Of Their Fork

Our kids share a fork.

And it's not because we have any lack of silverware or because we are trying to teach them some important lesson. No. It's because this is their compromise.

In a world where there are many floral-handled silverware, which, by the way, are way better than the white-handled silverware, either option being the rejected hand-me-downs from dad's and mom's (respectively) college days, there is only one fork with a solitary rose adorning the smooth silver handle. And there is one little girl who appreciated the beauty of that simple rose. And there is one little brother who just always has to have what his sister wants.

So, at some point, after much fighting and a long fork time out, they struck a compromise - they could share it. Now, at breakfast, one hurries to eat their eggs before passing the fork along to the other. For other, more fork-intensive meals, I have to draw the line and either one person gets to have it (which almost never happens) or they agree to save the precious fork until morning. And when they see their fork, gleaming, all freshly-washed in the dishwasher, they squeal with delight, "We can share today!"

And this is their preferred method of eating. Like Laura and Mary sharing a tin cup back on the prairie.

Except, you know, they actually have a choice.

You know, whatever keeps the peace.

This is it. The Holy Grail of Forks. And, yes, I had to retrieve it from its eternal home, the dishwasher, for this photo.

Of Our Scientist

Remember when I told you Emmett was our sponge? Our questioner, our scientist, the one voted most likely to push this homeschooling momma to learn a lot more about everything just to satisfy his insane desire for knowing exactly how the world works.

Questions that have me honestly answering, "You know, I actually don't even understand how that works - I just know it does." Questions like "How does the other phone know you're calling it?" which leads to "How do phones have their own numbers?" Follow-ups as simple as, "Why?" are not good enough for this guy. He literally thinks through my answers and comes up with legitimate inquiries based on that new knowledge.

So then we had Daylight Savings Time.

Blow this kid's mind.

The poor guy, as the days have been getting shorter through the fall, has begun having mild breakdowns when the sun begins to set. "It's already bed-time and we haven't even had dinner!" Now, on the one hand, I totally want to work this "sundown = bedtime" misconception - especially now, post Daylight Savings Time: "Oh look, Daddy just got home from work, but, bummer! It's bedtime! See you guys later!"

But I do tend to have issues with lying to my kids. Darn conscience.

Thus, I've been trying to explain that the sun just starts setting earlier during the fall. Thus, Saturday, as we were at the grocery store, pre-dinner, while the sun was setting and he was crying, again, about not having eaten (eating is REALLY important to our kids), I went so far as to explain that the next day, it would even be dark when we went to evening church/children's choir.

Lo and behold, as we're gathering children into the car to head to choir, the remainder light of the day was glimmering through the twilight. "Momma, did you tell me it would be dark before we go to church? How did you know it would be dark?"

"Well, it's something called Daylight Savings Time - we had to change the time on the clocks, so now it gets dark earlier."

"How do you change the time?! That's silly!" "Well, we just change what time the clock says." "But how do you change what the clock says?" "We just do." (aka the Lazy Mom's way of saying, I can't explain it right now - we were in the car, so it wasn't exactly an option to pull out the clock and show him how it works.)

Pause.

"Momma?" "Yes?" "How do the clocks control the world?"

Bam. Well, now that's a good solid question from a four-year-old.

So, then I have to go into dynamics about how the world itself does its thing without changing - the only thing that changes is what time the clock says, which affects when things like children's choir starts.

But really, I'm just grasping at straws, trying to describe this crazy world in a language a little boy can understand.

And somehow he's soaking it all in, despite my worst efforts.

All I know is google was invented for such a time as this.

Of the Ways They Interrupt

Every morning (or as best fits into the day's schedule) we read an excerpt from The Jesus Storybook Bible, after Momma has finished her eggs and while the kids continue to munch on their cereal. We've cycled through the story of God's people a few times by now, and each time we finish, we just come right back to The Beginning.

Today was the most serious of the readings. The Crucifixion.

As I read about how He carried his cross and the soldiers mocked him, trying my best, with my voice, to portray the gravity of the moment, each of my children clamored for my attention. Emmett, sitting closest, placed his hand gently on my arm. Joseph shot his arm in the air, Micaiah's hand also stood raised.

I finished the page and turned the book to show the pictures as I addressed them each in turn.

"Yes, Emmett?" I acknowledged his gentle waiting hand.

"Um, in the song, they call it a 'tree' - or, I mean, in the story at church. And, um, also . . . Not now, but on the next page, I mean the next chapter it's coming, they're going to put Him in the Tomb."

"That's right, Emmett. What did you need Micaiah?"

"Um, I think we should go Me, Emmett and Joseph to pray for breakfast, lunch and dinner." That's right, before the story started, the kids had been arguing over who would pray for the meal, just as always.

"Micaiah, it is up to Mommy and Daddy to decide who will pray and when. You will not make a chart or set a schedule. We will decide for whatever reasons we choose."

She pouts and I turn to Joseph, still waiting with his arm up.

