A new definition of forever

Recently we talked about how many times Jesus says to forgive someone. Skyler is still having a difficult time understanding numbers, so seventy times seven was confusing to him. "That's lots more than you can count, Sweetie," I explained. "Four hundred and ninety!"

This concept is so amazing to him that it bears repeating regularly now. (Of course, he finds it most necessary to rehash this concept when his own transgressions necessitate forgiveness.) Yesterday he felt the need to preach a mini-sermon on forgiveness to Anani, an enchanting little visitor his age who is staying with us this weekend.

"Mommy," he asked me, "how many times does Jesus say to forgive?"

"Seventy times seven," I answered yet again.

"Anani," he addressed her solemnly, "you have to forgive sevenny times seven. That's for-ever."

Bilingual already?

Anaya has listened very attentively to my explicit orders to stay out of our newly planted garden, or when in it, to stick religiously to the pathways. So far she hasn't stepped on anything in it (knock on wood). She has tried to keep her brothers out of it too, and so far no one has squashed anything. I credit her scrupulous guardianship, at least partly.

Yesterday Anaya spotted a stray dog bounding through our yard, headed for the garden. She dashed outside, shouting, "Don't walk through our garden! You might step on the plants!"

"He can't understand our language, Anaya," Saralyn explained.

Anaya was undaunted. With identical intonation, she bellowed, "Woof woof woof, woof woof woof!"

Not exactly what I had in mind

Last week while we were driving, Anaya tried to convince Alan and me that she was going blind. (I think it was a bid to get glasses.) "No, really, Mommy," she protested when I chuckled. "This is not my 'magination! My eyes just stop seeing, and everything gets dark for a little while! I'm serious, Mommy!"

"Does it all get black for a few seconds?" Alan queried. "And then do you start seeing spots of pink and purple?" (My husband is good at this.)

"Yes," Anaya breathed. "How did you know?"

"Is it happening to you now?" I put in.

There was a short pause. "Yes, it is!" she shouted.

I looked back and saw her in the back seat, eyes squinted shut tightly. But the suspense of not being able to see what was going on was too much. Soon one eye opened cautiously. "Sometimes it just happens to one eye, and then the other," she added. "Like, right now it is just one eye."

"You can relax, Anaya," I assured her. "The problem is not with your eye. It's behind your eye."

"What's behind my eye?"

"Your brain."

She wasn't going to be satisfied that easily. "But what about my other eye?"

"The problem is behind that one too."

"Wow!" she blurted. "You mean I have two brains?"

Kissing up

From time to time I notice that my two older children get a fascination with playing games that focus on Skyler. Skyler, a dyed-in-the-wool youngest if ever there was one, laps up this attention in glee.

Yesterday I saw the three of them playing a new game. Skyler was standing by the couch when Anaya raced over to him. "Spank spank!" she announced, swatting the seat of his little blue jeans.

"Kiss!" bellowed Skyler on cue. Anaya bent down and kissed his ample backside. Then it was Seth's turn to "spank spank," which brought on another delighted, "Kiss!" I watched my elder son bend and peck his little brother's derriere.

Now THIS is going to be an unpopular post in another ten years!