Minus the beer and remote control

Seth is the quintessential phlegmatic. He loves nothing more than to sit reclining in his little comfy chair, watching a video, clutching his "clothie" and sucking his thumb. Sometimes he also wants his Sippy cup. Such was the case yesterday. "Mommy, I want my Sippy," he informed me.

"It's on your bed," I reminded him. "Just go and get it."

"No." He had a better idea. "You go get it."

Now, I'm no rocket scientist, but I can recognize a bad deal. "Sorry, Bud, get it yourself if you want it."

Seth muttered and grumbled, but didn't budge. A few minutes later, Anaya triumphantly marched in with it. "Here's your Sippy, Sethie," she practically curtsied. "Now don't you feel happy? Wasn't I being nice?"

"That was very nice of you," I responded, surprised at such angelic tendencies.

They were not altogether without ulterior motive. "Well, Sethie," she settled into the chair beside him, "now do you want to marry me?"

Bittersweet musings

This blog is, of course, mostly about my children, about the new lives that we have begotten, and their amusing adventures. But today struck a sad note in our lives--we received news that Alan's father had passed away. Though in many ways every day that he has lived for many years now has been a miracle, still it is sad to know that he is gone. But we "sorrow not even as others which have no hope" (I Thessalonians 4:13). For most of his life, Geoff drank deeply of the "pleasures" of the world, with bitter results of heartache and loss. Then, toward the end of his life, he became a more thoughtful, spiritual person, and in the last few months had given strong evidence to us of a meaningful, transforming relationship with God. It has been truly miraculous, watching God mold his life. We look forward to reunion with him someday.

But in the midst of our sadness at death, our children remind us of the bursting joys of life. Today, they briefly sobered at seeing Mommy and Daddy crying. But they gave "nuggles" and moved on quickly, romping through the day as we dealt with the blur of arrangements. Children are such a blessing! They filled the day with stories and songs.

This evening, after hours of intensity, Alan and I were drained. We decided to take a walk to the nearby playground for the kids to get a little sunshine and fresh air. Anaya was munching on an apple on the way, and complaining about a tooth hurting. "Can I go to the dentist to get it fixed?" she asked in excitement. Then she spotted a smudge of blood on her apple. "Look, Mommy!"

I examined her tooth. "It looks like your tooth is getting loose. Did you know that all of the little teeth in your mouth are going to fall out, and you will get new, big ones that you get to keep forever?" I asked.

I was prepared for an outburst of emotion at this. "Losing baby teeth can be unsettling and painful for young children," my sage Internet doctor had warned. "Suggestions for parents include: Reassure your child that losing baby teeth is a natural process and new adult teeth will come in their place...."

Dr. Internet didn't know my daughter. Anaya nearly leaped out of her skin at the thrill. "You mean I will get NEW teeth?! These teeth are going to fall OUT?" Such news was too good to keep secret. "You know WHAT?" Anaya shouted to a passing jogger. "I'm going to get new, BIG teeth! These little ones are falling out!"

What the poor lady thought, I'll never know. But Anaya was so excited I heard her exclaiming to herself on the way home. I caught a few words here and there. "...And I will get to keep them for-EVER!" etc.

We stopped to chat to our friend Stephanie Holtry on the way. "You know what?" Anaya shouted as soon as she saw her. (No, "Hello, how are you?") "I need to tell you something! I'm getting new TEETH! These little teeth are falling out!"

It was the same with the new neighbors that are moving in next door. "Can I tell you something?" she pleaded, bounding from one foot to the other. "I'm getting NEW teeth! Big, GROWN-up teeth!"

So in the midst of a day that reminds us of our mortality, it's good to have reminders of other things. Life is full of growth and change; little teeth die. But when you have hope, grief is all different.

Not-so-spiritual gifts...

My children, like all others, have come into the world with uncouth tendencies. Skyler demonstrated one yesterday--the joys of flatulence. I have tried very hard to get my children not to comment too gleefully on such bodily emissions, as I fear what will happen someday when we are in public and they, or others, demonstrate said tendencies. I know, it's probably futile, if for no other reason than that two of them are boys.

But anyway, I was very pleased with the fruits of my training yesterday. Skyler let out a little--ahem--toot--and looked up at me cheerfully. "'Cu' me!" he squealed.

"Yay!" I applauded him, mentally patting myself on the back for doing such a good job of culturing my littlest follower. "You said excuse me!"

Skyler trotted away, his little round face alight. "Rrrrrt," he growled in the lowest voice he could muster. "'Cu' me! Rrrrt! 'Cu' me!"

Identity theft

Yesterday I scooped Skyler up out of his bed and said, "Well, there's an angel if I ever saw one!"

"No," he corrected, "I Skyer."

I appeal unto Caesar!

Skyler's name ought to be Me Too. Or maybe I'm Big Too. He is utterly enamored with the prospect of being as big as possible.

Which is probably why he's adopted a new name for Daddy. (No, it's not Mommy anymore.) Apparently he has noticed that the biggest people who come around our house (a.k.a. college students) have another name for Daddy: Dr. Parker. And since Skyler wants to be the biggest boy around, it follows naturally that he decided to address Daddy by this new, "big boy" name.

"Paka."

He is not deterred by the howls of laughter that this provokes in his parents, who are still somehow unable to hold back the giggles at his self-importance. Or the gentle corrections, that this is "Daddy."

This morning I put on a worship video for the kids while I was having my own devotional time. Skyler, however, had determined that the only video he wanted to watch was about bugs. "Buds!" he pleaded repeatedly.

"No, Skyler, it's worship time now. It will be bug time later," I kept replying firmly. Eventually he was reaching hysteria, so I warned him he was going to have to go back to bed if he didn't stop crying.

Suddenly he decided to invoke a higher authority. He sobered and looked me in the eye. "I want see Paka."

Screech rides again

I am trying to keep the noise factor around our house down, within reason. When the kids scream at the top of their lungs, I try to gently persuade them that there are better ways to play. However, there's nothing that satisfies little boy urges like a good solid screamfest, and I distinctly remember that feeling (having been the unfortunate bearer of the same tendency only thirty years ago, myself). So I try to be understanding, and keep my rebukes to the minimum, when a good screech party is in session. Instead of telling them to stop altogether, I marvel at their abilities and then try to redirect after a little while.

Yesterday, in absence of my participation, I overheard Skyler affirming his own abilities, creating his own little marvel-fest.

SCREECH! This was followed by a murmur of self-approval. "Wow, dat wuv youd!" ["Wow, that was loud"--I recognized it instantly as a quotation from me, and nearly howled with laughter myself.]

SCREECH! "Wow, dat wuv youd!"

He entertained himself like this for quite a while.

That's what I said

Today when Seth was sitting on the potty, I asked him several times if he had finished, with no response. Finally I said, "Seth, have you finished? You need to say yes or no."

"Yes or no," he muttered obediently.