Vacuous Truths at the Dinner Table with My Preschooler

By Raphael - Stitched together from vatican.va, Public Domain,
https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=4406048

I told Johnny that he should change one sentence that he wrote on his second-grade homework assignment. He had written,"The sun is the biggest star in the solar system." But the sun is the only star in the solar system, so that sentence doesn't mean much.

But of course, the original statement, in a mathematical sense, is true. It's not very helpful, but it's true. I mean, let's say the sun won first place in the sculpture category of the community art show. Even if it was the only entry in its category, it would still have won the contest.

Our dinner conversation that night went something like this:

Me: "Well, saying that the sun is the biggest start in the solar system is true—because it's the only star in the solar system—but it's kind of silly. I mean, what if my  teacher told me to write about my family, and I wrote, 'All of my husbands work at NASA, and Owen is my biggest husband'?"

Everyone laughs and laughs.

I go on, "And Rosemary [who is not married] could also say truthfully that all of her husbands work at NASA. That statement is mathematically true."

Owen questions this, but then has an "aha" moment when he realizes that you can say that all members of the empty set are *fill in the blank,* and the statement is always true. 

"Well, it's mathematically true, but not linguistically true," he says.

Four-year-old Ezekiel is quiet during the whole exchange. Finally, he says, "Daddy, daddy, I have a math problem. All of my macaroni and cheese has a cousin, and the cousin's name is  . . . Glasses!"

Guest Post - A Family Reunion

John Larsen is the guest blogger for this post.

I just returned from a 5 day 4 night vacation to Eastern Pennsylvania where I spent time at a Family Reunion. I was excited about it, mostly because it was vacation! Away from work! In the mountains! To be honest, I was a little terrified at the number of people that would be in one house with me. I have 8 siblings, and a smattering of neices and nephews, so getting together in one giant cabin requires some serious people niceties, which I've been working on, as well as some ridiculous grandiose food preparation, which I'm terrible at.

Thanks to people more organized than me, our Family Reunions always have a theme. Two years ago was "Larsen Family Forever!" and this year's was "We are one!" They don't put me in charge of these things, mostly because the theme would be the Simpsons opening music.

Well, we weren't one, we were 42 (or 44, depending on how you count the dog and that little runt of a nephew, so cute!). And believe me, cooking for 42 is a lot harder than cooking for 1. No one makes books about "Cooking for 42 in 30 minutes or Less!" Mostly because it can't be done, or because the author was eaten before the sustenance made it to the table.

When it was my turn for breakfast we did scrambled eggs, which I thought would be nice and easy. Indeed it was. Plus, there was something satisfying about scrambling 6 dozen eggs. It's not everyday I get to do that.

There can't be a Family Reunion with at least one major mishap. Although my siblings may disagree with me, it was clearly the family hike (the talent show was a close second, way too long. Understandably terrible though, I was in charge of it).

The hike was billed on the program (a month in advance) as an "Easy" hike to a waterfall, one that all of the grandchildren (10+ children younger than 5 years old) could easily handle without much difficulty.

What we didn't anticipate, however, was the decision quality of the adults. What happens when you reach a fork in the path, and the signpost has been uprooted by a heavy storm or rowdy teenagers? It's a lot of standing around, hemming and hawing, looking at maps, and then whoever was in charge (not me) making a decision.

All I did was take one look down the chosen path and I knew that it was bad news. I bit my tongue, and trudged onward, the rain and mud from the previous night soaking into my shoes.

I guess they thought that the path less travelled would make all the difference. It did, as it turned out. We never made it to the waterfall. Instead, we sloshed through mud and jungle hacked our way (with little kids on backs) down that path less traveled. Looked like a stream bed to me, but I wasn't the one in front.

I had GPS on my iPhone, and in a moment of inspiration, took advantage of technology and found out that we were in the middle of the forest. I was more pleased than I would like to admit, until my brother pointed out that he could tell the same thing just by looking around.

Luckily, we turned around before we had to make camp and skewer a baby rabbit or two and survive the apocalypse. After we made it back to the cars, we shamefully and silently got in our vehicles and went back to the cabin to shower and eat lunch. No one mentioned it again, except in whispered constraint to spouses in bed. 

The next morning there was a scheduled "Hard" hike for adults. No one even so much as made a peep about it; someone pulled out a board game for the adults and a movie for the kids. 

Later that day we had what Grandma thought would be the most unifying event of the reunion: all 8 siblings (and any spouses) would gather and reminisce together about growing up.

