hand wash only

The elder lass seeks me out with some important information...
"Mom. There's a stomp rocket on the washer."
 from a recent field trip one of the lads took to the Air and Space Museum

 

"Does it need to be washed?" I ask her.

The look on her face is answer enough, but just to be clear she responds indignantly,

"No!  Stomp rockets don't go in the washer!" 

Which doesn't mean it wouldn't happen, which might precipitate this...

 ... and that wouldn't be good.

something up our sleeves

Home for Spring Break during what appears to be monsoon season, the elder lad and I were discussing the day's agenda. After lunch and siesta time, I told him, I "might have something up my sleeve."

"Is that an expression?" he wanted to know.

"Yes. It means I might have a surprise for you," I answered, giving rise to a guessing game.

Ice cream! The children's museum!

Nope. A program at the library given by one of the docents from the air and space museum, which ranks right up there with those other places in the lads' estimation but was farther than I planned to travel today.

As we were loading up to go, the elder lass began to fuss, asking for my help. "I have something up my sleeve!" she lamented.

The elder lad was quick to note the difference. Upon discovering a postage stamp up his sister's sleeve, he announced "She really does! How'd that get there?!"

if you give a girl a party...

Among the many books the elder lass counts as her "favorites," the If You Give... series written by Laura Joffe Numeroff and illustrated by Felicia Bond are easily her "most favorite."  We first became acquainted with these charming books when my beloved's mother loaned to us the copy of If You Give A Mouse A Cookie that they had received from my beloved's grandmother. We still have it.  Good thing she's not charging us overdue fees!

Several books have followed, including one a about pig and pancake (and a party, in a separate story); a moose and a muffin; "Cookie Mouse" (as the lass calls the original title character) and the movies; and most recently, a dog and a donut.  Each story is a study in cause and effect, starting with logical consequences like the mouse wanting milk to go with his cookie unfolding into sillier scenarios such as the mouse wanting to take a nap and needing the kind boy who gave him the cookie in the first place to make up a little nest for the mouse's nap.  It all circles back to the beginning, with the title critter wanting whatever it was that had first attracted his or her attention and the attendant child exhausted from all the requests.

 For her third birthday festivities almost two months ago, the elder lass said she wanted "rainbows" when queried.  My beloved's mother had the great idea to create a party for her with the If You Give friends all invited (along with grandparents, siblings, and Annie -- my sister and the lass's godmother; a small group for our reserved but so sweet lass), and she and my beloved's father (who the bambini call "Papere") generously offered to both host the party and come up with all the games and decorations.  All we had to do was handle the cake ("cookie cake", the lass specified) and show up.

Sweet.

Grandmare was really in her element creating this party, as early childhood is one of her passions. She has such a heart for children, boundless creativity, and a talent for creating beautiful .  The result in this case was a beautiful, perfect party for their first granddaughter, who was thrilled with the result.

The If You Give friends and their books, ready for the birthday girl to arrive.

We made the cookie cake at home together using this recipe (but substituting white whole wheat flour for the all-purpose), which the lass enjoyed very much because she got to work the mixer.  To decorate it, we made homemade sprinkles -- yep: homemade -- because I'm mildly concerned that store-bought sprinkles may have a half life somewhere in the neighborhood of 4,000 years *and *because I had seen the idea and thought it would be a fun project for us.

Can't you see it now?  A mixer full of sticky goo that we then tint with food coloring (as in *doesn't wash out*), put in a cone made of parchment paper, squeeze out into lines on a lined baking sheet, and leave out to dry for several *days*.  Go ahead and think it: That was crazy! But they came out alright and certainly looked festive once sprinkled onto the cookie cake.  Next time... I'm not sure there'll be a next time.

sprinkle strands before the lads had their way with them.

The bambini thoroughly enjoyed the games Grandmare designed herself, including Pin the Cupcake on the Platter, a rainbow-themed cake walk of sorts, and Toss the Piggies in the Pen.  She made a beautiful rainbow of fruit with a cloud of whipped cream to dip them in, and she served a tasty meal that the lass loved.

