“How can kids listen to the same thing on repeat without losing their minds?”
Papi was feeling a little crazy from too much Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. I gave him a quick lesson on child development and the actual benefits of repetition. Repeated songs. Repeated stories. Repeated rituals. This is how the children learn.
Little Bo Burton just turned two, and already he’s obsessed with baseball. We Andersons seem to have this particular legacy down to a science. I realized just how deeply it’s engrained, reading our Minnesota Twins board book to Bo, for the umpteenth time. Noticing how he’d always look for the MLB logo, chubby finger pointing it out. “Baseball.” Then he’d turn a couple of pages, looking for the song, waiting for Nana to sing it:
“Take me out to the ballgame. Take me out to the crowd…”
On repeat.
Over the course of eleven days we became quite familiar with the liturgies of our grandchildren. While parents attended a wedding in Europe, enjoying an extended vacation, Papi and Nana were transported back to the days of nonstop supervision and endless demands. Fortunately for us, the kids are amazing sleepers. But the journey to bedtime is a practice in saintly patience.
BEDTIME
Snack
Brush teeth
Potty
PJs
Stories (x3)
Into bed with all the right blankies and cozy friends
Prayer time
Nightlights
One more story on the Toniebox
Sound machine
One more drink of water
A grownup to “lay with us” until sleeping is nigh…
On our first night together, Maisy asked Papi if he knew “Daddy’s Special Prayer.” Eventually we’d receive the full version via text message, but that first night I asked Maisy if she could remember it herself. She did. Those sacred words had been stored deep in her psyche, without her even knowing it.
Thank you Jesus for this day
For walking with me each step of the way
As I lay my head to rest,
Holy Spirit, come and bless
My dreams, please make them about you
Holy, pure and lovely, too.
And when I wake
Remind my soul
The best kind of life is a life that’s full
Of love and kindness
Joy and peace
For you I follow,
Jesus Christ
Amen.
I decided then and there I wanted those words on repeat in my own soul, too.
The prayer wasn’t the only liturgy we learned from our littles. Dinner was a time of utter chaos. Children and food piled into the screen porch. Everyone LOUD with opinions and demands. The grownups, including Felipe, trying to negotiate everyone’s preferences. Bo in his highchair, a look of mischief, deliberately feeding the dog. Nana running back and forth from table to kitchen. And then. A few minutes into the meal, we’d notice little BoBo—pointing and blowing. Reminding us we’d forgotten pray.
Our son’s family lights a candle at dinner. “Christ is Light”—everyone recites. And then the two-year-old blows out the match before they pray.
Just as BoBo notices when the candle’s not lit, he also recognizes other omissions—less holy. Older siblings seem to have programed their littlest brother to expect, at certain times, predictable complaining. Snack time. Playtime. Which show to watch. Like a practiced ritual the first selection is required to be rejected. “Awww… not that one.” On the rare occasion that Nana’s first suggestion is met with approval, no one objecting, Bo is ready. “Awww…” he pipes up, by way of reminder.
Our liturgies matter.
The morning after we returned kids to their jet-lagged parents I woke extra early, out of habit. I’d grown accustomed to dropping exhausted into bed at night, not long after the kiddos, and waking early for a bit of quiet. Most mornings I’d get 30 minutes with coffee and Bible before the first little head would ascend the stairs. Usually Maisy. Before long Nash would join us, and there’d be three snuggled into one cozy chair. We’d read a chapter or two from the Jesus Storybook Bible before Bo’s wake-up call from his crib in the bunkroom bath. And then, while I prepared breakfast, Papi would buckle Bo into his stroller, grab a leash for Maple, and take the crew for a morning walk.
Even the dog needs her routine.
That first day of quiet, I sat as long as possible with coffee and Bible and prayers of thanks. I thought about kids and liturgies. I pondered the habits that shape us. And I wondered. What will our grandkids remember when they think about Papi and Nana?
What liturgy or legacy will we leave?
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