Oh, I had a lot to say alright, but I wasn't sure that they wanted this to be the time for me to bring up early childhood baggage. My wife has been hearing about it for the past 10 years, and it's a miracle that she sticks around for the "Family" part of "Family Reunion."

We did pretty well, only bringing up Dad's temper once. And that time that my brother stabbed me with a pencil (twice). We laughed, we cried. It was two hours long. Someone fell asleep; bound to happen anytime 42 people are in the same house at the same time, several of them with pacifiers in their mouth.

When we finally said our goodbye's at the end of the week and all drove away in our separate cars, I felt a pang of sadness as the dust settled. It wasn't just because I was returning to work or leaving vacation in the mountains. I was because I actually, kindamaybejustalittle, missed my siblings and their families. Even the ones that I like a little less than others.

Sure, there are some that I may have trouble forgiving (and surely those that have trouble forgiving me), and there were things that I wish I hadn't said or done, but life is full of those things. In the end, it's not any different than my daily routine with my wife and 4 children.

Except it was a lot bigger, and required 6 dozen eggs for breakfast.

A question for my kids: What would you like to do about that?

Several years ago, when my first son was a toddler, I was at the playground with a few friends and their young children. One of the boys, who was about six years old, ran up to his mom and said something like, "I'm thirsty," or "The sun is in my eyes," or, "I'm hot." His mother's response impressed me.

She did not say, "Go get a drink of water from the water fountain," or, "Put on your hat," or, "Rest in the shade." Instead, she said, "What would you like to do about that?" Her tone was not sarcastic or off-putting. It was matter-of-fact with a nice undercurrent of warmth. Her son thought for half a minute and then figured out a solution to the problem.

When my son was old enough, I started asking him that same question. I want him to be independent and resourceful, and this is a small way that I can help him develop those traits. Here's an example of how I use the question: Yesterday, when we were walking home from school, he told me that he was thirsty. When I asked, "What would you like to do about that?" he remembered that he had a bottle in his backpack with water in it left over from lunch. The problem was solved, and more importantly I didn't have to solve it for him.

Of course, this question isn't appropriate for every situation. Sometimes my son needs me to give him an immediate solution (e.g. somebody's bleeding), sometimes I don't allow him complete autonomy (e.g. he's hungry, but he can't have a snack an hour before dinner), and sometimes he just needs a hug and a kiss. But there are times when this approach is effective, and it encourages him to figure out how to solve the problem himself.

Even if my son still needs my help with the problem, the question allows him to think about his options and what assistance he needs. It helps him to be more of a self-advocate and less of a whiner. And when the problem can't be solved immediately, my question helps him to process the situation and understand that I am not a magician who can teleport him home immediately or produce a treat out of thin air or make Daddy come back from work sooner.

Mothers in the scriptures: Looking beyond the stripling warriors.

Eve Naming the Birds (detail), William Blake

        
For Mormons, the classic Mother's Day scripture is Alma 56:47-48. These verses praise the mothers of the stripling warriors, an example of successful motherhood that has been referenced in countless sacrament meetings, lessons, and church publications.

If you're not familiar with the story, here's the background: In the Book of Mormon, a group of people found God and became pacifists, taking a solemn oath against violence. Years later, those men would have rather died than defend themselves against the invading army. But their young teenaged sons had never taken the oath of non-violence and so they went to battle to protect their families, trusting God to deliver them.

The young men believed that God would protect them because of the faith of their mothers, saying, "We do not doubt our mothers knew it."

Why does this particular passage of scripture get so much attention? These nameless women seem to represent our Mormon ideal of motherhood: As the behind-the-scenes force for good, they are powerful in their faith and beloved by their children. They inspire their sons to be courageous and righteous, and they inspire us to create a legacy of faith for our own families.

But what can we learn from other mothers in the scriptures? We have many stories in the scriptures of women bearing, raising, and influencing their children. Some are substantial narratives, and some are only brief glimpses.

In the New Testament, Timothy was influenced by his mother Eunice and grandmother Lois, both Christian converts praised by Paul for their "unfeigned faith."

In the Old Testament, Naomi, bereft of children and husband, had such a close bond with her daughter-in-law Ruth that their relationship was immortalized in these poetic words, from Ruth 1:16.

Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God.

Eunice, Lois, Naomi, and the mothers of the stripling warriors are inspiring examples of successful mothers. But we also find women in the scriptures whose experiences with motherhood were complicated, painful, even tragic.