The birthday girl and the Pin the Cupcake on the Platter game with the If You Give friends (and the younger lad, who lives in his overalls)

This book-themed birthday celebration was just the thing for our sweet Rainbow Girl, the one who usually wants to read and snuggle more than anything else, who fancies herself a ballerina, and who brings such joy to us by her presence.

twenty questions, volume two

On my most recent birthday I had a *miserable* cold.  Consequently, I didn't ask the bambini twenty questions as I'd intended to do every year on my birthday.  Half a year later, I have finally gotten around to it.  They weren't exactly into the whole interview thing, but here are their candid responses...

1. What is something Mama often says to you?
6 year old elder lad:  I love you.
4 year old younger lad: I love you.
3 year old elder lass: cheese grits

2.  What makes Mama happy?
elder lad: me being nice
younger lad: being nice to each other  [who?]  all of us
elder lass: rainbows... smiling

3. What makes Mama sad?
elder lad: me being mean
younger lad: when we fight
elder lass: screaming

4.  What does Mama do that makes you laugh?
elder lad: tickle me
younger lad: tickle me
elder lass: snuggle me... and tickle me

5.  What was Mama like as a little girl?
elder lad: (shrugs shoulders) read?
younger lad:  I don't know.
elder lass:   I don't know... snuggle?

6.  How old is Mama?
elder lad:  almost 33?
younger lad: I don't know.
elder lass:  I don't know.

7.  How tall is Mama?
elder lad:  pretty tall
younger lad: I don't know.
elder lass: this tall (reaches as high as she can)

8. What is Mama's favorite thing to do?
elder lad: bake
younger lad: dance
elder lass: baking!

9. What does Mama do when you're not around?
elder lad: go to the store.
younger lad: shop
elder lass: I don't know.

10.  If Mama were famous, what would it be for?
elder lad:  (furrows brow.  shrugs shoulders)
younger lad: being a church worker -- play the music
elder lass: I don't know.

11.  What is Mama good at?
elder lad: taking care of and loving all of us
younger lad: playing the piano
elder lass: I don't know.

12. What is Mama *not* good at?
elder lad: carrying me.
younger lad: not playing the piano
elder lass: I don't know.

13. What is Mama's job?
elder lad: to take care of us
younger lad:  taking care of us
elder lass: to bake

14. What is Mama's favorite food?
elder lad: steak
younger lad:  Raisin Bran
elder lass: chicken

15.  What makes you proud of Mama?
elder lad: that you're my mom
younger lad: you giving me chocolate
elder lass: when you snuggle me

16.  What is something we do together?
elder lad: bake
younger lad: play cars
elder lass: bake

17.  How are you and I the same?
elder lad: we're both human beings
younger lad: we're both [our last name]s
elder lass: I don't know.

18.  How are you and I different?
elder lad: you're older than me.
younger lad: we have different color hair.
elder lass: I don't know.

19. Where is Mama's favorite place to go?
elder lad, hopefully: [our "local ice cream and dairy store"]!
younger lad: Papa's house
elder lass: Sam's (yes: the warehouse club)

20. How do you know that Mama loves you?
elder lad: because you say so
younger lad:  because she tells me that
elder lass: when you are snuggling me

thick as thieves

The 19-month-old younger lass has no qualms about expressing her thoughts and feelings on any subject.  Her feelings are not easily misunderstood on most matters.  She is -- usually -- very fond of her sister.  Brothers, too. 

With her sister the three-year-old elder lass, she seems to be forging a close bond.  When I made ready to go pick up the lads from school last week and take the younger lass with me while the elder lass stayed at home to bake cupcakes with my sister as a belated birthday gift project, the younger lass would have none of it.  Through her tears and protestations I asked her if she wanted to stay at home with her "sissy pie" and auntie.  "Yes!!!" she emphatically answered.  She wriggled out of my arms and ran to her sister, throwing her arms around the elder lass and holding on for dear life.

This morning at Storytime, the girls were called up by name to select instruments to play.  The younger lass went first and snagged the two coveted lollipop drums -- one for herself and the other for her sister, who had not yet been called to come forward.  Then she confidently returned to the box to retrieve the mallets for both drums.  Later I noticed she had traded with another child her drum for his tone block, but the elder lass gratefully retained ownership of the one her baby sister had nabbed for her.

These girlies dote on each other so sweetly -- and scream at each other in fits of rage over books (usually) just as often. 

