But I married a basketball player—a small-town, high school stand-out, I’m told. My basketball history is less stand-out-ish. I remember sort of  watching exactly one basketball game. Lakers versus Celtics. It was a high stakes game. Die-hard Lakers fans like my brothers sported purple and yellow high-top sneakers for the entire season in an act of loyal devotion. It was Bird versus Magic, and I was nervous.

Why? I have no idea.

I just desperately wanted the Lakers to win because everyone else did. In fact, I wanted them to win so badly, I couldn’t even watch. After checking the score, I’d run to my bedroom to frantically work on my knotted bracelet of embroidery thread. It was the best remedy for my tattered nerves.

In seventh grade I “went out” for basketball. It seemed a logical decision after such an emotional experience with that Lakers’ game I sort of watched. But I didn’t understand all the talk about running the offense, and playing defense because—ahem—I didn’t know the difference between offense and defense.

Apparently the coaches assumed such facts were a given for seventh grade girls. They might have explained it, but I was probably talking, or worrying about how I looked in gym shorts. Somehow, I missed it, and basketball was very confusing. I lasted two weeks, and then I quit.

Several years later as a high school cheerleader, I was finally able to sort out the confusion. Offense: put the ball in the hoop. Defense: keep the ball from the hoop.

Since then Kurt and I have watched a lot of practices and games. Kurt has tutored me in the basics, and I’ve learned a ton from my boys and their coaches.

But it still came as a shock to my entire family when, for the first time in my life, I filled out a NCAA bracket.

March Madness. Until a couple years ago I thought it had to do with St. Patrick’s Day.

So why did I do it? Primarily for entertainment value for me and for the boys. When they laugh about my predictions, I laugh at their utter disbelief that I could have picked THAT team! We are making memories.

I’m a huge fan and follower of our local 5th, 7th and 8th grade teams, but I can’t recall the last time I watched an NCAA game, so their incredulity is warranted. I didn’t really know what I was doing. Thankfully the NCAA listed each team’s record. I loosely based my picks on each team’s record but failed to take ranking into account. (So that’s what those little numbers were!) I chose a few random upsets for my own entertainment.

My youngest looked at my bracket and gave a humored “Pffft.” He ran to his brother’s room and I heard him say, “Guess who Mom has playing in the second round!!” There was a pause and then cackling laughter. They both came to the kitchen where I was carefully (or not) making my predictions, to see if it was as bad as they thought.

I played the part. “Hey, no cheating! You can’t look at my bracket!” More incredulous laughter. “I’m writing my name on here so no one tries to claim it.”

They rolled their eyes and assured me, “No one will take your bracket. “

I’m not without my sources though. I heard Kurt say Vegas picked Duke to win it. I reasoned that Vegas has a vested interest in folks losing, so I picked Kansas to win simply because I have roots in the Sunflower State. Looks like Vegas and I were wrong.

And even though Kansas didn’t win, I still feel like I did because we still has shared experience + family memories + laughter.

This is the ministry of March Madness. I’m taking one for the team. The family team. If someday my boys sit around the living room and recall “the year mom filled out a bracket,” my efforts will not have been in vain. If being the butt of every NCAA prediction joke means we have shared experiences and family memories, I win.

Sometimes the ministry of motherhood looks like teaching, nurturing, and feeding.

But sometimes it looks like March Madness.

Tell me about your atypical, unconventional ministry to your family! 

The post The Ministry of March Madness appeared first on Shauna Letellier.

Remember when I revealed all my early motherhood delusions? I mentioned our Spanish Barney days. Back when my boys were preschoolers and I was a hyper-vigilant mom who didn’t want to waste a moment of opportunity, who wanted to give my boys the best head start in the world, but I didn’t want to take them to preschool (confining!). I bought a VHS video of Barney entirely in Spanish. Because I had two things going for me.

• My boys loved to watch TV and no matter what was on, if there was a screen, they were glued.
• I had a dial up internet connection and an amazon account. The world was my Walmart, and Spanish Barney was in my mailbox within a week.

