I volunteered to teach Rachel's primary class this past Sunday, but then I was informed that somehow two substitutes had been scheduled for this week so I was off the hook. So although I didn't have to teach the lesson I'd already gone through all the work to prepare the lesson, which was a little disappointing because I thought it would be a fun lesson to teach.
Honestly, teaching Rachel anything used to be my worst nightmare. I taught Sunbeams the year before Rachel was due to become a Sunbeam herself and literally begged the primary president to give me a different class because I could not teach that child. I could love that child, but I could not sit in a classroom for an hour and teach her. It would not have gone well.
Our relationship has mellowed over the past five or six years and now I think teaching her is just fine—maybe even fun. I've substituted for her class before and she didn't scream or cry or try to bite me or anything so I'd say it went fairly well. I was looking forward to teaching her class again. But then I didn't have to.
So guess what we did for our Family Home Evening lesson!
Part of the lesson I prepared, of course. We had to keep it short because we're still working on that whole early-to-bed principle, which means that I'm already ready for next week's lesson as well. Ba-da-boom!
Anyway, we read from Ephesians 6 and then played a matching game to review The Armour of God (which is actually what Rachel learned about last week; part of this week's lesson was reviewing that). I printed out the matching cards and debated whether or not to mount them on construction paper or something, but ended up not. This meant that they were the teensiest bit see-through, which wasn't a problem until it got to be Andrew's turn. He cleared the whole board, making matches without even hesitating—even for cards that had never been flipped over.
He was accused of cheating, which he denied, but the girls were like, "C'mon, Dad. We know you're lying! You can see what's on the other side of the cards."
And there was no more denying it. We could all see the faint outline of whatever was on the other side of the cards.
We had to play a few more times because Benjamin wanted to win. And then Miriam wanted to win, too. And it's always good to go over things several times—to really let them sink in.
Unfortunately, I think, rather than how to "stand against the wiles of the devil," the lesson that sank in the most was how to cheat while playing memory with slightly see-through cards...
Honestly, teaching Rachel anything used to be my worst nightmare. I taught Sunbeams the year before Rachel was due to become a Sunbeam herself and literally begged the primary president to give me a different class because I could not teach that child. I could love that child, but I could not sit in a classroom for an hour and teach her. It would not have gone well.
Our relationship has mellowed over the past five or six years and now I think teaching her is just fine—maybe even fun. I've substituted for her class before and she didn't scream or cry or try to bite me or anything so I'd say it went fairly well. I was looking forward to teaching her class again. But then I didn't have to.
So guess what we did for our Family Home Evening lesson!
Part of the lesson I prepared, of course. We had to keep it short because we're still working on that whole early-to-bed principle, which means that I'm already ready for next week's lesson as well. Ba-da-boom!
Anyway, we read from Ephesians 6 and then played a matching game to review The Armour of God (which is actually what Rachel learned about last week; part of this week's lesson was reviewing that). I printed out the matching cards and debated whether or not to mount them on construction paper or something, but ended up not. This meant that they were the teensiest bit see-through, which wasn't a problem until it got to be Andrew's turn. He cleared the whole board, making matches without even hesitating—even for cards that had never been flipped over.
He was accused of cheating, which he denied, but the girls were like, "C'mon, Dad. We know you're lying! You can see what's on the other side of the cards."
And there was no more denying it. We could all see the faint outline of whatever was on the other side of the cards.
We had to play a few more times because Benjamin wanted to win. And then Miriam wanted to win, too. And it's always good to go over things several times—to really let them sink in.
Unfortunately, I think, rather than how to "stand against the wiles of the devil," the lesson that sank in the most was how to cheat while playing memory with slightly see-through cards...
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