray about it, and that neither option was a bad one. I went to sleep feeling pretty certain that God wanted me at NBT, but after I woke up in the morning I started to convince myself that it would be okay if I went to AFC. My rationalizations included It would be good to get to know people better and It's a Bible study thing, so I'd be learning about God anyway. Whatever I said to try to convince myself, I couldn't help feeling that I was angling for AFC for the sake of people. My constant drive to win over everybody was at work, and no matter how I tried to justify going I couldn't shake the notion that I was up to no good. This pretty much lasted all day. I knew going to NBT would be the right choice, but I didn't want to give up the idea of befriending more people at AFC. As silly as it sounds, I feel like I need to invest double-time into AFC people if I'm going to make any friends, for various reasons. To me, it's a legitimate concern. I was still agonizing over it after my kids woke up from nap time, and I tale of woe-d my dilemma to Miss Lupi. I haven't mentioned this before, but that woman is a prayer warrior like no one you have ever seen. It is her answer to everything, from bug bites and lost keys to impending divorces and deaths in the family. She listened to my whining for a grand total of three seconds before saying, "Pray about it, lady. Let's pray now." After we prayed, "Now just wait. God will tell you." And every time I thought about NBT, I was pretty sure God was telling me. So, with some reluctance, I'll admit, I stayed after work to help out with NBT again. I felt more useless on Thursday than I did on Wednesday. There weren't too many girls talking or willing to talk to me on the sidelines of the games, and I ended up reading inside of the building, in the air conditioning and away from the mosquitoes that were making meals out of my legs. When the teens came back into the building for the service, I sat down in a chair by some girls who seemed likely to talk. This is the deal--if you sit next to talkers and you aren't talking, they notice. They notice even more if you're talking notes, and they care what you're doing if you offer to share your Bible, etc. A glance or two when the girls started getting louder was all it took. Those NBT evangelists are wasting time with some of their more heavy-handed approaches. Again, I'm getting off track. The point was, I sat in the service and listened and took notes. Great. Then, when the service ended, the evangelist asked if there was anyone in the room who wanted to know how they could be sure they were going to heaven. One guy very vocally made it known that he was curious. I didn't see his face, but I liked him. The cool thing about the bus kids is that they're most straight shooters. They say exactly what they think. After he said he wanted to know, a bunch of other kids felt comfortable enough to raise their hands and head to the back of the room. That was my cue, so I got up and followed, my Bible in tow. Turned out that this time there were enough girls for me to counsel. There was, in fact, a surplus! I headed to a quieter location with two girls. Qarie and Dymond were their names. Dymond had been one of the talkers I hadn't sat next to, and Qarie was a quieter, smaller girl I hadn't even noticed until then. They both had a lot of questions to ask me, and we spent a long time just sort of going over things. What sin was and how God felt about sin, how they thought it was possible to get to heaven, what they thought being a Christian meant. I was really careful while I was talking to them, because something I hate is when I feel like people are being bullied or coerced into Christianity. It's an important decision that everyone needs to make, yes, but that everyone needs to make for themselves. If they don't make the choice themselves, it's meaningless.I'll go ahead and skip to the end of the conversation (if you want painstaking detail you can email me or something) and let you know the AWESOME news. Both Qarie and Dymond accepted Christ. It was my first time ever leading anyone to that point, and I had to pretend to be all cool while I was really crying inside (and maybe tearing a little outside). I got their emails and, in Qarie's case, Facebook so that I could contact them later to see how they have been doing. I've actually got their addresses now so that I can drop by their homes to see how they've been doing. I felt so blessed by the two of them, but the overwhelming feeling I had was that God wanted me to be there. I'm sure that Qarie and Dymond would have gotten saved regardless of my involvement, but I felt blessed on another level knowing that God had used me. I was all inwardly emotional. I told Pastor Koontz and his wife, and they couldn't have been more overjoyed for Qarie/Dymond or for me. God bless 'em, haha. In the end, I wound up feeling that I had actually walked in God's will for my life. It was, I'll tell you, quite incredible.