Took me three days to remember to take a “first day of school picture.” So technically speaking, this is our “third day of school picture.”

See, I thought that exposing them to a foreign language early in life would give them a real advantage in life. And besides I could get a few things done while they were glued to Spanish Barney.

Unfortunately the only word we remember “elefante” which is pronounced “eh-lay-font-ay.” Not exactly a puzzle when it comes to translation or pronunciation. While it may be a useful word on the plains of the Serengeti if you are traveling with Spanish speaking tourists, it’s less useful on the plains of the Midwest where we live.

It did give us a launching pad to talk about other languages though. When one of my little cherubs referred to his bottom as a “butt” he explained to his brother that “butt” is Spanish for bottom. With my hopes dashed, I passed the video along to a family who actually spoke Spanish, and hopefully they got more use from it than we did.
All is not wasted though, because this year our oldest has enrolled in first-year Spanish. And I have high hopes his teacher will think well of him when he shows up to class on the first day able to correctly pronounce and translate one moderately unhelpful Spanish word.

Three cheers for maternal foresight!

Olé! Olé! Olé!

The post Never for Nothing (Nunca de Nada) appeared first on Shauna Letellier.

You already know how excited I am (not) to give you this cell phone. For several years my response to your continual badgering has been, “You can get a phone when your dad and I need you to have one.”

Good news and bad news, Son. We need you to have one. This is good news because you will think your greatest longing and wish has been fulfilled.

But it’s bad news, because we’ve essentially put a power tool in the hands of a baby. In my mind it conjures up images of a toddler wielding a chainsaw.

I know. That’s so insulting because you’re not a baby. I know. That’s why you’re getting a phone.

But it’s not just a phone. You are getting a power tool. And despite the fact that you are taller and arguably stronger than me, you are still very young. Too young, in fact, to use a power tool without instruction.

As with all power tools, your phone comes with a long list of disclaimers that seem to insult your intelligence and say things that should go without saying.

Regretfully, the owner’s manual that came with your phone left some of those things out. So, for your convenience (and mine) I have listed them below.

WARNING: Read, understand and follow all instructions. Failure to do so may result in removal of phone privileges.

WORK AREA: Do not operate phone in explosive atmospheres such as in the car, while driving

Keep bystanders, children and visitors away while operating cell phone. Distractions can cause you to lose control, or speak rudely to bystanders or the person on the other end of the phone.

ELECTRICAL SAFETY: Water entering a phone will increase the risk of electrical shock and will likely damage the device beyond what a baggie full of dry rice can repair. Plus we did not buy the insurance, so replacement is up to you.

Do not abuse the cord. Never use the cord to pull the plug from an outlet. Keep it away from heat, sharp edges and slamming car doors. Replacing damaged cords is also your responsibility.

PERSONAL SAFETY: Stay alert. Do not use it while tired or under the influence of drugs, alcohol, or coercive peers. In fact, do not use drugs, alcohol or be friendly with coercive peers. Ever. Also, do not be a coercive peer.

Avoid accidental starting. Accidental starting may result in an embarrassing episode of butt dialing someone you do not wish to call.

USE and CARE: Keep idle phone out of reach of children and other untrained persons. This includes but is not limited to toddlers who can disable your phone for 2.5 million minutes and brothers or friends who would try prank call unknown contacts. A password reset, or social damage control will be your responsibility.

STORAGE: Plug in phone to charge on kitchen counter before bedtime.

And with a nod to the Hippocratic oath, the overriding principle to govern your cell phone usage should be to “do no harm.”

Do not harm yourself by viewing inappropriate material.

Do not harm others (including your brothers) with hurtful words, or embarrassing videos or photos, unless you have express permission to take and distribute said videos and photos.

Do not harm your relationship with your parents by misusing this power tool.

In the unlikely event that you do abuse the power tool or harm someone, the warranty of free usage is nil and void.

However, your father and I both did stupid, careless things when we were your age. And since the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, unfortunately, you will too. There will be consequences for misuse which may be unpleasant for all of us. But please know, we love you.

