Ordinary Miracles

"Please get your head out of there."
"Stop hitting your brother."
"That is not a toy."
"I love you, too."
"No hitting."
"What is that and where did you find it?"
"We don't do that at the table."
"Boys, do not swordfight with the celery."
"You have to wear pants."
"Please use your fork."
"Remember what Daddy said about sticking your finger in small holes?"
"Let's share."
"I love you, too."

It's a beautiful, sunny day here today. I thought the boys would have fun washing our car. I wish I could have taken pictures, but I didn't want to get the camera wet.

Of course, I did most of the actual washing. WB was obsessed with spraying the hose, and SK applied suds to himself, the flowers, his brother, and the driveway.

In the end, the car got clean(er), we all got soaked, and we had fun. Mission accomplished.

When WB was born, a good friend of mine gave him a stuffed lion and to SK, a stuffed turtle. He quickly named it "DANGEROUS TURTLE" and claimed that all turtles say, "Righteous! Righteous!"

(I'll bet that KiSA's sister and her husband will remember Dangerous Turtle, because we once had a near disaster when we left him at their house.)

As toys often do after a time, they settled to the bottom of the pile for several months. That is, until SK saw The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe at Christmas. Upon our return, he rediscovered the lion, christened it "Baby Aslan," and has bonded increasingly with it until the point now, where he will hardly part with it. (Two days ago, I put Aslan and some other animals in time out for 24 hours as a consequence of SK's misbehavior. That was a SAAAAD bedtime.)

About two weeks ago, WB decided to instantly fall in love with the turtle. He simply spotted it across the room, said, "Tuddle!" and resolved that it was his new very best good friend. He won't nurse or go to sleep without it, carries it to the car with him, and pretty much always drags it around by its foot. He's had to readjust the lovey, and now carries it in the same hand that has a thumb plunged in his mouth. The funny thing is, this is no small stuffed animal. It covers almost all of his torso. It has to be difficult to maneuver, but he doesn't seem to mind.

This just in:
SK discovered he can blow his train whistle with his nose. Eureka!

This is what WB says when he wants to bounce. You may recognize it as "Boing! Boing!"

I think I understate the matter when I write that much has happened since my last post.

The last week in June was spent getting ready to leave on our trip. We set out for Texas on June 30. We spent the night in Vicksburg, Mississippi, and landed at KiSA's parents' house on July 1. We were there until the 7th, when we went to my parents'.

KiSA drove back here--by himself, straight through--on July 12. Then, on the 13th, I turned 31! Yay for me! The boys and I flew back on the 18th, and slept in our own beds that night. Double-Yay for us!

We have in the neighborhood of 1000 pictures of our trip. No, I am not going to post them all. I'll link to Picasa in an email for all of you who are interested.

And now that I've (somewhat) caught up on the laundry, located the bottom of the playroom floor, and figured out what time zone we are in, I'm back to blogging.

More soon. God Bless.

SK has a new buzzword: absotutely.

It's a pleasantly versatile word. He has said, "I am super-duper, absotutely not sleepy," and "I absotutely need a snack."

Not to be out-talked, WB is expanding his vocabulary. His exclamations of "Uh-Oh" and "bye-bye" are becoming clearer. He says "Da-Da," "Hello," "ah-da" (all done), "Ba-Ba" (Bubba), "Ow," and "ah-oh" (help). He pants to imitate a dog and tries to mew like a cat. Of course, he knows far more signs than words.

The best expressions either of them give employ neither words nor signs. They give hugs and kisses aplenty, and those never need explanation.

I've usually taken the high road on this blog; to avoid writing about things that are less than edifying. Specifically, I've avoided writing about body functions and other base elements of human existence.

And yet, dealing with bodily fluids is a significant part of my day. At times, I am elbow deep in more than one substance, and even from more than one person.

This is as far from a boring job as a person could have. For example, the other day, SK was helping me prepare dinner. He was standing on a chair by the counter top, busy stirring ingredients in a mixing bowl. WB was throwing a fit because he wanted to be up on the chair as well. Well, I picked him up to comfort him, and he started vomiting on me. I reached for the kitchen towel, and between my shirt and the towel, managed to contain the, um, mess.