This Tuesday: Places Frogs Should Not Be and Kids Say the Darndest Things

First, may I just say that this day has gone by super quickly? I am not complaining even a little bit, because I will get to eat faster. I have this craving for spicy food right now. Spicy food and Korean food, but the only way I'm getting Korean food is back in Philly so I'll just have to settle for now. No lie, the first weekend that I'm back at Penn I'm taking Melanie and we're just going to eat our way across campus. I'm talking Koreana, Ocean Harbor, Pod. So many places and so little time, but because it is Melanie we will eat at all of those places in one day and then she will drag me out to get something else. I cannot wait. Anyway, today has been a good work day. My kids have been extra lovable and even the twins have been quite good today.

Places Frogs Should Not Be:

Everything was fine and dandy as I helped some of my fours put on their sunscreen and told them to wait by the door. Our classroom has one door that leads to the rest of the building and one door that leads to the playground. My kids are clustered by the door, being kids, whatever. I open the door and start my little speech about holding the railing and not pushing (those steps are freaking dangerous-looking, no lie), and that's when I see something...dangling...I took a closer look and this is what I saw.

THERE SHOULD NOT BE A FROG THERE, and I guess God thought the same thing when He terminated its existence. Ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, etc. I cannot even believe that I took that picture. I feel so unclean. Mrs. Bridgers and Miss Lupi tried to take pictures on their phones, but I accidentally screwed up Mrs. Bridgers' and Lupi forgot to save hers. Who cares? Who wants to save that memory anyway? I wouldn't bother posting it except it's already been seared into my brain, and I relished the opportunity to unleash the image on the world. After we brought our kids in, Mrs. Bridgers started reading them a story involving animals, in which the mother animal commands her children to do something, and they do it. Example: "Quack!" said their mother. "We quack!" said her three. And they quacked on the river that lead to the sea. Or some such business resembling that. There was a part about a frog, and Mrs. Bridgers started laughing as she read, just remembering that awful crushed amphibian. The best part was the book. "Croak!" said the mother. "We croak!" said her frogs. For those of you who are slower on the uptake, croak=die and dead=that frog you just saw up there. Heh heh heh. Ewwwwwwww.

Kids Say the Darndest Things:

After Mrs. Bridgers finished reading to the kids, she got them to make animals noises, name their favorite animals, etc. Then she started asking, what do dogs eat? What do cats eat? and so on. Obviously we're hearing the standard, "Bones" "fish" "bread" stuff, but then she asks what lions eat, to which little Shreya responded, "FLESH! They eat smaller animals!"

FLEEEESSSSHHHHH!!!

Hahahahaahahaha, zomgosh.

Prayer Eureka (may they be plentiful)

At church on Sunday, just as the worship band started up on the first song, I had a miniature prayer epiphany. I was just voicing (veerrrry quietly) how merciful God is, and how He keeps forgiving and loving me even though I am a constant disappointment. Next thing you know, freaking "Eureka." Some background, if I may. Ever since God gave me the head's up that my psychological rejection-based issues are not in His plans for me, I've been frustrated over how I'm supposed to respond to that. I mean, I get it, I'm in control of my own responses, and therefore I need to have a godly, loving response to pretty much anything people throw at me, but come on. People trample all over the remnants of my heart and self-esteem and the first words out of my mouth should be, "Oh, that felt awesome, do it some more!"? I'm thinking no. God, on the other hand, is thinking something along the lines of "get over it." Not quite so harshly, I'm sure, but you get my meaning. Here was my line of reasoning (have you ever realized how quickly your brain works sometimes? you think an entire paragraph and it's only been five seconds): I'm a Christian, and I am supposed to be like Christ. Hence the name--Christian=little Christ. Christ is God, what with that whole 3-in-1 Trinity business He/They have going on. Since I'm supposed to be like Christ, I'm pretty much also supposed to be like God. God keeps welcoming me back, forgiving me, and loving me despite the countless times that I've disappointed Him, hurt Him, and rejected Him. Therefore, I should keep forgiving people and loving people no matter how many times they disappoint, hurt, and reject me. I should always be willing to welcome them back. Well, it took me long enough, eh? It seems to me that this was another one of those cases where I knew about this forgiveness business but didn't really know it in the sense that I was putting it into active practice in my life. Not that I'm saying I'll be able to just get over everything right.this.second, but at least now I feel as though I've got a User's Guide to Godly Feelings, or some such business.