Though you may not like our methods, we will help you get up when you fall, review the proper use of this power tool, and let you try again.

Because that is how we learn to properly care for power tools, cell phones, and people.

With high hopes for your adherence to these instructions,

Mom

The post A Baby with Power Tools (aka. a cell phone) appeared first on Shauna Letellier.

Like the exact shape of Kevin Durant’s logo.

The precise lyric of a Tim Hawkins parody.

Who’s fishing lure got dropped in the lake.

They went round and round, name-calling, bet-making, and demanding I settle meaningless disputes.

(Not only do I not care about Kevin Durant’s logo, it bothers me that you care so deeply!!)

In a moment of frustration (and perhaps a little panic), I decided we needed make some serious adjustments.
With the help of Google, I found out our local Boys and Girls Club has a summer program to take kids to the pool several times a week. Besides that, they have an indoor basketball court! They could shoot hoops and swim in a supervised environment, and I could have consecutive, uninterrupted hours to concentrate.

It was a win-win.

Until I mentioned it.

The boys stared in stunned silence for about 20 seconds as if I had just announced we were giving them away. Then they began their protests.

Mom! That’s like daycare!

WHAT?!!! We don’t know anyone there!

I am NOT going!

I named some friends who attend and brought up the pool and basketball court. They were not convinced, but I was not dissuaded.

Later that day I heard one say to his brother, “Stop arguing or mom’s going to send us to the Boys and Girls Club.” (Nothing against the Boys and Girls Club, it’s just that my kids are accustomed to their unstructured summer.)

Then that evening when I walked into the bathroom, I noticed something I never imagined I’d see in my house.
Right there hanging on the wall I noticed the toilet paper with its loose end folded into a neat, centered point. Just the way a hotel housekeeper folds it to let you know they’ve been there to tidy up.

What on earth?

I asked, “Who folded the toilet paper into a point, and why?!”

Finally, one son confessed and added, “Well…I didn’t want to go to the Boys and Girls Club!”

I wanted to die laughing and bawl my eyes out at the same time.

I’m not terribly impressed with neatly folded toilet paper. It doesn’t help our day go better. In my opinion, it doesn’t really qualify as serving or appreciating or being kind. It’s just an external flourish to let someone know you’ve been there. And you folded the toilet paper to prove it.

It’s not critical, and certainly not what I was after.

For a moment I understood with a bit more clarity what the prophet Samuel meant when he said, “to obey is better than sacrifice.” Or, as paraphrased by me, to do the right thing in the first place is better than doing frivolous things to make up for doing the wrong thing.

I would rather my boys make an effort to be kind, to assume the best, and be accommodating to one another.

I’m talking something as simple as,

“Will you get my water bottle?”

“Sure.”

But instead, they take their arguments outdoors where I can’t hear and fold toilet paper into a perfect point hoping that will make it better.

It gave me a moment to ponder where I’m trying to cover up disobedience with external flourishes which are fancy and noticeable, but far from essential. And to evaluate, on the other hand, what is essential to glorify God and benefit others.

The truth is, there is probably more tidying up to do in my heart than in my schedule. Which, most times, means I get to stop doing something rather than add something to my list.

I get to stop stewing in anger.

I get to stop worrying about things I can’t control—which, incidentally, is just about everything.

I get to stop policing opinions.

And with those things nixed from my list, I’m free to spend that energy doing what I should have done in the first place: to love the One who rescued me and point others toward Him. In a word, obey.

And that’s a relief for everyone. Because the last thing we need is one more to-do list item that amounts to nothing more than a neatly folded square of toilet paper.

The post To Obey is Better than Sacrifice: A Modern Day Parable from My House appeared first on Shauna Letellier.

But when I read “Meghan Trainor Takes Mortifying Tumble on Fallon,” I clicked.

It was partly because I like Meghan Trainor’s message of feeling comfortable in your own skin and her song that essentially makes it “cool” for girls to tell a boy “NO.” So while I’m not saying Meghan Trainor is a perfect role model, and I have no idea if she personally believes or lives out her message, I am glad that at least one of the “cool kids” has the sense to write songs that offer at least a kernel of healthy thinking.

