Of Love and Libraries

   I had big plans for this morning.

   In my mind, I could see it all unfolding: Clara would go down for her first nap. Judah would settle in on the couch to watch the "Curious George Swings into Spring" for the umpteenth time. With the song "Spring brings things...dah dah dah..." buzzing endlessly in the back of my mind and slowly killing me, I would take a shower. I would finally wash my hair. I would probably even clean the toilet while I was in the bathroom without company. (Because in case you didn't know, when you're trying to pee while your baby plays in the empty bathtub and your toddler weighs himself repeatedly, you should not clean the toilet. Heaven forbid my kids get any extra ideas about putting brushes of some sort into toilets. I just bought new toothbrushes and I do NOT want them taking a swim.)

  But that's not what our morning looked like. Instead, I got a bad case of mom guilt when I realized that Judah has memorized the titles of the books advertised on the back of "Oh My Oh My Oh Dinosaurs!", and that he's been asking to go to the library for a week.

  Worse still is the fact that he thinks "library" is another name for "clothesline" (I have no idea why) and that I was just taking him to the backyard. Because I've never actually taken him to a library, which feels like an utter failure as the mother of a little reading enthusiast.This kid has been nose-deep in a book most of his life and I haven't taken him to nerd Disneyland- even though it is free and there are literally dozens of locations within driving distance.

  Actually, I TECHNICALLY took him to a library once, but he was still in utero...so he experienced it exactly the same as he experienced everything at that point: shadows, light, sounds, and sharp kicks to my bladder.

  So today I took my son to the library for the first time as an external, air-breathing being.

  Clara went down for her nap. I slapped on some make-up to halfway cover up the massive civil war happening between each side of my face in an attempt to prove that one half can produce more zits than the other. I selected something to wear from the pile of clean clothes on the couch. I threw some Converse and my old Switchfoot beanie on Judah, which took his outfit from "lounging and watching Little Einsteins" to the slightly impressive "child hipster". And away we went!

  Almost.

  Right after he cried about being done with Little Einsteins, cried because he DID want to go to the library even though we were literally doing that very thing, cried because I brushed my hair, and cried because he didn't want to hold my hand. THEN away we went!

  (I should note at this point that I did NOT leave my almost-one-year-old baby sleeping alone at home. My mother-in-law was there while Clara napped. I do not randomly abandon my children. So you can all set your mind's at ease, because everything is just fine.)

  During the seven minutes it took us to drive to the library, Judah sat in the backseat and pretended to be a squirrel as he ate almonds, and I talked him through what to expect at the library. We reviewed library rules (Be Very Quiet, Stay with Mama) as we got out of the car, and added No Eating in the Library when I noticed the almonds he was smuggling in his palm. 

  We entered the library with two confiscated almonds in our pocket (me) and making quiet monkey noises (Judah).

  Finding the children's section was the work of a moment, but identifying the organizational system of the books in the children's section took a bit more work. I found the Chinese translations section with relative ease, but as we do not speak Chinese, much less read it, this was useless to us.

  Finally I gave up and decided to ask a librarian for help, awkwardly stopping two feet in front of her and saying, "Judah, this lady is called a librarian. We can ask her for help. Say, 'Excuse me' in a polite voice." Judah marched his cute, emotional hipster self right up to her and said, "Excuse me, I need some help," in the most polite of all polite voices, to the pride of his mother who had utterly failed him until this day.

  When the very patient librarian responded with "What are you looking for?" Judah informed her "I am looking for some Boynton books," but she couldn't understand him, due to the fact that his intense focus on using a polite voice had rendered his pronunciation completely inept, and what he'd actually said was "I allah ma buoy booze." 

  Or something like that. Honestly, I was a little busy beaming with pride over how polite his gibberish sounded.

  Eventually we found a few Boynton books, and the librarian (doubtless won over by the manners of my child) brought us several other books as well. I tried to interest Judah in her thoughtful recommendations, as my mom guilt had abated and I was now suffering from the less-common Library Patron Guilt, but he had found a book about dancing monsters and didn't care about childhood staples like Spot or Maisie. 

  We checked out our library books, walked across the street to The Burien Press, and picked out a scone to share. When the barista complimented Judah's patience, I thanked her, and Judah screamed because his patience is extremely short-lived in the scone department. We moved our exhaustion and emotions outside, I sipped the first espresso I've had in a month, and he furiously devoured a scone as we read our Boynton book/bouy booze about Pookie Pig. 

  As we walked back to the car Judah told me "This was so fun," and "I love you so much, Mama Pookie." Though being affectionately referred to as a mama pig is never the motivation behind these occasional dates with Judah, it's still so sweet to hear. Because despite the rough edges of the morning, our hour together had been precious and valuable. And as Proverbs is wont to remind us, "From the overflow of the heart the mouth speaks."

  I want my child to know that each time I say that I love him, it is not dutiful or habitual, but an overflow of my genuine love for him. So we will have our special time, away from routines and darling baby sisters, when I can show him in new ways that my love for him is greater than crying fits, or obedience, or circumstances. My love for him is unconditional, and I want it to illustrate to him God's unconditional love for us.

  When he acts out, as he frequently has of late, there will be discipline- just as God disciplines us. Sin always has consequence, to correct us away from danger and back towards what is best. There will also be grace, just as God extends grace to us through Jesus. And, sometimes, there will over-abundant gifts for the undeserving. 

  Because always, always, there will be love.