"Yes, Joseph?"

"Um, Jesus - monkeys like bananas!"

"Yes, yes they do."

Those are my children in a nutshell. Emmett, the sponge - always listening, soaking things in, making connections and asking questions. Micaiah, the planner - with a solution to every problem and a plan to make things right (what else from the girl who arrived on her due date - right on schedule). Joseph, well, Joseph.

Man, I love these kids.

Of Vacation Bible School

I wasn't going to help with VBS. I mean, I really wasn't going to. Because, while I love my own kids, working with little kids has never really been my thing. I didn't baby-sit much when I was younger, and when I did, well, let's just say I never had repeat customers. Once upon a time I thought I'd actually teach elementary school, but an experience as a camp counselor with a crying fourth-grader taught me I'd much rather deal with older kids - the ones who could understand and appreciate my sarcasm and bump their heads without being sent to the nurse.

So Vacation Bible School? No. Not for me.

As the signs were going up, I was getting my excuses ready. I'd just had a baby - I should stay home with her. I was looking forward to the time with my boys, while older sister was learning about Jesus. We'd go to the library, maybe even go to the movies. It was going to be nice. And it wasn't going to involve me wrangling a bunch of other peoples' kids.

But God has a funny way of talking us into things. And He was real subtle about it, too.

Because first, it was that our church was taking a mission trip to my in-laws' church to do - guess what - VBS. And I wasn't necessarily going to participate in that, but wouldn't it be nice to at least visit Gram and Grandy while our church was there? But then we could just ride with the church, right? But I guess if we're going to ride with the church we should actually help. Darn it.

And so we did. I actually taught crafts (ok, I assisted someone else who put a great deal of time and effort into planning and then teaching - I mostly just manned the hot glue gun, a task I hate, but it was a mission trip after all, it's all about expanding the comfort zone, even if that means burnt fingers and strings of glue) while my littles, led by Gram, made the rounds.

And it was so darn cute watching little two-year-old Joseph, proudly holding his Bible Story paper, huge grin on his face, as he went from one class to another. And hearing him sing the songs on the way home each evening? Be still my heart.

Then it hit me. My boys love this. I mean, they really enjoy VBS. And now they know what VBS is. So, darn it, if I'm taking their big sister to VBS at our church and we're dropping her off together, they'll know what they're missing. And a trip to the library isn't going to cut it.

I was in a quandary. Until someone suggested I volunteer. Because the children of volunteers, particularly those in Emmett's age bracket, would get to participate in VBS.

So for the sake of not hearing a tantrum every morning for a week, I sacrificed my excuses and signed myself up. But maybe I'd just help with snacks. Because if there's one thing I can do, it's feed people.

But God had other plans. I wasn't just working with the kids - I was going to work with the littlest ones - the ones who just graduated from Pre-K and Kindergarten - the ones most apt to cry and be incapable of standing in a line. But who would have guessed? By the middle of the week, I was actually having fun. I had the privilege of watching my big girl answer questions in Bible School and make new friends. I hugged and loved on little ones who weren't my own, but gave me the sweetest grins. I held little hands and supervised bathroom visits. And I wasn't really hating any of it.

And this morning? On the last day? God showed me the purpose of all of it.

My big little boy, the one I did all this for - just so he could go to Bible School - told me he wanted to take "a lot" of money to church, so I took his monster bank down from the shelf. I pulled out bills from past birthday money. The first I pulled out was a twenty, which seemed like maybe too much, so I dug around until I found a five. And I explained to him which was which. He had been completely satisfied with the 17 cents he'd taken earlier in the week and I'd wondered if he might change his mind, after all, and opt for the handful of coins that had come out, as well. He chose the twenty.

I wasn't sure he understood what he was doing, so, just to check, I asked, "Why do you want to take so much money to church?"

I thought he would mention the balloon he would get to put in the big representative drinking glass, the visual reminder of why they were collecting money anyway. Or he might mention just getting to put the money in the green bucket.

Instead, he said, "So that lots of kids in India can have clean water!"

Oh my goodness. And a little child led me.

This VBS thing? The thing I fought so hard? It's changing the hearts of my children.

And to be honest? It's changing the heart of their mother.

I'm thinking God knows what He's doing. And my name just might be the first on that volunteer list next year.

Of His Words

Twelve seconds after I'd closed their door for naptime, as soon as I'm on the potty (because that's when kids always have urgent things to say to Mommy), Emmett rushes out of his room, "Momma! I didn't get to say all of my words!"

I smiled, because I realized what he meant. And even though most of their delay tactics when it's time to lay down tend to frustrate Mommy and Daddy, this is one I kind of like.

"Ok, say your words." His look clearly indicated he couldn't do it while he was out of bed, let alone while he was talking to me on the potty. So, I finished and allowed him to get back into bed, snuggled up under his blanket, before he proceeded.

"Ok, now say them," I encouraged him.

"Good night. I love you. Sleep tight. I'll see you in the morning!"