The lads likewise dote especially on the younger lass.  Now that the elder lass is a little older, she takes some ribbing from the brothers that the toddler doesn't (yet).  There is almost always an argument over who gets to sit by the younger lass at mealtime.  The brothers love to snuggle their baby sis as she sleeps if they happen to get up before she does.  The elder lad loves to take her for rides on his big rig and his bouncy ball, which she likewise loves as judged by her shrieks of delight.  The younger lad is usually happy to share whatever he's eating with her.  He's generous like that. 

Of course, if she gets in the middle of their elaborate truck set-ups, all bets are off.

I pray that the bond these siblings have will continue to deepen and that the consideration they show each other continues to increase as they mature, and I look forward to the day that -- God willing -- they can work things out without shrieking at each other.

a work in progress

Sometimes I think this motherhood business is, aside from that whole tending to and helping form the immortal souls of our children thing, one continual lesson in time management.  In fact, I might go so far as to say that after putting someone else's needs (or several someones') before one's own, time management might be the next lesson learned -- or at least taught -- in Mom School.  I wouldn't exactly call myself an eager student of this exercise in self-discipline, but nonetheless I am still enrolled and sticking with it.

Over the past six months I've adopted a couple of strategies to better manage time and domestic responsibilities.  For example, I now consider the time between our arrival home from school until the time we have dinner together as my "kitchen hour," a term and concept I learned from The Happiest Mom.   After school snacks are dished up; water bottles and reusable lunch containers are washed; folders with school paperwork and things that need my signature/attention/action are assessed; the dishwasher is unloaded; and dinner preparations are undertaken.  All of this an attempt to get dinner served sooner rather than later, since we only have a little while between my beloved arrives home from work until Lights Out and want to make the most of it.   

Another area I've been working diligently on is laundry -- specifically, the folding and stowing of laundry.   The sight of an overloaded "clean" laundry basket (denoted as such with labels on the handles and separate from the baskets we use to collect clothes that need to be washed) with clean clothes spilling over it and all around is so very discouraging that I usually keep right on walking past it.  If I can keep it to one or two loads of clean laundry to fold at a time, that's far more manageable.  The bambini are responsible for putting their laundry away.  They each have their own ways of fulfilling this task.  The elder lad employs his big rig.  The younger lad makes his arms into a forklift to carry his clothes.  The elder lass hugs all her clothes to her body and flits to the closet on tiptoe.  The younger lass -- of course -- makes sure we know which clothes are hers: "I shirt."

And then there is the subject of bedtime -- as in mine.  I'm still the most obstinate sleep fighter in this household, staying up later than I ought to most of the time. In the past several months I've been working to change that.  In the past week, I haven't done so well to that end.

All of these concessions, studies, and strides in time management are done in the name of a more smoothly-running household thanks to the comfort of routine and clear expectations for all.  Although I am still trying to figure out how -- or whether -- to fit in little (or not so little) projects here and there, the effort is paying off as each of these salad days draws to its conclusion.

Thank you, Lord, for this day and for all your many gifts and blessings...

water under the bridge

With six months elapsed since my last post, I hardly know where to pick up the story.  Most of the fall semester went unchronicled, and here we are nearly halfway through the spring semester of the elder lad's first grade year and younger lad's preschool year.

While this grieves me, I own that I've never been very good at maintaining a journal of any sort for the long haul.  This latest silence can be attributed to several factors, among them a lamentable lack of whatever motivation and ability I had to see the process from thought to written post to completion.  Part of this was owing to external factors (such as an overwhelming amount of the stuff of lowbrow humor to contend with as well as having nary a few moments in which I had both the use of both my hands *and* cognitive function to devote to navel gazing), but a lot of it had to do with me auguring into a git 'er done mode, staying on top of domestic affairs more consistently and not allowing myself to dilly dally at the glowing screen as much.

Highlights of the past six months include

• the elder lad's involvement in Cub Scouts as a Tiger Cub.  He seems to really revel in the challenge of it, and we recognize the potential for his growing in virtue by participating in Scouts.  For inspiration and encouragement he can look to several Scouts in the family.  I'm still trying to figure out the quickest and best way to get those patches and badges on his uniform...
• the transformation of the younger lad to a school boy, one who charges around the school playground playing superhero, rocks his snow boots (aka "moon boots") like nobody's business, and shows an ever-growing capacity for tenderness toward his sisters -- sometimes... 
• celebrating birthday number three for the elder lass (which still sounds weird to me, but neither of these girlies is "wee" anymore, so some other distinction is necessary), who still loves to read and now is showing quite an interest in ballet.  She's about the age her mother was when said mama began taking ballet lessons... 
• an entertaining and enchanting display of the younger lass's (now 19 months old) charm, wit, sweetness -- and chutzpah, as she has no qualms about letting us know exactly what she thinks and how she feels...