I'll take every blessing I can get.

That's why I've decided to buckle down and read through the book of Revelation. I'm sure most Christians have read it all the way through plenty of times by now, but I can't remember if I ever did. Since right at the beginning John gives a heads up that anyone who reads Revelation and obeys will be blessed, I'm in. Not that one should need blessing incentive to read through a certain part of the Bible--it's just that I don't like the thought of the world ending. I'm already braced for the rebuke finger, but honestly it isn't necessary. I know what's wrong with me. I guess I could write a lengthy blog post about all of that, and maybe as I read through Revelation I'll elaborate more every couple of chapters or something. On another note:

It's really good to have God here when apart from Him I mostly feel by myself. AMI really strengthened this part of me again, and the summer may have been more unbearable without its influence.

Critics agree--Miss Tavi is "absolutely lovable!", "fun for the whole family!", and worthy of "FIVE STARS!"

After my naptime post yesterday, I sense that there may be a bit of hesitation over whether or not children love me or are terrified of me. Succumbing to my desperate need for your affections, I have decided to write this post, featuring kids who, as a matter of fact, adore me. In your face!

We'll start with Nina! I don't have a picture of her yet because every time I had my camera she wasn't around, but I'll come back later and add her in with an edit. Nina was a four year old when I started my first (and, admittedly, best) day camp summer. Nina was super spoiled, so sometimes I had to scold her or put her in timeout for various reasons, but she still loved me. Case in point: She still remembers my name and that I was her first day camp teacher. She drew me a little picture one day that I still keep in one of my Chinese language books, since Nina remembered that I was learning Chinese and would always toss Chinese words into her speech and then very nicely explain them to me. God bless her little heart.

This is Mayan!

Mayan was hyperactive and, on occasion, petulant. Between him and his best friend Dhanush, it was a frazzling summer. At one point I just started communicating with his parents who, consequently, also really like me, hahaha! Straight up, though, those are some of the best parents I have ever dealt with ever. Sometimes parents can be just terrible, but Mr. and Mrs. Mayan's Parents were just so. nice. Anyway, I saw his mother earlier this summer and she told me that Mayan had said I was HIS FAVORITE TEACHER, and that he thought he would get to be in my class again. Unfortunately, this was an untruth, as Mayan was now five. Cute, though, no? Even though I had to dole out the discipline, this tiny person still loves meee.

This is Arya!

One of my most cutest little triumphs, Arya liked me so much that she told her dad they had to get to day camp later, so that she wouldn't have to wait for me to come. She would, on occasion, tear up if she heard that I was not around, and I spent the entire month of July reminding her that I would be going to college in August. Literally, by the end of the month, all of my kids knew where I was heading. That didn't keep them from missing me, though! Inside of a care package my family sent while I was doing PFP was a handful of pictures drawn for me by my adorable little charges. I even talked to Arya on the phone and asked her how she was doing, and she said she was sad. I don't like it when kids are sad unless their sadness helps prove my point, so there you go.

This is Hime!

I am especially proud of this example, given that Hime's primary methods of communication take place through either Japanese or silence, neither of which I am very good at, as you all very well know. Hime has only been in my class for barely two weeks, and she already loves me. Proof? Is that what you are all clamoring for? Well, AHA.