And for this reason, I like her. Or at least the little I know about her.

So when I read she took a tumble, I felt a little sorry for her though I didn’t know if the tumble was figurative or literal.

I watched the video.

It was literal. (High heels are actually on the list of legitimate threats to women’s health as “unintentional injuries.” Just say no to saturated fats, carcinogens, and heels).

And while she was icing her ankle, the internet probably tried to crucify her or elect her president.

The only thing that could have made such a horrifying moment even more tantalizing for social media consumers was Jimmy Fallon’s response. (Again, I’m not claiming he’s a bastion of chivalry, but a moment’s observation made me smile.)

As Megan Trainor lay on the floor of his stage, Jimmy Fallon walked on stage and lay down beside her as if it were the new thing to do. They laughed and exchanged unbroadcasted words, then he helped her up.

He didn’t tell her she had no business doing that kind of choreography in heels. He didn’t stand there laughing and point at her clutching his aching side. He helped her up.

And though it might be a stretch, it reminded me of Jesus’ story of the Good Samaritan. Who knelt in the dirt on a dangerous road, tended the wounds of a half-dead traveler, and helped him to safety.

While I’m sure Fallon and Trainor didn’t intend to be a late night parable, I thought it was instructive. And I want to learn from every example of gospel kindness I see, even if my unlikely teachers appear only for a moment on late night television.

The post Unlikely Teachers appeared first on Shauna Letellier.

At my graduation reception, it crowned my shrine of photo albums, news clippings, and guestbook.

There was just one problem.

While it was supposed to proclaim to family and friends that I had learned what I needed to know, it actually declared that there was still more to learn.

Because what I meant to type on that banner was “CONGRATULATIONS!” But apparently spellcheck wasn’t a feature in the program connected to the dot matrix printer, and what I actually printed out, in all caps, was “CONGRADULATIONS!”

I didn’t even realize it until several reception guests did. I was about to climb the wall to rip it down and save myself severe embarrassment when one guest mercifully pointed out that it was a bit of a pun.

You know… “Con-GRAD-ulations, GRAD-uate.”

And for the rest of the day I used that line every time someone noticed my error.

It seems like a funny little parable for every chapter of life that comes to an end. Through years and experience, we’ve learned so much. We’ve passed the tests and declared our accomplishments at the end.

Only when we get there, we find there’s more to learn.

The good news is that followers of Christ have a friend and advocate who comes alongside us in our mistakes and misspellings. He lifts the burden of despair and embarrassment, guilt and fear.

But He doesn’t leave us in our ignorance so that we go on spelling congratulations wrong …or worse.

Instead, He leads us into the next chapter where we usually find there’s much we don’t know, and a lot He has to teach us.

In the book of James, Jesus’s own brother tells us that “If any of you lack wisdom, you should ask God who gives generously to all without finding fault and it will be given to you.”

Sometimes we’re embarrassed by the things we don’t know or forgot. You need too much help!  You ought to know that by now. Weren’t you listening the first time?

It’s interesting that James doesn’t say, “If anyone lacks wisdom…

…shame on her because she ought to know by now.

…it’s because she’s a slow learner.

…it’s not surprising because she wasn’t listening the first time.

Nope. That comes from somewhere else.

“Learn from me,” Jesus says. When we ask Him for wisdom, it proves we’ve learned more than we realized, and by His grace we have wisdom beyond our years.

CONGRATULATIONS on the things you’ve learned this year, or this season. Sure, there’s more to learn, but in Christ, there is all the wisdom you will ever need.

The post Congratulations! appeared first on Shauna Letellier.

Funny that we recognize only it once a year though.

Around here it seems like the like the movie Groundhog Day, only instead of February 2^nd, it’s April 1, every day.

Ok, not every day. But sometimes it seems that way.

A few cases to prove my point: First, my youngest has taken to writing his name as “Boss Hog” on his Wednesday church papers.

