It's a New Year

Last night we gathered on the couch for a few moments of what I've come to think of as an unusual form of torture... or at least, that's what it has been in recent weeks, and that is what I had expected. But, I am getting ahead of myself. Let me back up a bit.

Many of you are familiar with Family Home Evening. We're encouraged by LDS church leaders to set aside an evening during the week (Monday) for our families. We talk about scripture stories, we talk about things we need to work on as a family, we pray and we sing together... and then we pig out on a yummy goody (with young children, often this is the most memorable part of the evening). In your mind, do you have an idyllic picture of quiet children, gathered around loving parents, with eager eyes and smiling faces? Well, that's the picture you might see at someone else's house... but not mine, dear Reader.

The past several weeks, gathering for FHE has been accompanied by screams, tears, and much wailing and gnashing of teeth, and I'm not just referring to what the boys put out. Have you ever tried to sit next to three boys who were attempting - imaginatively or literally - to blow everyone within reach to kingdom come? The word Apocalypse takes on a whole new meaning. Two weeks ago, I had to put Eli in time out four times and that was just during the lesson. You might think singing, in our family, would be the easy part. But our children are as stubborn as a mule when it comes to singing... in fact I imagine a mule would be much more willing to sing than our children have been. This was the case last week. Sheer torture.

But not last night.

Last night, when the Professor got home from work, I was busy with dinner. I asked him to throw something together for FHE. He suggested we talk about New Year's resolutions. He went off to do his thing, I finished dinner and tried not to dread what was to come. When we all sat down on our couch, the Professor was facing us with his guitar. Have I ever told you that I fell in love with the Professor when he played his guitar for me? No? He sang love songs to me, and I simply swooned. Really. Ok, just kidding. But it sure sounds nice. We opened with a prayer, and read a scripture. I'd just finished explaining the scripture when Eli (sitting next to me) hoisted a bazooka (the knife sharpener from our knife block) onto his shoulder to shoot my head off, and I started to have panicky thoughts about where in the world my two year old picked that up, and the Professor started to play.

The Professor had thrown together a little song. It went like this:

Caleb, a New Year has come, what are you going to do?


And each time he would call out someone else's name. The Professor continued to pick out the tune as first Caleb, then Isaac, and Tom and I each offered two or three things we wanted to work on this year. Caleb and Isaac offered such sincere and heartfelt goals that I still get a little misty just thinking about them. By the end, Caleb and I were singing with the Professor as well. The guitar tamed the beast in us all, well... in most of us, anyway. Eli continued to shoot and slash at me with an arsenal of weapons. But he stayed by me, and I think he may have been a little quieter in his destruction than he often is.

I still found myself singing that little song this morning and smiling as I thought of the family night that didn't end in nuclear warfare. There is hope, and next week, I will remind the Professor to bring out his guitar again. Thank you, my dear, you didn't mean to, but you touched my heart last night. I'm so glad you are mine.