Along with these highlights and several poignant opportunities for keeping things in perspective has come a greater awareness of the beauty that lies in accepting and fulfilling some aspects of this vocation of wife and mother that aren't anything anyone would call glamorous (see aforementioned reference to that which the Honeywagon ferries away) -- if I choose to look at it that way -- and more gratitude than ever for all the many blessings with which we've been showered.

I wouldn't call the past six months the most prayerful of my existence, although I hope to offer the work that has gone on during this time -- and continues -- as such. 

As for all the soundbytes and family birthdays and books we've read together, at this moment they seem to be water under the bridge.  Perhaps I'll be able to reclaim some of them.  I still struggle mightily with "brain fog", so we'll see what cuts through the haze.

For everything there is a season.  This one in our family life continues to be very full of minute-to-minute changes in climate and conditions, and that takes a lot of stamina -- not to mention prayers.  Please continue to keep us in yours. 

course corrections and mile markers

Miss July took her first few hands-free steps tonight. Her big sister is increasing the little mommy doting on baby sis, who often waves to Sis, Daddy-o, and other familiar faces. The elder lad is proud to be a first grader, getting his own library card and devouring the science kits he received for his sixth birthday. The younger lad survived his first experience at vacation bible school last week, weathering his wistfulness for Mama while enjoying the activities.

The six of us took our first weekend getaway to a destination other than my parents' house this past weekend for a family wedding. All four bambini were enthralled at the concept of the hotel and reveled in checking everything out. Like their mama used to, the lads quickly zeroed in on the complimentary pens and paper and set about writing notes and taking hypothetical orders for the hotel restaurant.

The summer days I fretted over those last few weeks of school have turned out to be a blessed time of resetting and renewal. Our midday siesta time could use some refining, but we're working on it. With the elder lad now moving into another stage of childhood, it seems the ideal time for evaluating both our routines and our expectations, tweaking where necessary. I'm sure just when we get it just right, something will change.

just sayin'

I went to the salon this morning for a little spruce up to my neglected mane.  O happy day!  Upon my return, however, there were some mixed reviews.

my beloved: "you look great, Sweetheart!"

younger lad: "why does your hair look like that?"
me: "like what?"

him: "weird."
me: "how?"

him: "like [the two-year-old lass's]."
me: "how should it look?"


him: "curly."  (the lass's is *straight*, and she thinks my hair looks "good".)

Once I came home from the salon all coiffed and curled.    The younger lad said I looked "like a tiger".  That was a compliment coming from him.  I assured him my locks would be back to wavy soon enough...

busted: the sequel

The two-year-old lass spies me popping a couple of bittersweet chocolate chips in my mouth.

"What you having?" she asks.
Is it that obvious?

Apparently it is.  Next thing I know she comes toddling over to the sofa I'm standing behind and says, "let me climb up here.  I have some?"

I oblige.

"You such a good mommy."

in her own little world

"Can everyone see the pictures?"

Two-year-old missy holds up her book.   When she's finished, she says "I home from storytime! I ride the bus. I set my backpack here for tomorrow."

She is ready to snuggle up with me for an early bedtime, so I ask her if I can lay her sleeping baby sister (the one she's been calling "my best friend") in the little rocker currently occupied by the backpack.

"Of course you can," she graciously allowed.

near miss

The sickening thud that results from a child on an uncontrolled trajectory that ends in collision with a hard surface is one of those unmistakable sounds that every parent probably hears at least once never wants to.

In the moments that follow such a calamity, there are questions coming rapid-fire.  Is she hurt?  Is she OK?  Is something broken?  Should we take her for x-rays? 

Please, Lord.  Grant me wisdom to know how to handle this situation.  And please hold me together so I can help her.  

I like to think that I'm pretty good under pressure at such times, but I know I'm toeing the line when one of my bambini is injured.  For example, the two-year-old lass took a spill off a window seat cushion this afternoon in the midst of an otherwise delightful afternoon of happy family fun time.  After that terrible sound, there came the cries of a little girl in pain.  She held her arm tightly against her side.  She had landed on it, and right away the area around her elbow began to turn purple.