Yeah, he's kind of adorable.

Also, his father pointed out, a bit like Dread Pirate Roberts. Perhaps he should start building up his immunity to Iocane Powder.

Of Our Non-Expendable Brood

As we await the long-coming arrival of Baby #4 to our growing flock, I recognize we have crossed a threshold - in fact, we crossed it back in 2011, when our youngest had just turned one, our oldest was still yet two and we learned our third was on the way, the point at which the question on everyone's lips subtly changes to, "So, are you planning to have more?" to "So, do you think you're done?"

And whether real or imagined, there is a definitive sense of judgment in our culture toward those populating the earth with more than the allotted 2.5 children. Sometimes I feel the weight of those questioning eyes, with my burgeoning belly and three little ones scurrying underfoot as we head to the library or the grocery store.

Yet, I watch my children playing, all seated together on the floor engrossed in a book or huddled into the plastic Fisher Price tree house out back, and as I melt in their large brown eyes I ask myself this question, "Which of these would I give up so as to have a socially acceptable amount of off-spring?"

Would it be the fiery strawberry blonde? Maybe it would have been nice to have waited just a little longer before starting our family - more time for my husband and I to have to ourselves as 'just us' before taking the deeper plunge from marriage into family. We could have traveled. We could have indulged in couple time and spare change. But then, where would our boys be without their big sister to lead the way? And who would impress me with the compassion she shows for others or her aptness for learning?

Or maybe it would be that middle one. Perhaps it would have been nice to have that longer gap - breathing room between Micaiah and Joey? But then, what would I do without my sweetly sensitive, yet rough and tumble little boy with that insatiable curiosity? And with whom would Micaiah have "camp-overs" in the living room or play hide-and-seek throughout the house? Joey isn't quite old enough for that, yet.

Well, then there's that, maybe we'd just give up that youngest one. He doesn't do much to contribute to the family, yet. Perhaps we could have enjoyed those first two a little longer if we'd spaced it out a tad. But, then, whose mischievous grin would break my stressful days? Or who would climb in my lap every time I sat on the floor to be with the other two?  Who would stand next to me in the kitchen, waiting to help, as I prepare meals? Who would offer Emmett the joy of having a brother and future games of cowboys and Indians or catch in the yard?

Then again, maybe we should have just been done after three. That's a perfectly acceptable number. But then, what would I do, on those long days, without the refreshing kicks, tiny reminders of life inside and the purpose I hold? Where would be that hope of a baby sister for our eldest - something of which she has long dreamed?

Where would we be, as a family, if any one of us were missing - had never even existed? Perhaps we'd be just fine. But seeing where we are now, I wouldn't have it any other way. I know God has formed our family perfectly, and I have a strong sense he's not finished with us yet. Which is just fine - because he seems to have done a wonderful job of putting just the right tiny souls into our wonderful little mix at just the right times.  Perhaps not every family is meant for this kind of blossoming - their perfect number may be smaller than ours - but I am so grateful for all we have been given, and all that is yet to come.

Of Walking Away

By the time my husband's alarm sounded this morning, I was in shock - there was no way that sleepless night was over already. Surely it was only 2am and his poor clock was just confused.

Unfortunately that was not the case. And my poor brain has been suffering the consequences of its own inability to rest. As evidenced by the fact of my sitting up in bed (entirely too early), rubbing my hand over my swollen belly and thinking, "I sure am getting fat." It was maybe a full two seconds before I remembered there was life growing in that belly, not just a stash of chocolate chip cookies.

Thus, after pouring milk on the cereal of a daughter who loathes milk on her cereal (though loves it in her cup) and dealing with the apocalyptic outcome of that brain-fogged action, as I listened to the chorus of my two eldest arguing over who would be allowed to open the fridge so the boy could put his un-finished cup of milk inside, I sighed. Trying once, unsuccessfully, to supersede the volume of his irrational sobs, to offer some sort of resolution (or, perhaps, a solid, "Stop crying and put your milk in the fridge! Sissy already has it open for you!"), I simply shook my head and walked away.

This was way below my pay-grade.

I recognized this issue was, in fact, one that could be settled by young children, and the value of my sanity was much higher than the fairness of whatever outcome they could manage.

And I left. I entered my room, closed the door, and started to get dressed, feeling slightly guilty over my inability and unwillingness to fix it.

It was only after the door had been opened again, as I straightened my sweater over that bulging belly, that Emmett came dashing into the room, sister close behind.

"Momma! I opened the fridge and 'Caiah held my cup and then she gave me my cup - "

"And then I threw the door closed!" she finished, triumphantly.

Though the slamming of the door isn't exciting to me, the fact that they successfully navigated the field of conflict resolution with a solution that left them both happy and proud of their independence re-assured me of my decision to walk away. Had I not, I would have missed this blessed moment - the one when Momma realizes it's not just her fatigue talking, but her children really can solve their own problems (some of the time, anyway).

And sometimes it takes us just walking away to realize how independent our children can really be.