At that precise moment, smoke started pouring out of the oven which I had been preheating. SK was oblivious to the situation, as four year olds often are, and was excitedly--and repeatedly--asking me if he could eat some of the shredded cheese out of the bowl.

Seriously, there is just nothing that can prepare you for this. I just thought of the advice a friend gave me when she was running a daycare from her home. "When all five kids are crying," she said, "I just tell myself to not make it any worse than it already is."

So I took a deep breath, and commenced to making the situation better. One thing at a time. Soon, everyone was alright, and the fires were--literally--all put out. (Okay, so it wasn't a fire. The day before, sweet potatoes had oozed onto the floor of the oven and it almost caught on fire. Slight, but important, distinction.)

And that is how my oven got clean. Similar situations have prompted my living room carpet to be cleaned, fresh sheets on the beds, the shower scrubbed, and so on. My house has never been this clean, because it has never been this dirty!

Much of the gross factor around here is my fault. I've taught SK that frogs, lizards, worms and some spiders are our friends. We dig in the dirt and we compost, so we are often immersed in the grunge of the natural world. He still thinks slugs are cool, even though I've told him they are bad guys because they eat our plants. The other day, I found a giant slug on the back porch. It was extremely gross--slimy, fat, and writhing. I went to get a shovel to toss it elsewhere, and while I was turned around, SK bent down and PICKED IT UP. "It's okay, little slug," he chimed. "We'll move you to a new home. It's okay little guy."

I couldn't help it. "Aagghh!" I yelled, and scared the poor kid out of his sandals. "What?" he cried. "Eww, put it down, put it down!" I ordered. "Why?" he said. I had scared him. "It's gross," I replied. "Oh," he said, and I could tell he wanted so say, "So?"

Honestly, this is what I dreamed about. I always wanted to share the wonder of life, even the yucky parts, with my children, much the same way my parents shared it with me. Everything is interesting, and curiosity is a good thing.

I remember being around SK's age when my mom woke me early one morning (big mistake). She had been preparing breakfast and wanted to show me the meal worms she found. I guess it was supposed to be an impromptu science lesson, yet the end result was that I don't think I ate much breakfast that morning. My Dad would tell us the Latin names for plants when we walked through the fields. My grandpa is an avid naturalist and born teacher, and my grandmother was always ready to celebrate even the smallest or simplest of joys.

So, though I may jokingly complain about my children's fascination with all things gross, I am, in fact, thankful to be celebrating with them all the wonders of being alive in God's creation.

As I was out in the front yard visiting with the neighbor about two weeks ago, I plopped SK up in the lowest limb of the Dogwood tree. "You're just like a Monkey!" she told him. Since then, he's been calling it his Monkey Tree. Several times a day, he asks me if he can go climb his monkey tree. He's been calling himself a monkey. He acts, at times, like a monkey.

Yesterday, before I started mowing the lawn, he asked me again about the Monkey Tree. I explained to him that I was not going to stop and start the lawn mower to get him in and out of the tree. If he wanted to get up in it, he would have to stay up until I was done. "Okay, mom," he readily agreed.

About two passes around the yard later, I saw him slide down the trunk. I think he was attempting to climb down, but it ended up looking more like a slide down a fireman's pole. Oh, how he cried! He has scrapes on his stomach and the insides of both arms.

Once his crying had subsided a bit, he confessed, "Maybe I'm not a monkey after all."
"You'll learn, Buddy," I encouraged him. "You'll practice and get better."
He didn't seem intrigued by the idea of practicing any more of that.

But it's been on his mind. This morning, he said, "Mom, I think maybe we should wait until my Monkey Tree grows some more, bigger branches. Then maybe we should climb it."

Ah, the undeniable siren call of vertical objects. There's no need to ask, "Why did you climb it?" The answer is always, "Because it was there." They are conquerors, who ascend to the top of every pile of dirt and every piece of furniture. I love that about them both. They are adventurers!