I went running for some ice and Arnica Montana, a homeopathic remedy indicated for bruises, muscle soreness, and traumatic injuries that we keep on hand.  We refer to it as "bonk medicine".  We scooped her up and snuggled her close.  My beloved -- aka "Dr. Dad" -- fashioned a sling out of a tea towel and tucked some ice and a baby doll inside.  She could still move her arm without much pain, but we still worried and wondered.

After a little downtime she was back up and playing, using the arm with little noticeable difficulty.  She seems to be doing OK.  We'll of course keep an eye on it.

There have been a few other times when one of the bambini has been injured when I really wrestled to discern the need to seek emergency medical attention on their behalf.  (The younger lad can claim most of these.) After the dust had settled in each case, as I did today, I can't help but conjure up images in my mind of how that would play out, and it's never a good feeling.  What if it had been worse?  Oh, how I can work myself up over such uncertainties.

Scary though it may be to think about, there is little good to come out of fretting about things that haven't happened.  It's important to be prepared, because accidents happen.  We can take every reasonable precaution to secure our bambini's safety, but we can't keep them from ever getting hurt.

So I tell myself when I'm not holding a child in pain after falling just out of my arm's reach doing something she's done a thousand times before and likely will many more times to come.

Perhaps the day will come when we will need to summon help for some medical crisis.  God forbid something like that should happen, but if it does, I pray for the courage to be the strong mother the hurting child will depend on to secure that medical care as well as offer the comfort that only comes from Dr. Mom.

minor victories: happy hour edition

I would love to say that I wrote my ticket to a (relatively) peaceful final few minutes of dinner preparation -- all too often the pinnacle of happy hour, but it wasn't my doing.  It wasn't like I ceremoniously set forth the box of recyclable paper that I'd been squirreling away for just this purpose so that the lads could hone their fine motor skills with scissors and scraps of paper.  I didn't have the wherewithal to do that after a few too many reminders to "use kind words and gentle hands" for one afternoon.

In fact, I had stashed all that junk mail and already-read church bulletins in a paper sack (under the sink, because it's next to the trash bin and therefore handy at the time of disposal -- key to actually separating out the recyclables and not just tossing them in with the trash), which the elder lad had discovered and decided to "sort" -- another early childhood skill that he took upon himself to refine.

The younger lad had been biding his time until his fourth birthday so he could start using scissors himself (because his mama -- following the advisory on the scissors packaging -- had said he had to wait until he was four like his brother had to undertake such an activity).  When his brother got out the signature orange-handled child-sized scissors and commenced the cutting of paper into bits that often elicits reminders to "leave no trace" (as in, "clean up after yourself"), the younger lad asked for his own green-handled ones.

And in a moment of clarity, I saw it: the win-win-win situation:

Lads happily (and safely) snipping, scraps going back into the box they came from (for the most part), Mama getting dinner on the table, lasses charming their daddy with giggles and grins even before he took off his jacket.

Bon appetit.

one of the guys

M'lady is establishing herself as one handy little gal.  Not only is she quite capable in the kitchen, but she now wields a wrench.   She likes to go "work wif Daddy" along with her brothers in the garage, and in the evenings she starts out in her brothers' room reading bedtime stories with them before flitting away ready for some snuggling with Mama. 

Should she be out of sight for very long, she is often found thumbing through books in the lads' room.  Attempting to entice her away from a round of verboten jumping on the bed is darn near an exercise in futility.  And the girl loves to dig in the dirt and sand as much as or more than her brothers.  She doesn't mind getting muddy, but she doesn't like her hands to stay dirty once she's moved on to some other activity.

Claiming dump trucks as her own while snuggling her baby dolls in her carseat, she's a complex girl with a simple sweetness that's utterly irresistable.

mama girl

Remember old school the first generation of Camcorders?  We had one like this when I was a wee lass.  My dad video-ed everything from a trip to Epcot to the annual family Fourth of July trip to Grannie's lake house.  He was a master of the "action shot" as well as a skilled editor, knitting the footage into a true "home movie" complete with synchronized soundtrack.

He also filmed "Bonnie's Sleepytime Stories Club," featuring a girl missing a few teeth dressed in her jammies reading The Berenstain Bears And Too Much TV (note the irony), then pretty much hot off the presses, reading a bedtime story to an imaginary audience and making sure they could see the pictures (like someone else we know).