Of Our Little Potato-Head

Philip had finished telling me the adorable way Emmett had reacted when Philip asked to check his diaper. As he left the room, I giggled and told Micaiah, who sat next to me, "Your brother is silly."

She laughed, too. "Yeah, he's like a potato-head. Like a potato who says, 'I'm going to jump and turn around when Daddy needs to check my diaper. And I'm going to stick out my toochy [her pronunciation of tushie]!"

Yes, Micaiah. Just like that kind of potato.

Of Naming the Baby

Conversations out of nowhere:

M: "I think we should name the baby Anna."
E: "I think it should be Emily."
M: "Anna!"
E: "Emily!"
M: "Anna!"
[after multiple rounds of this . . .]
E: "Maybe it could be Anna Emily."
M: "No! . . . . Maybe it could be Emily when she's bad. Like, 'Anna Emily Rowland.'"

First of all, I have no idea how they decided on these names. We have not really discussed naming the baby, especially not with the kids, nor have either of those been mentioned by anyone in our house in such a context (Micaiah's go-to toy name is Sally). Second, the spontaneous middle-name compromise of Emmett was an overall surprise - I would have never expected him to think of combining the two names. Third, I love how Micaiah presents her solution as though she had not just heard that two seconds before.

These children surprise us always.  We kind of like them.

Of the Sibling Connection

Gram and Grandy have spirited Micaiah away this week for some quality grand-daughter time (given they'll have quality grand-son time while she is adventuring in Ecuador later this month). They have spent an amazing amount of time tuckering that girl out on one excursion after another - I'm sure she won't even want to come home (I probably wouldn't).

Meanwhile, Philip and I have been doing our best to soak up every minute with these precious boys, particularly with the middle child who is currently enjoying the benefits of being the oldest at home. Thus, last night we took him, just him, on a special date with Mommy and Daddy while Joey enjoyed some quality Aunt Dia time.

We took the little guy first to the library, as we typically go on Tuesday mornings but tiny one slept until noon that morning (no, I'm not complaining about the glorious amount of sleep allotted to me with the early riser out of the house). Emmett was quite happy to meander the library, picking out movies and books and playing with trains. Of course, after selecting the trains to borrow, he went through his ritual of testing their size, a routine established after a particularly sad instance when his chosen vehicle could not pass through the tunnel on the train table. Ever since, that's the first place his trains go, just to be sure. Philip, who rarely gets the pleasure of accompanying us to the library, found this deliberate action quite humorous.

Finally, as we had a movie to head to, I suggested Emmett go put the sticker on his summer-reading-program calendar so he could pick out the prize he gets just for coming to the library every week. Philip was surprised, figuring we could squeeze out at least five more minutes before heading out. He doesn't know the process that is picking a prize out of that small bucket. In fact, because of this lengthy process, in which Emmett pulls out every possible toy in every possible color, with varying degrees of enthusiasm which suggests he might actually want a few of them, before putting them back and causing my head to droop with exasperation, we were still ten minutes late to the theater. What he finally walked out of the library with, proudly in his pocket, was an orange pencil sharpener in the shape of a puppy. Because the yellow and blue ones weren't good enough.

After the movie, which included indulging in too much popcorn and too much soda, we headed home to tell Aunt Dia all about his exciting adventures. And even though he had already headed to bed by the time we were talking to her, when he heard his sister's voice on the speakerphone in the living room, he rushed out to say hello.

"Do you want to tell her what you did today?" I encouraged him, knowing he saw the same movie she had seen with Gram a few weeks ago and thinking he might be excited to tell her. Instead, what came out in his slurred and halting three-year-old speech was,

"Caiah, I got a sharpener!"

Now, had this been an adult on the other end of the phone, I probably would have translated, considering they actually care about carrying on a conversation, but I knew it would take longer to explain the entire story to the four-year-old than was necessary for anyone. Besides, she just wanted off the phone, anyway, since she'd already told us all good-bye.

There was a long pause while she processed the sounds he'd made, which I'm sure were even less clear after traversing the airwaves. I waited for an, "Oh, ok" that would have come from any older listener that would indicate, "I have no idea what that meant, but I'll pretend" or even a, "What, Bubba?" because she hasn't yet learned the art of the polite pretending.

After the few moments of silence, what she finally responded with was, "Oh . . . did you get that at the library?"

Philip and I dropped our jaws in shock. She not only understood what he said, but actually followed the thought process back to its source?!

Clearly children truly do have their own language. Or maybe it's just the sibling connection.

Either way, these kids are great.

Of a Morning at the Movies

A few years ago I started seeing advertisements on various money-saving blogs for a summer movie series that various theaters across the country do - one children's movie a week, during the day, at a wonderfully reduced rate. Yes, they're old releases, but who doesn't love watching a movie on the big screen? Of course, I've come to realize with small(-ish) town living that the terms "regional" or "select theaters" generally rule us out. And such has been the case since I first learned of this summery movie extravaganza.