That is the little note picture thing that Hime drew for me (and that is Hime sleeping on a cot you can just barely see at the edges of the pictures). She came in with her mother, and it was my first day back from AMI (Tuesday--I took off on Monday). Her mother explained the little card for me since, as I mentioned before, Hime and I do not speak a common language. Apparently, while I was gone for almost all of the week before, HIME WAS SO SAD! So she drew me this little note picture thing, and put sooooo many stickers in it (and you know how kids can be about stickers). After my effusive declarations of love for my new note picture bookmark thing, Hime gave me a hug FOR THE VERY FIRST TIME. Gaaah, she is so cute.We have even managed to eek out a few words of English between my persistence and her fondness for Silly Bands. When I am not quick enough to name the animal (or the shape, as apparently these silly bands (...ugh...) also come in a variety of shoes or modes of transportation), Hime tells me what they are. She comes in with a new crop every day! We are going to work on full sentences next! *EDIT* OMGOSH, HIME SPOKE A FULL SENTENCE TO ME!!! In a tiny little voice that I could just barely hear, Hime told me that she has a Barbie bike. Saints alive.

So, I hope that this post has managed to convince everybody that I am not a Nazi disciplinarian with zero capacity to love and be loved (though that evil Wharton quiz would argue differently). Look, evidence! Kids love me, and my own offspring will also love me, most likely. So hah. HAH, I say.

"I Want Grandchildren, But Not Too Early" and other reasons why discipline is important.

People have told me a couple of times that they think I would be a really strict mother, and I'm going to go ahead and say that they aren't wrong. I'll certainly do my best not to become an overprotective shrew, but for crying out loud, my offspring will be DISCIPLINED. I like children, but in small, obedient doses. After four straight summers being a day camp counselor (read: glorified babysitter) for a group of age fours, I'll admit that I now like children in larger, longer doses, but gosh darn it, I still like them obedient. Nothing is shaping my potential future motherhood more than this job. I'll tell you right now that I could not imagine working with somebody else's children for the rest of my life. I have mad respect for preschool education teachers and teachers in general, because the job of teaching just seems so stifling and monotonous to me. As I mentioned a bit earlier, this is my FOURTH. STRAIGHT. SUMMER. working as a four year old counselor. The first summer wasn't that bad, as I was working in tandem with a friend, but each subsequent summer I die a little inside, wondering how in the world I will be able to make it through three months of this. It is because of my innate dread of monotony and teaching that I worked to discover some silver linings.

1. The potential for cuteness:

Aww, just look at that adorable, guileless little face!!! So cute, Lizzie!!! Don't you just want to work with kids all of the time now, just you that you, too, can see cuddly little faces like the one before you? By my estimation, at least 75% of the day camp kids are cute. The rest of them are either older kids or too bad to be cute. We'll get to those subjects in a moment.

2. Money:

Oh, don't look at me that way just because I was being honest. All right, so I'm not making so much money that I can wipe my butt with the small bills, but I do work forty hours a week and money is money, right? Penn ain't cheap, people. This is probably the best job I could have, considering its relative ease and the slack we get cut here. Wanna take a ridiculous amount of time off? Whatever, it's your money. Let me know or find your own sub. Wanna show up fifteen minutes late sometimes because your siblings have lost the ability to function (oh, those are good days--it means they aren't talking much, either)? Whatever, it's your money. Don't do it too often. You work with four year olds? Just watch them. Say nice things to them, pinch their cheeks, give them high fives. Color next to them and they will be soooo happy. Oh, also, they nap for two hours a day, so you can just go ahead and DO ALL SORTS OF QUIET THINGS with that free time!!! Really, if I didn't dislike this job, I would love this job.

3. The best lessons in what to do/what not to do. For free! CORRECTION. For MONEY!!!

That was the last money joke, I promise. For real, though, after having observed four year olds for far too much of my existence, I know exactly how I plan on raising my descendants. I figure once I get them to age four, they'll have been pretty well trained at that point and obedience will come as naturally as breathing! Those kids will be my responsibility! One of the biggest things I've learned is that four year olds can barely think properly, as they are so young that their brains are probably still a bit mushy in some places (Honestly, this is probably a lie, as I know nothing about science and will not bother trying to verify this statement). Regardless, who is to blame when kids that should be terrific go terribly wrong? THEIR PARENTS. Some of the business we get up in here, honestly.

Lesson #1: No means no.

Meet Alyssa. I told her to smile, but she just held that pose until after I took the picture. Whatevs.