There is Sariah, the first woman mentioned in the Book of Mormon. Sariah, who was overwhelmed with anxiety for her sons when their return from Jerusalem was delayed. Sariah, whose older sons repeatedly tried to kill their brother. She had two more children in the wilderness when she was old enough to be a grandmother. Later, she was so devestated by her sons' abuse of their brother that she fell ill and was not able to care for her youngest children.

There is Eve, the "mother of all living." At her first son's birth, her words expressed the universal sense of awe at holding a new child, a new person: "I have gotten a man from the Lord." As an adult, that son murdered his brother.

There's Rebecca, whose twin boys were rivals, even in the womb. Rebecca, who was inspired to help her younger son trick his father and cheat his older brother out of the birthright that would have been his.

There's Hagar, Abraham's concubine, who was banished from the home with her child after Sarah (Abraham's first wife) bore a son in her old age. Hagar, who wandered in the desert with her son until they ran out of food and water. She could not bear to watch her son die and left him to take his last breaths alone, or so she thought, before an angel saved them both.

There's Leah, married to a man who loved her sister Rachel, whose saving grace was that she was able to bear children, even when her sister was barren. But her sons sold their half-brother into slavery, and lived lives full of moral and sexual scandal.

There's Rachel, who was able to have two children after years of infertility, but died giving birth to her second son. There's Bilhah, Rachel's handmaid, who was given to Jacob as a concubine in order to bear children upon Rachel's knees, children that Rachel would count as her own.

There's Hannah, who brought her son to serve at the temple as soon as he was weaned. There's Jochebed, who put her son Moses in a basket into the river to save his life. There's Elizabeth, who gave birth to John the Baptist in her old age and then had to raise her son as a widow after her husband was murdered.

There is Mary, mother of the Lord. We read about the annunciation, her pregnancy, and the miraculous virgin birth. We see her again as Jesus turned the water into wine at Cana, and later at the crucifixion. But the only glimpse we have into Mary's experience actually parenting her son in his boyhood is the story of Mary and her husband mistakenly leaving him behind at Jerusalem.

The family had gone to Jerusalem for the Passover feast. When they started home, Mary and Joseph did not realize that their son had stayed behind until they had already traveled a day's journey. It took them three days to find him. He was "in the temple, sitting in the midst of the doctors, both hearing them, and asking them questions."

And when they saw him, they were amazed: and his mother said unto him, Son, why hast thou thus dealt with us? behold, thy father and I have sought thee sorrowing.

And he said unto them, How is it that ye sought me? wist ye not that I must be about my Father’s business? 

And they understood not the saying which he spake unto them. Luke 2:48-50

This passage contains the only words of the young Jesus recorded in the Bible. And in this moment, mother and son seemed to be talking past each other. Mary had seen an angel, she was raising the Son of God, and yet she did not fully understand her child or his remarkable mission. As a mother myself, having experienced the miracle of giving birth and the frustrating realities of parenthood, this story is particularly poignant for me.

In the scriptures, we see mothers suffering through infertility, mothers who are widowed or abandoned, mothers who witness rivalry and violence between their sons, mothers who lose their children through death or separation. Mothers in the scriptures were sometimes confused, they were sometimes depressed, they sometimes feared for their children's lives. They inspired their children, but they also failed them. They raised prophets, but they also raised scoundrels and murderers.

This is the complicated picture of motherhood that I see in the scriptures. This is what helps me get past the idealized expectations that we mothers in Zion sometimes have for ourselves. Motherhood is glorious, but it is also painful. Success in the home is mixed with failure; joy is mixed with sorrow.

A Duplo elevator operated with yarn.

Owen and Johnny made a working Lego elevator operated with a primitive yarn pulley.

Here's a 10 second video with Johnny pulling the string and Ezekiel shouting, "Stop, Boy, stop!"

The second video, this time with Owen working the lift, is pretty staid in comparison.

Here are some photos of the construction details:
 

First, the tower without the elevator attached yet. It needed to be fairly strong, as Duplo towers go, in order to withstand the string-pulling that came later. The Mega Block is there so that the elevator doesn't attach itself to the bottom plate every time it lands. A piece of cardboard could serve the same purpose.

A dinner conversation jar.

                                                          

A couple of years ago, I put some questions on little pieces of paper and put them all in a big jar. This was an attempt to improve our dinner conversation, which at that time consisted mainly of tense exchanges between my husband and me about our home renovation project, while our three-year-old and newborn made unhappy noises.