Not so this year, my friends. Not so this year.

This year our town joins the ranks, screening various children's favorites for only $4 - sure it's not free as others do, but the price of admission includes popcorn, a drink and fruit snacks. You won't hear any complaining about that from our kids (especially since they're not paying for it).

As soon as I caught wind of the excitement to come, I loaded up my calendar - each and every Thursday morning screening is prominently labeled, so I'll know which days we need to be lining up at the ticket counter.

Yesterday was the first of these much-anticipated days.

I loaded up the kids - a little concerned about how Joey would do, but also recognizing I was going to a movie theater at 10am to watch an animated movie everyone probably already owned on DVD - I doubted a squawky toddler would receive much attention. I knew I'd have my hands full, but it's not like I'm completely clueless at this point when it comes to toting around three children under the age of five.

I've got this.

What I forgot to factor in was toting around three children under the age of five (one on my hip) and three kids' boxes filled with popcorn and soda cups to spring-loaded theater seats not equipped for the meager weight of pre-schoolers and the inability to take bathroom breaks with the above mentioned munchkins and their snacks.

Let's just say, I have quite a few mental notes of how to do it better next time. These include not handing Emmett his popcorn tray until he has figured out how not to get scrunched by the chair, not arriving early so as to cut down on the time needed to hold a 15-month-old's attention (well, and just plain hold him - especially when he's using all his squirmy might to escape to the floor) and not having to share my (aka the baby's) popcorn with older brother (which includes a side-note of making sure his doesn't get spilled) - because when the popcorn is gone, so is that fidgety baby boy.

All things considered, we all had a fairly enjoyable morning. Joey finally resolved himself to the fact that Mommy wasn't letting go (no matter how good the popcorn on the floor looked) and, thumb in his mouth, settled his tiny head on my arm. Emmett learned how to hold his seat in place and made sure to point out to me all the parts that were funny. Micaiah leaned over at one point, to snuggle with Momma, and had a great time laughing when the other kids laughed (even if she didn't always get the joke).

The kids and I agreed, a morning at the movies is definitely not a bad way to pass the summer time.

Of His Thumbs Up

"Look, Emmett," I said, pointing to his tokens on the Sequence for Kids board, "if you play Camille the Camel here, you'll have how many?  See, one, two, three.  And then you can use your Unicorn to get this spot and you'll win."

He grinned.  And in a brief flash, I noticed his left thumb go up while his right eye, no joke, winked at me.

When did this kid get so fly?

Of Facing their Fears

While most children would jump up and down (pun so entirely intended) at Mommy and Daddy's surprise of spending the morning leaping on inflatable mazes and slides (albeit, not quite as exciting as Paris or the zoo, which were Micaiah's guesses), our children tend to be a little more anxious than most.  

In Emmett's defense, Saturday morning's excursion was his first experience with a bouncy house, so some trepidation is understandable.  But when a kid only the day before announced, "Look, Mommy!  I'm standing on the moon!" while perched on the arm of the loveseat, and proceeded with, "I'm jumping on the moon!" while flailing himself on the cushions, one might reasonably assume he'd more thrilled to be able to perform such actions with permission this time.  Apparently one would be wrong.

His sister took some warming up, as well, but by the time she discovered new "friends" (some legit, from church, and some brand new to her, but everyone is always welcome), she was running through the maze with the best of them.

The slides were an issue, which was sad because it was a large part of the experience overall.  So, the second time I accompanied our daughter down, I pointed to the warning sticker at the top of the hill, indicating tandem sliding as a taboo.  "See," I told her, "You're supposed to go all by yourself."

"Yeah.  But let's go anyway."

That's my little rule-breaker.

After that, it was all about the law - only because it gave her leverage over her brother. 

"See, Bubba?  It says to go by yourself."

And that was all it took to convince the little guy we had to push and pull onto the inflatable in the first place (the one who had spent the majority of the past hour stepping gingerly toward a bounce-house before hurrying away before we could talk him into it) to declare, "I have to do it all by myself!"  And off he went, scurrying up the rubber-covered ladder/stairs to throw himself down the nearest slide (nevermind the fact he had never even been interested in the activity with accompaniment, let alone by himself).

Before we knew it, we had a sliding fool and a social butterfly scurrying hither and yon among the growing crowd.  

Oh, and their little brother? It was all we could do to keep that guy from climbing the ballooned sides himself from moment one. This little man knows no fear. "They don't want to play?" he seemed to say, "Don't worry, I've got this!"

Oh how different children can be.

Of Saying Good-Bye

"Guys, come here, I need to talk to you."

Micaiah started inching her way toward me, a sly grin on her face.  She's right, usually when I bring her and her brothers close to talk to them I'm telling them about something exciting that's going to happen - we're leaving that afternoon to go to Nenaw & Papaw's, we're going to pick up the toys so we can paint, we're going to the store (it doesn't take much, when you're four or less, to garner excitement).  It broke my heart knowing how out of place her current grin of anticipation was.