Last year the boys went through a stage where they rubber banded the kitchen sink sprayer so that every time I turned on the faucet, a cold shower blasted me in the stomach for as many seconds as it took me to figure out what was happening.  Inevitably, this happened as I was headed out the door.

Then there was the season I resolved to be “the mom who follows-through.” I told them to put away every single toy before the timer rang, and anything left on the floor was going to be thrown or given away.

And I followed through. Twice. (Happy day at the thrift store, sad day at our house.)

By the third time I made this “threat” they knew I meant businesses. So with the timer ticking down, I hollered a 30 second warning. There was no response.

When the timer rang, I walked into the room. The boys were nowhere to be found, and the floor was clean except for every single pair of underwear from the drawer. When I acknowledged the prank, they all tumbled out of the closet, laughing their heads off at their clever trick.

More recently they’ve taken to “fake fights.” Slamming a door and whining, “Stop it! Quit!….” The kind of drivel that makes me want to puncture my eardrums with an ice pick. When I arrive ready to referee, they bust out laughing. And I am only semi-relieved there is no fight, because they have completely figured out how to get my attention in the most ridiculous ways.

Then last week as I was leaving the house, I barked instructions on finishing jobs and being kind. Before I had pulled out of the driveway they called to “fake tattle.” I looked in the kitchen window as I drove away to see them all staring out the window at me, just trying to catch that exhausted, irritated, eye-rolling expression. I’m pretty sure they got a glimpse of it.

While I might end up needing prescriptions to cope, I am thankful that they have a sense of humor. The world is tough place without one.

Besides, a cheerful heart is good medicine for all of us. Even if it means I leave the house with a wet shirt multiple times a year.

The post When It’s April Fools Day More Than Once a Year appeared first on Shauna Letellier.

It didn’t come with doilies, construction paper, glue or conversation hearts.

Artwork by Julie Chen. Click to order your print.

There were no chocolates or stuffed animals.

It was delivered to me over a table full of Mexican food as we crammed in dinner between parent teacher conferences and basketball practice.

As it often does, our dinner conversation turned sour, and we landed on the subject of halitosis–bad breath.

I’m not sure if it was the garlic or the refried beans that brought the topic to the fore, but in any case, the boys began to discuss the perils and hilarity of bad breath–their own and that of others.

They mocked each other about morning breath and other unpleasantries.

The post An Unconventional Valentine appeared first on Shauna Letellier.

Photo Credit: TiiaBear

In the car, in the kitchen, while I walk, when I worship. 

And nearly every kind. I can appreciate a banjo as well as an intelligent rap and just about anything in between.

I’m amazed that God would use elements as formulaic and functional as math and physics for a composition so artistic and enjoyable as music.

His brilliant combination makes music a powerful tool.

Think of the lyrics you know by heart. You have words from entire songs–perhaps entire albums– tucked away in your brain. With a few starting notes you can recite the words without much effort. 

It is no coincidence that in biblical times children—yes children—could memorize the entire book of Psalms because it was their song book. The soundtrack of their heritage. Add melody to words, repeat regularly, and over time 150 chapters of scripture and history get locked into memory. 

One-hundred-fifty chapters! 

I have trouble remembering phone numbers…except for Jenny’s, “8 6 7 – 5 3 0 ny-eee-I-een.” See what I mean?

I’ve tried to harness this gift for my kids. We’ve set verses to such ridiculous melodies, none of us can forget even if we tried. We’ve also listened to artists such as Ellie Holcomb who has set scripture to music.

But it “cuts both ways” as Gloria Estefan sang.

We’ve had the radio going in the car a lot because… well, I love music. However, while I admire Megan Trainor’s message in “All About that Bass,” I cringe when I hear my boys singing about “booty.” Call me a prude but hearing them sing Bruno Mars’s jam, “Up-town you-know-what,” is also troublesome for me.

So I took a cue from a friend and decided this year on the drive to school we will hear a monthly theme song. An entertaining song with lyrics that don’t embarrass me, or them, if they start mindlessly singing them at family gatherings.