So we started using the dinner conversation jar, and by "jar," I mean, "old plastic Lego container that came from the thrift store." Usually, it was our three-year-old's job to choose the question from the jar, then one of us would read it out loud, and we all tried to answer the question. Unless we didn't like the question. We always had the option to "pass."

It worked. 

               

The Dinner Conversation Jar

                                   
We don't use our dinner conversation jar every day, and there are no hard-and-fast rules. We can draw as many or as few questions as we want during the meal. We're allowed to fish around until we find a question we like. We can make up our own question. And if we get sidetracked on another, tangentially related topic, well, the conversation jar has accomplished its purpose.

I recently replenished the jar with new questions. Some of the old ones were duds. Also, I wanted to more-or-less standardize the size of the paper strips, so that the little ones weren't always getting lost down at the bottom, while the big ones hogged the conversation space.

You can see my new set of questions toward the end of the post, and you can get the pdf here. This collection of questions that I pulled from my mind could surely be made more thoughtful and balanced. For example, the topics of fantasy/time travel and food might be a bit overrepresented, and I'm probably leaving out an entire category of rich questioning, because I just didn't think of it. (If you have suggestions, feel free to include them in the comments section.)

But speaking of time travel, our five-year-old got this question the other day:
                                                                           

His answer? He'd like to go back in time to see Martin Luther King. YES! All that MLK Day celebrating we did paid off, and for that one moment, I felt like a successful parent.

So, here are the questions:

• If you could travel back in time, what time and place would you choose to visit? What would you do there?
• If you could have a day to do whatever you wanted, wherever you wanted, what would you do?
• If you could have any dessert right now, what would you choose?
• What was the best part of your day today?
• Imagine that you are an expert robotics engineer. Describe the robot that you would design and build.
• What is your favorite part of today’s dinner?
• Is there a flavor of ice cream that you’ve never tried, that looks delicious? Or a flavor you’d like to invent?
• If you could jump into a book and be a part of the story, what book would you choose, and what would you do?
• Is there anybody that you’d like to invite to our house for dinner soon?
• What is your favorite holiday food? What is your favorite holiday tradition?
• What do you like best about this time of year?
• Is there anybody you know that needs some cheering up? What do you think our family can do to help?
• Name an ancestor that you would like to meet. What would you say to him/her? What would you do together?
• Is there something that you’ve never done, or haven’t done in a long time, that you’d like to try?
• If you were stranded on a desert island and you could bring anything, as long as it all fits in a backpack, what items would you bring?
• If you could visit any country in the world, which would you choose? (Imagine an all-expenses-paid trip.)
• What is your favorite room in our house? Why? What do you like best about our house?
• Did you see somebody do something kind today? What was it?
• Is there a hobby that you’d like to spend more time on?
• Is there a book that you’ve been wanting to read?
• If you could build anything you wanted, what would it be?
• Are there any trips that you think our family ought to go on this year?
• What was the hardest thing you did today?
• Did anything weird or surprising happen today?
• Is there a movie that you’ve been wanting to see?
• If you suddenly had one hundred million dollars, what would you do with it?
• Do you have any projects that you daydream about for our house or yard? Ex: a gazebo, a tree-house, a mural
• What natural wonder of the world would you like to visit? Would you like to visit the North Pole? The bottom of the ocean? Would you like to go into space?
• What famous moment in history would you like to witness?
• What superpower would you choose to have?
• Imagine that you could be any animal you want for one day. Which animal would you like to be?
• Say something that you appreciate about a member of our family.
• Do you have any good ideas for a party? What would you do? Where would it be? Whom would you invite?
• What famous person would you most like to have a conversation with? What would you talk about?
• Would you want to be famous? Why or why not? What would you most want to be famous for?
• What sort of Magic Schoolbus trip would you most want to go on with Miss Frizzle?
• Is there a skill that you’d like to learn, or a trait that you’d like to develop?
• If you were to start a club or an organization, what would it be? What would you do together?

An aside about two-year-olds: When we first started the conversation jar, our younger son, who was a newborn at the time, did not join in the conversation. Now he's two, and we don't have any special toddler-oriented questions. We sometimes ask him a simpler, related question, and he's allowed to take a turn drawing the question from the jar, regardless of whether he understands the words on the paper. So far, the most fun that he has ever had with the conversation jar was when I let him cut up the old questions into tiny pieces before I threw them away.

UPDATE: My husband reminded me that the idea for our conversation jar was sparked by The Food Nanny, a show on byutv.