"Annie won't be coming home."

It was the sad news I had hoped not to have to share when we found the lump in our cat's abdomen on Sunday.  I had hoped making them say good-bye to her yesterday, while she moaned in her cage just before being shuttled off to the vet, was just a silly precautionary measure - more like a, "Have fun at the doctor; we'll see you soon!" kind of good-bye.

But it wasn't so.

At first the pronouncement that Annie wouldn't be returning from the doctor was a little bit of a shock to the two older ones and I debated whether to leave it at just that.  These are the tough calls a Mommy has to make when Daddy is at work and real life is unfolding before us.  So I decided to push through and be honest (well, as honest as a four-year-old and a two-year-old need).

"She's very sick and she's going to die."

At this my tears broke forth, indicating to Micaiah this was the proper response.  Thus, imitating me, she, too, wept for Annie.

For about ten full seconds.

And then, through the sobs, "Mommy, maybe we can do an activity."

"What kind of activity, Baby?" Was her soul more sensitive than I had anticipated? Was she already planning some sort of memorial?  Or was it simply-

"You know, an activity from The Box?"  Yep, just as I suspected. "The Box" being a cardboard box in which I keep craft kits for she and her brother to do on occasion.  Nothing cat or funeral-related there.  Just a fun thing to do now that we're done crying.

"Okay, Baby, sure."

Apparently these kinds of things are just easier on the young.

To be fair, they did ask a few more questions intermittently as the morning progressed and I did overhear this sweet conversation:

Emmett: "Why is Annie going to die, Sissy?"
Micaiah [in her most sweet, heartfelt voice]: "Because she's sick. Sometimes people, and animals, get sick."
Emmett: "But they don't die."
Micaiah: "Sometimes they do."

I know we'll still be answering questions in the most unexpected moments, as kids are known to have, but for now I'm glad this early brush with death was slightly less traumatic than we'd feared.  If only I could promise them this would be the last time we'd ever have this conversation.

Sometimes life gets hard.  And sometimes it's even harder than that.

Here's to the girl who wore her heart on her fur.

1,000 Gifts:
1110. A chance to say good-bye
1111. Simple understandings of not-so-simple things
1112. Understanding care-takers
1113. The way Joey's head rests in my lap as he sucks his thumb, tired from playing 
1114. Singing lullabies
1115. Learning to play the piano as I teach her
1116. Listening to her read

Of the Need to Cry

He's our "sensitive one", as we often put it.  The boy who cries for anything.

The boy who cries this morning because his portion of the cartoon-splattered newspaper pages has been ripped - torn nearly in two.  The boy whose low, forced wails only wear on my Momma ears.

"Emmett, please stop crying.  I know you're sad, but it will be ok."  I'm weary from it, the crying, the noise, the chatter.

"It's broken and so I need to cry!" comes his response.

And the truth of it echos.

It's broken, and thus we cry - because we need to.

This world around us, it is broken.  And, yet, do we cry?  Does the brokenness alone break our hearts?  Or are we de-sensitized? Does the chatter, the noise, deaden our ears to the pain?

Am I moved to tears when I see evidence of a child, a herd of children, the un-important ones, digging through garbage in Ethiopia? When I hear of daughters, sisters, being sold like cattle, only for a much more vile purpose, in places on the other side of the world - do these facts paralyze me in sadness?  Or are they just numbers? A fairy-tale of injustice? Someone else's life, someone else's problem?

Jesus wept.

Jesus weeps.

This world is broken and so He has to cry.

This world is broken and His people are unmoved. And He must cry.

Oh, Lord, break my heart over this broken world. And then show me where to move, to heal. To be part of the solution to someone else's problem.  The problem of humanity.

Of Sweet Conversations

[While his sister colors at the table]:
Emmett: "Mommy, can I color?"
Me: "Yes."
Emmett [not hearing me]: "Can I color?  Can I color?  Can I color?  Can I color?"
Micaiah: "Emmett!  If she doesn't answer, it just means 'yes'!"
I do not recall implementing that rule.


[Talking about the Science Museum]:
Me: "Well, baby, I don't know if we can go back to the one in Oklahoma soon, because that one costs money."
Micaiah: "Daddy has money."
Me: "This is true."
Emmett: "Mommy has money!"
Micaiah: "No, Mommy doesn't have money.  Mommy only has cards!"
Let it be known, Mommy actually uses cash much more frequently than plastic, but I do most of my grocery shopping solo, so apparently she does not know this fact.


[Talking about our neighbors' beautiful baby girl, Micaiah was sad over the fact she still has no sister]:
Micaiah: "I wanted a baby girl."
Emmett: "When you get bigger and be a Momma, you can have a baby girl!"
Micaiah: "Not if God gives me a boy; and I don't have anyone to be my husband."
Emmett: "I'll be your husband!"
Micaiah: "No, Momma says you can't be my husband; you can only be the uncle!"
Love how encouraging he is.