With school starting in August, I chose an oldie by Scott Krippayne called I’m Not Cool. Even if it is cheesy, I still get a little choked up when I listen. It speaks to adolescent insecurities which apparently die hard.

The tune is catchy, and I hope the message sticks. The artist laments his complexion, clothes, and car and then declares, “I’m not cool, but that’s okay, My God loves me anyway!”

There was a little eye-rolling from the boys, but we stuck with it through August.

For September the boys chose Impossible by Building 429 which champions the truth “That nothing is unreachable, when we trust the God of miracles.” I like it, but a month is going to be a challenge. I may have to adjust the schedule for a new song every week.

So I’m on the hunt for songs with solid lyrics that my boys would like.

If you have a recommendation, I’d sure be grateful if you’d share it. I’ll head straight to iTunes and add it to our playlist!

(Unless it’s something like THIS SONG. I think that song, catchy as it is, will ruin the theme song project forever! Thanks to Andee for digging up that gem.)

The post Gifts of Music and Memory appeared first on Shauna Letellier.

For instance, our final baseball tournament is in the books. Like ballpark franks on a grill, we sizzled on the bleachers and watched a lot of baseball.

Those little boys in grass stained baseball pants—the ones who made sand castles in the dirt at first base–they grew up. They’re pitching fast, hitting hard and the grass stains are gone because the knees have been ripped right out of the pants due to a nasty slide.

After the tournament, I fell asleep counting pitches. And it didn’t take long…one, two three strikes and I was out.
The next day we slept in. For the first time in several weeks we had nothing on the calendar. Ahhhh. A day to relax.

Only apparently we forgot how because no one knew what to do with themselves at home all day.

Finally, around 5:00 when I was about ready to start supper, the boys remembered that cooperation is less exhausting than bickering and, by some miracle, they started to assemble a fort in our trees.

Well, “fort” is what they used to call it. Back when they were building sandcastles at first base. Now that they’re able to name and aim their pitches, they call it a “blind.” And it’s outfitted for all their fall hunting adventures.

When they finally ran outside to put the finishing touches on it by weaving the snipped cedar branches to create an authentic camouflage, I was glowing with pride.

Ahh, yes! I thought as they ran outside. This is what summer is for. Creativity! Mental exercise! Physical work. Repurposing junk lumber and pallets. Hands-on learning!! This is the essence of childhood!  
They’d been working for over an hour when I went out to admire the modifications. I took my camera to prove my maternal interest. I wanted to subtly affirm this brotherly cooperation, creativity, and construction.

But when I arrived the work was at a stand-still, and they were slinging words in a verbal BRAWL.
I tried to snuff out the argument, but I was too late. No one was receptive to diplomacy or reason by that time. Two boys quit and went inside to the reprieve of the Wii while one boy stayed and finished construction.

And I spent the next half an hour trying to recover from emotional whiplash.

I thought they’d been learning. Discovering. You know…the whole essence of childhood delusion?

Then I realized, just because they’re arguing doesn’t mean they’re not learning. And I supposed it could be argued that such family feuding is also part of the essence of childhood.

Because in reality they’re still learning. Learning how to argue, compromise, and negotiate. No one said it was effective, but sometimes you have to know what doesn’t work in order to find something that does. For instance, one brother had decided to copycat every phrase his brother said in the argument.

Stop it!

Stop it!

Stop copying me!

Stop copying me!…

Needless to say, it accomplished nothing.

But I suppose it was just another learning experience of sorts. Another hypothesis to test when vehement yelling hasn’t worked.

Whatever it was I’m starting to think the bickering and fighting is just as much a learning experience as the fort. And eventually experience will prove what the writer of Proverbs meant when he wrote, “A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger.”

Incidentally, a copycat also stirs up anger.

And it’s a great reminder to me that I can teach and talk until I’m fresh out of words, but some lessons have to be learned in the field. Or in the trees building a fort…I mean a blind.

The post The Essence of a Childhood Summer appeared first on Shauna Letellier.