Why My Child Talks to Mittens

I need to be more careful about planning things.

So last week I totally spaced on Family Home Evening until my two-year-old begged for us to have it. Family Home Evening is a tradition in my church where families set aside one night a week just to be together--no staying late at work, no soccer practice, no international espionage (unless your family's into that sort of thing), and there's often an element of spiritual instruction, too. Every family does it differently. In our house, we usually take turns choosing songs to sing, praying, sharing a scripture, teaching a lesson, and picking a board game or some other fun activity.

I believe in Family Home Evening. I'm just not great at it.

So my two-year-old usually has to remind me. And of course I forgot it was my turn to give the lesson last week. But if I gained anything from college that will ever benefit my children, it's my ability to improvise.

"Tonight," I announced at the start of the lesson, "Daddy has invited a special friend to join us!"

"Did you hear that?" said my wife. "Daddy's friend is coming!" As I hurried toward the coat closet, she gave me a look that said I'll play along, but this better be good.

"I just called him," I said. Dig, dig, dig--where is it? "He says he's almost here!"

I grabbed the first object lesson-worthy thing I could find in the dark closet and shut the door.

"Do you hear that? I think he's coming up the stairs!"

I knocked on the closet door. "He's heeeeere!" my son cheered.

I opened the closet again. "Hi!" I said. "I'm so glad you could make it. Come on in; my family's excited to meet you."

My son jumped onto my wife's lap, where I also plopped our special guest: a mitten someone gave my son for Christmas last year.

"Allow me to introduce my friend, Mr. Mitten! Say hello, Mr. Mitten!"

The mitten just sat there. My son stared at it, then looked up at me and giggled the way he always does when Daddy's being silly.

"I said, 'Say hello, Mr. Mitten!'"

Still nothing, except for a slightly harder laugh from my son.

"Can Mr. Mitten talk?" I asked.

"No!"

"Can Mr. Mitten move?"

"No!"

"What does he need?"

If you're LDS--and especially if you've ever taught an LDS children's Sunday School class--you've probably seen this analogy a million times. The glove is the body, but without a hand inside--the spirit--it remains lifeless. I explained this concept to my two-year-old: how our spirits are what make us alive, and that when we die, it's like taking a hand out of a glove. As spirits we leave our bodies on earth, but we return to our Heavenly Father and get to live with Him.

I crammed my thumb and a couple of fingers into the tiny mitten, and it sprung to life--along with my squeaky falsetto voice. "Hello there! Pleased to meet you!"

And then the mitten sang.

I lived in Heaven a long time ago, it is TRUUUUUUUUUUE;
Lived there and loved there with people I know. So did YOOOOOOOOOOU.
Then Heavn'ly Father presented a beautiful PLAAAAAAAAAAN,
All about earth and eternal salvation for MAAAAAAAAAAN.
(Children's Songbook, p. 4)

Both boys rolled with laughter. Even my wife validated me with a little laugh at the end of each line. Mr. Mitten was a hit!

Mr. Mitten: a better entertainer than I will ever be.

He sang a few more songs then took a bow. "Thank you! Thank you!" he said. "I'm here till Thursday!"

Then I chucked him back into the coat closet.

Fast forward to last night. My two-year-old was sitting on his mother's lap when he said, "We're just waiting for Daddy's friend to come over."

"What friend?" my wife asked. "Nathan, we're not expecting anyone tonight, are we?"

I made a mental scan of every conversation I'd had that weekend. "Nnnooooo . . . ?"

"Daddy's friend is coming over!" my son said.

"Who?"

"Mr. Mitten!"

Uh-oh.

"Umm," I said. "I think he forgot. Let me call him."

Look at me: I'm calling a mitten on the phone.

"Hi, Mr. Mitten! How's it going? . . . I'm glad to hear it. Hey, were you coming over tonight? . . . I see. Well, my boys would love to see you again. . . . I'll let them know. They'll be so excited; see you soon!"

I "hung up" the phone. "Guess what, buddy? Mr. Mitten says he has to finish dinner, but then he's coming over!"

And man, I'll tell you, that mitten got a more ecstatic welcome than I ever got coming home from anything. He sang a few songs, made my kids laugh, got the rock star treatment.

And then my son walked around for a couple hours with Mr. Mitten on his hand.

One mitten. Like Michael Jackson.

Next thing I know he'll be telling me to beat it.
Image credit: B@MJ Celebrity Collection

I brought this on myself. Winging things has always gotten me in trouble; I should have just remembered Family Home Evening.

But Mr. Mitten is here to stay. He's part of the family now.

And, Heaven help me, I just called a mitten he.