[While discussing why she no longer plays with her imaginary dog, Bolt, and, instead, prefers the imaginary cat, Mittens]
Micaiah: "Mommy, I changed my mind.  I like cats better than puppies.  I still like puppies, but I just like cats."
At least, in the case she doesn't find a husband, she has a future as the cat lady.


[While getting ready for bed]:
Emmett: "I can't put on my pajamas!"
Me: "Does Mommy help you put on your pajamas?"
Emmett: "No!"
Me: "Well, if you can't do it, and Mommy doesn't help you, how do your pajamas get on you?  Is it magic?"
Micaiah: "God does it!  God is the Magic Man."
Me: "God is the Magic Man?"
Micaiah: "Yeah, He is so powerful He can tell the waves, 'Stop!' and they do."
She speaks truth.

1,000 Gifts:
1080. Truth from the mouths of Babes
1081. He's not yet one and already climbing up the stool to play at the kitchen
1082. All three of them, snuggled up for story time
1083. Wizard of Oz, for the first time
1084. Family Time at Wal-Mart
1085. Game time with my man
1086. OETA Movie Club

Of Boundaries

I can't be the only parent to have experienced that moment - the one in which you wish you hadn't caught them in their disobedience because now, in your striving for consistency, you have to issue consequences, rather than just closing the door quietly, whispering, "Carry on."

Because that's what I truly desired to do after hearing muttering in their room - a sure sign they're not sleeping, for the umpteenth night in a row - and entering to discover an empty bed for Emmett and the two of them laying side-by-side - he even covered by his own blanket he'd brought with him - snuggled on her bed, talking quietly - about life and the golden moon, I'm sure.

And what is a parent to do, really, when this crawling out of his bed to play with his sister is the habit you've been working to break for nearly a year now, but the thought of them falling asleep this way, soul-to-soul, is the most precious time you could imagine for them?

I put an end to it, then. I truly had to, for consistency's sake (right?) - but all I truly desired was that I'd never opened the door in the first place.

Sometimes I love them so much it hurts.

Of Her Snow List

One of the beauties of having grandparents who live further north is that our precious daughter has no concept of a Christmas that's not white (and, for that matter, she has very few memories of snow that are not associated with the holiday - which has led her to believe that snow=Christmas).  And in her short years on this earth, she has developed a rather precise list of the activities which must occur whilst enjoying one's white Christmas.

Therefore, when next presented with snow (after getting over the fact that you will not, in fact, be receiving presents because it is not, in fact, Christmas day), you should know, it is absolutely necessary to make snow angels, throw snowballs and build a snowman (and she still believes Easter egg eyes are the norm on this one, because it's all Mom could come up with during the rare Oklahoma blizzard two years ago - when she was TWO - this girl forgets nothing).

A possible addition to the list after her experience this year (though, I recall, it was not her first, so maybe it's not a favorite): sledding.  Then again, she might just pronounce this as an unrealistic expectation for the future, as she knows full-well Aunt Dia broke the pink sled.  And we all know, if you don't have a pink sled, it's just not worth it.

In any matter, after enjoying a few warm days inside while visiting Gram and Grandy this December (and after many, many pleadings, from the moment we crossed the Nebraska border), we all gave in, bundled her and her brothers up (Joseph only just enough for the obligatory "first snow" photos) and tromped out to the growing layers of white crystals.

After being pulled on the sled for a few circles around the yard (due to lack of hills within Gram and Grandy's fence - don't worry, we visited one of those later in the week), she stood up and declared it was time for snowballs.  Thus, she found fistfuls of powder (it had not enough time/moisture to become snowball ready, but this fact is of no importance to a four-year-old) and tossed them at Mom and Dad, giggling like a wild-woman the whole time.

Of course, we fought back - as is absolutely necessary.

When snowballs were concluded (after about two minutes), it was snow angel time. So, she and I laid ourselves in the cold wet, spread our arms and legs and completed the second item on her list (with a few tears on her side, due to the wild nature of her flailing and the ensuing snow shower on her face).

As the snow was shaken off, Micaiah declared, "Now we make a snowman."

Check.

Again, the precipitation was not so conducive to proper packing, so we ended up with more of a mound than a man, but the grapes and carrot from Gram made a suitable face just the same (sadly, no plastic eggs were involved).

We then snapped a few family photos with Frosty.

And with that, she was done.

Ready to go inside and warm up.

Meanwhile, her oldest brother, mittened fingers gripping the handles, would have been content to continue with rides on the bright orange sled (note: the one not broken a couple of days later) well into darkness, though we hardly allowed it considering the rest of us were perfectly fine with completing Micaiah's checklist and retreating into the warmth of the house.

He, apparently, is much more of a free spirit than the rest of us.

1,000 Gifts:
1068. A new year to count new gifts
1069. Snowflakes on the tongue

1070. A carton of ice cream and Netflix on a hormonal afternoon
1071. Saturating my memory with Scripture
1072. A few days to relax in the midst of travels
1073. Tiny locks of fine baby hair falling to the floor, and a mullet gone

Of a List of Lately

This list has been about a week in the making, thus it keeps growing.  Life will slow down someday, right?

