About a week ago, I brought home some poster board.  You wouldn’t think this was such a significant event — C.(13) had to put together a quick project on an invertebrate and had asked if I could pick up some poster board sometime when I was out, and I had simply obliged.

But when L.(5) saw the poster board I had brought home for his brother, he was instantly jealous. I attribute his jealousy to two primary underlying facts:

1. L. is a big fan of paper in general (you would know this if you ever visited our home and saw the piles and piles of paper stashed in various places), and in his mind — the bigger the paper, the better. Just imagine what could be done with a piece of paper that’s almost as big as you!
2. L. firmly believes that he should be allowed and perfectly able to do absolutely anything his 13-year-old brother does. Age, maturity and stature mean nothing — they are brothers and should be treated exactly the same. Therefore: if C. has poster board, L. should have poster board.

It will not surprise you to know that L immediately asked if I could get him some poster board the next time I was out — and also, if I could make that next time happen very soon.

While my next outing (at least, my next outing that took me to a store that sold poster board) did not happen quickly enough for L.’s liking, it did eventually happen. On Sunday, I came home from the store with a gigantic piece of paper, just for L. Coincidentally, Sunday was the day C. chose to do his project, using the previously-obtained poster board of his own.

I should have been able to predict what happened next.

C. worked diligently — gathering, cutting, and pasting pictures and facts relating to the invertebrate assigned to him (it was a black widow spider, and since I am most definitely not a fan of spiders, this poster cannot head off to school fast enough, in my opinion). And unbeknownst to me, L. began to work on his own “animal poster.” He decided to dedicate his project to Ants. By the end of the afternoon, we had two creepy crawly type posters in our home.

Due to the fact that L. used a pencil to write out his “ant facts,” you most likely can’t read them. Allow me to help.

L. drew several different types of ants and made notes about them all. He has:

• “This ant blends in with colors.” (that would be the one you can’t see on the black construction paper)
• “This ant looks sad because its blue.” (blue ant on red paper)
• “This ant is big.” (ant at the bottom with 30 legs)
• …and a few things that I did not understand, despite L.’s best attempts to explain them to me. I think it’s because he was making up words.

If you can make out the pictures, you’ll see that the “ants” L. drew on his poster have many, many legs — far more legs than the scary black widow spiders on C.’s poster. Let me assure you, if I found any ants in our home that size and with that many legs, I would a) call the exterminator, and b) move out.

I learned a few things from the poster board projects:

1. Do not use outdoor porta-potties if you can at all avoid them. Aside from their inherent disgustingness, black widows apparently enjoy hanging out in them. Don’t ask me why. Just stay away.
2. L. really, really loves his big brother, and wants to be as much like him as he possibly can be.

This is just one example of the cute little copycat who lives in our house. L. looks up to his brother in many ways — always watching, often imitating, deeply loving. And I have the privilege of being the mom who gets to soak it all in.

My older son, C., has been swallowing pills for a while. As a kid plagued with headaches, he had to learn some time ago to take an Advil or an Aleve, if he wanted to get rid of the pounding misery that occasionally attacks him.

But recently, his pediatrician advised him to start taking some multi-vitamins that are, shall we say, sizable.

They’re not the biggest pills I’ve ever seen or taken, but they are substantially larger than your standard fever-reducer or sinus-decongester.

C. was not impressed.

Despite my urgings, he claimed that water and other liquids just wouldn’t do the trick. The big pills were being difficult. So one day, I plopped the vitamin into a yogurt he was about to eat and — voila! — a solution to large pills was born.

Now, I’m fine with him gulping down a pill with a spoonful of yogurt, or even some applesauce. But C. has not been content to stop with these standard mushy food items.

Instead, I regularly find him searching through the refrigerator for the next, latest & greatest, vitamin-swallowing helper.

To date, he has taken his vitamins with:

• Bleu cheese salad dressing
• Straight BBQ sauce
• Jello
• Tartar sauce
• Chocolate syrup (Suggested by my husband, and to which C. replied, “I’m sure my doctor would love to know that I’m taking my vitamins with chocolate syrup.” But of course, he didn’t turn it down.)
• Pickle relish
• Sour cream
• Ketchup (yes, just a spoonful of ketchup)

There might be more. But honestly, I’ve stopped looking. I just give him the big blue pill and trust that, one way or another, it will make its way down.

If you ask me, I think he could probably swallow the things with a swig of milk. After all, chocolate syrup is mostly liquid, so if it goes down with that, it should go down with milk. Or juice. Or water.

But what fun would that be for C.? After all, with his current approach, he gets to play with condiments and drive his mother a little crazy. A little bright spot in every day.

It’s okay though. I love this kid — vitamin-taking quirks and all!

For Advent, our family is going through the book Let Every Heart Prepare Him Room by Nancy Guthrie.

So far, so good. We’re on track, which doesn’t always happen in this family. And the daily devotionals have been good — they’ve made us think, and they’ve kept our focus on the wonderful Christmas story. I admit that some of the material might be a little “old” for L.(5) — or maybe he’d say “dry.” But he hangs in there. And the discussion starters that go with each day get him involved and help drive the daily focus home for all of us.

But then there’s the singing.

Every so often, after the evening devotional, there’s a Christmas song (complete with the sheet music) that goes along with that day’s theme. And I figure, since it’s there, we should probably sing it.

Together.

Out loud.

Right?

Here’s the thing: we are not exactly what you would call a “singing family.” Oh, we like music. And I dare say that we’ve all been known to belt out a tune. When we’re alone. Say, in the car. Or the shower.

But Chad and I are not really shining examples of great singers. Our kids are stuck with parents who are a bit deficient in the vocal department.

It’s not that we can’t carry a tune. It’s more like we can only carry a tune if it only involves about 4 or 5 specific notes — the only notes in our range. Except, our ranges are different ranges. And neither of us can harmonize much at all.

And if you know anything about music, you know that those facts basically mean that you don’t want to be sitting in front of us at church.

However.

We’re doing this Advent devotional, and just because we maybe can’t sing wonderfully doesn’t mean we shouldn’t sing at all. We can make a joyful noise unto the Lord, knowing that He made us, and He fully knows our vocal limitations…but that He also knows our hearts.

Therefore, I am the Song Enforcer.

If we turn a page and there’s a song, the kids know: we’re going to sing it. And we’re probably going to sing all the verses. Even if I’m sick and have to stop to cough at least once during every verse.

Truth be told, I’ve had a tiny bit of  push-back from the kids, but all in all, they’ve been great about it. Whether they’re humoring me or whether they genuinely enjoy singing together, I’m not sure. But I think they’re pretty good singers and I have to say that I’ve been thoroughly enjoying singing Christmas carols with them.

There’s something special about sitting around the dinner table, after the plates have been pushed back, after we’ve read and talked and prayed…and singing together — just us — about the baby Jesus.

These are memories I will treasure for a lifetime.

So yes, kids, we do have to sing. And I love you all the more for singing along with me.