Me: Alyssa, do not eat your chips until you have eaten your sandwich.

Alyssa: *eyeballs me* *slowly brings chip to mouth*

Me: Alyssa, put that chip down and pick up your sandwich.

Alyssa: *opens mouth wider, begins to insert chip*

Me: Alyssa!

Alyssa: *lets chip hover uncertainly* [I imagine her internal dialogue went something like this--*brings chip to mouth* I want my chips. Will she let me eat the chips if I try hard enough?*opens mouth wider, begins to insert chip* I wonder if she will put me in timeout if I eat the chip...*lets chip hover uncertainly*.

Clearly, someone has gotten away with this sort of thing before. I agree that it's a trifle of an issue at this point, but it starts with "Alyssa, don't eat that chip" and turns into "Juliet, don't date that boy!" and we all know how that story ends.

Lesson #2: No hitting, unless Mommy/Daddy is doing it for disciplinary purposes.

Meet the twins, Abigail and Isabel. The caption for this picture is the direct quote, "Giddyup, giddyup, moo!"

Me: Isabel! Keep your hands to yourself! No hitting, no kicking, no pinching, do you understand me?

Isabel: *nods*

Ten minutes later

Me: Isabel! What did we just talk about? Go sit in timeout. *Later* Isabel, you need to keep your hands to yourself. You are hurting people, and you are not obeying. God is happy when we obey, so you need to start obeying.

Isabel: *nods*

Ten minutes later to her twin sister

Me: Abby! What did I just tell Isabel?! No hitting!

Abby: *squirms in what I have come to recognize as agreement*

Ten minutes later

Me: ABBY! What did I JUST SAY?

Abby: But Belle is going sloooow...

Me: *inner frustration* Go sit in timeout.

Repeat every.single.day.

This is especially annoying. I tried sending a note home for the parents, but they never responded and I'm not seeing any real improvement, so I'm not sure what's happening there. They're twins, so I'm sure stuff like that flies at home. The problem is that they've started pushing the other kids, and the other kids have started pushing each other, etc. I am very displeased, and I will soon have to start pulling out the big guns. Gretchen Shaleen. A lovely woman and every small child's worst fear, as she is quite loud and startles them if they are not prepared, and they rarely are. Once again, minor pushing seems like nothing when you're only four years old, but it starts off as "Isabel, stop picking on your sister" and turns into "Cain, stop picking on your brother." Oh, I declare, another familiar story with a familiar ending.

Lesson #3: Respect your elders.

Meet the other Isabelle. Cute, right? Also bad, so there you go.

Mrs. Bridgers: No monkey bars! They are too big for you.

Isabelle: *proceeds to the monkey bars*

Mrs. Bridgers: Isabelle, no! Come here!

Isabelle: *stands there*

Mrs. Bridgers: Come here, Isabelle.

Isabelle: No!

Me: *Oooh, snap*

Mrs. Bridgers: *Retrieves Isabelle herself* We are not going on the monkey bars, do you understand me? Go play somewhere else.

Isabelle: No! *stomps foot* I want to play on the monkey bars!

She subsequently refused to sit in timeout, so I took her over to GRETCHEN SHALEEN. I can pretty much guarantee that my kids are going to be good at this one. One look at the Bray/Henry family and despite all of our other faults, respect to elders is heavily emphasized, with various accessories ranging from your standard belts and books, to new and interesting weapons such as flyswatters and the occasional tree branch if nothing else happens to be handy. I think this lesson is especially important, because it starts off as "Respect your elders or I will call the office and they will sent Gretchen Shaleen to you" and turns into "Respect your elders or I will call upon God and He will send two wild bears to maul you." I think everyone is familiar with the conclusion to this story as well.

In short, what child-rearing skills I didn't pick up from watching my younger brother and resolving that none of my sons will ever be nearly so ridiculous, I learned from summer day camp. I hope that this post has been informative, and that the things I have learned will be helpful to you as well as to me. Always remember, Train up your child in the way he should go, and he will have a longer life expectancy.

The next time I post about my kids I'll include cute picspams, okay?!