- A couple weeks ago Joseph ate something that disagreed with him - it led to a late-night bath (which he loved), three changes of pajamas, and a cuddle session with Momma that lasted until 2am.  And, yet, when he wasn't getting sick or sleeping, he was giggling and smiling.  Happiest sick baby ever.

- That same week, we studied the 10 Plagues of Egypt here at home.  As a result, Micaiah still talks about how we're all going to live because we put "blood" (in the form of a red ribbon) over our door (though Daddy's fate was questionable, because he was at work at the time and, thereby, not in the house), and the children continue to ask to drink blood at lunch (don't worry, we used Kool-Aid instead, because vampires aren't as cool as some people pretend).

- After a random suggestion by Micaiah, we planned an impromptu Saturday visit to the zoo last weekend.  It was pretty much the best zoo trip I could imagine.  Well, except for Emmett's insistence on calling the Bison "buffalo"- Mommy's still working on him.  He's still not cooperating.

- While playing with the Nativity set last week, Micaiah (playing the part of Mary) instructed the Wise Men, "I don't want the stuff you brought; I just want stuff for the baby.  I need water for the baby; bring me water!"  That's our practical girl.

- Joseph has begun cruising around the house, walking along the edge of the fireplace (which is lined with pillows, lest you worry) and the couches.  We predict walking before Christmas.

- Also, just in time for Christmas, Joseph's two front teeth.  Wish granted.

- Last week, after I got out of class early, I broke Emmett out of his class and spent a little time playing in the nursery with just him.  How fun it was to see what his little imagination comes up with all on his own, apart from influence from Big Sister.  I almost never get an opportunity to have one-on-one Emmett time and those imaginary cookies coming out of the microwave (and refrigerator, and cabinet . . .) of the toy kitchen were just about the best I'd ever tasted.

- I had a rare good-Mommy moment when I created an impromptu lesson on Joshua and the walls of Jericho last week.  We all marched around the wooden-block city of Jericho, shouted for all we had and watched the walls fall.  We then watched the VeggieTales rendition of Josh and the Big Wall, because what Jericho lesson would be complete without the French Peas?

- We made a family (+ Adopt-a-Bison) made a visit to the annual Christmas Parade on Main St.  The weather was perfect and the kids were perfectly content with the short half hour we stayed - they saw Santa (who Micaiah now insists is real) and each got a Tootsie Roll, what else could they need?  After, we decorated Christmas cookies, for which Micaiah promptly created an eating schedule ("I will eat the star after lunch tomorrow, and then I'll eat the snowman after dinner . . .), to which she stuck perfectly.

And those are just the highlights . . .

Of Becoming a (Little) Man

A sight to see around our house lately is our little two-year-old coming into his own.  Where once he parroted his sister and then began mimicking her words with his own twist, he has now branched out completely.  He has his own thoughts, ideas and desires.  And he is not so bad at expressing them.

The concept of a talks-a-lot big sister not letting her little brother speak for himself?  Not for this guy.  He'll shout to be heard.  Literally.

In addition, this little guy is all boy.  While, yes, he still asks to wear his sissy's headbands or colors with the pink crayon, we also find ourselves saying (much more than we ever have to with our little girl), "No hitting!"  Because hitting, pushing and kicking are just his ways of playing, conveying frustration and being an annoying little brother.

Don't get me wrong, he is also very loving - willing to share his chocolate with me when I ask or putting his arm around his sister at dinner or giving his little brother just-because kisses or snuggling with Daddy during TV time.  He definitely has a sweet streak - it just sometimes gets out-shone by his ornery side.

It's such a pleasure to watch him grow and realize he truly is becoming a little man.  Oh that we would raise him right.

1,000 Gifts:
1052. Duck, Duck, Goose with six adults (four of which are 50 or older), a pre-schooler, a toddler and an infant
1053. Extended weekends
1054. A kitchen built for entertaining
1055. Beautiful Thanksgiving weather
1056. The smell of fall in the air
1057. Family traditions

Thanksgiving Weekend:
Playing outside with Grandpa - Joey's first time in the tree house.  I love how it looks like the brothers are conspiring.

This is how we found them when Mom and I returned from our laidback version of Black Friday shopping.

Bowling for the first time.  They loved pushing the ball down the slide.

They even both beat Daddy the first game (then again, he didn't have the aid of bumpers).

Love tiny bowling shoes.

Tickles from Grandpa.

So proud of him for branching out and trying something new at Pops. The fact that it was mock Russian makes it that much better.

Getting Duck, Duck, Goose instructions.

Love her giggles.

Iconic Pops photos

Loved our family time.

Sights of the Season:
We open one Christmas-related book or movie every day of December leading up to Christmas.  Love seeing these under my tree!

Joey's "First Christmas" ornament - perfect!