Many years after its filming, the short video has been transferred to DVD, and found its way into the player this afternoon for a two-year-old lass who likes to read herself.

"Who that girl, Mama?" she wanted to know.

 "That's me when I was a little girl,"  I told her.  This was a surprise. 

When one of the brothers wandered into the room and noticed the young girl with the bangs and incredulous expressions, he knew who it was.  The lass still told him.

"Mama girl," she said.
That's me.

bedtime story

the elder lad reading stories by headlamp to his sister at bedtime...
(alternative caption: buying a few extra minutes after Lights Out.  Sold.)

reflections

Out with the lassies to run a couple of quick errands this afternoon, I walked hand in hand with the two-year-old lass and wore her seven-month-old "sissy pie"  in the sling.  Funny Girl caught a glimpse of us in a series of glass storefront windows as we walked, and she was transfixed.  She smiled at her reflection sweetly, proudly, and with a certain silliness, lifting her chin up and grinning.  "I see us!"  she said. 

Where did this little girl come from?  Just yesterday she was the one in the sling.  Tomorrow she'll be shopping for graduation dresses like my sister is doing.

While there have been many times in these postpartum months when I have avoided my reflection in the mirror, today when I saw us, we were -- if I do say so myself -- pretty as a picture.

life goes on

Soooo... where do I go from here?

I'm inclined to throw up some diversion to lighten the mood a bit.  Something like this:

Please.  The cuteness defies quantification. 

But instead I will expand just a little upon some of my ramblings from last night...

As a pianist, I've played *lots* of funerals both Catholic and Protestant over the years.  They are always fraught with emotion and laden with sadness, especially for those bidding farewell to someone they love.  I've been one of those people bidding farewell to loved ones many times myself.  Even in the midst of sorrow, however, the Catholic funerals especially that I've played have been some of the most uplifting, soul-edifying experiences I've had for many of the reasons I listed yesterday. I am always honored to play a funeral for anyone, to be present at that moment of grace, to help fulfill the work of mercy that is burying the dead, and to stand with those who are grieving.  To be a part of planning a funeral for someone is likewise an honor I humbly undertake when asked. 

Someday my bambini will have to bid farewell to someone they love dearly, as they will subsequently have to many times over the course of their lives.  I am not expecting this day to be imminent for anyone close to us, but we never know what tomorrow will bring.  As a family we've already said good-bye to a couple of pets the bambini's grandparents have had, as well as an uncle of my beloved's (when the lads were very little -- before the lasses were born).

When the day does come to say good-bye, it is my fervent hope that the services arranged to facilitate this farewell will both offer some solace for the grief our bambini feel and hope for them that their loved one is still accessible to them, though not in tangible, visible form any more.  Perhaps the positive experience of having been to funerals before will at least give a certain sense of familiarity that helps accomplish this.

Further, I pray for the grace to equip our bambini with the knowledge that is a pathway to faith in the hope Christ gives us of everlasting life and resurrection by my openness to discussing with them the questions they have about life, death, faith, or anything else on their minds (at an age-appropriate level, of course, and only to the extent they are comfortable discussing it barring any urgent necessity). 

I post many quips and soundbytes of our family life -- most of them funny, heart-warming, illustrative or reminiscent of things that transpire in these parts.  When the younger lad posited his becoming imaginary at the end of his earthly life, it left a lasting impression on my heart that I knew I needed to chronicle.  He's not only impish (and he is back to being impish after a couple days of strep throat-induced lethargy), but he's existential as well.  God love him for that.

So we toddle on with life, eagerly awaiting Easter and trying to live each day in peace, with sanctity, grace, and no short supply of humor.

About those shoes: they were a gift to the two-year-old lass from an aunt very dear to us, and they're not at all appropriate for mud season...

by popular request

Storytime is a highlight of our week.  When we don't make it, the two-year-old lass is not pleased.  She has gone so far as to conduct her own, "reading" aloud from the book in her hands and asking "can everyone see the pictures?"

Between impromptu storytimes and time spent in the rocking chair paging through books either on her own or on either my lap or my beloved's, the lass has developed a short list of library books that she asks me to request repeatedly, including

• Stand Tall, Molly Lou Melon by Patty Lovell, illustrated by David Catrow.  The diminutive title character might be vertically challenged, but thanks to the encouraging words of her equally-diminutive grandmother and plenty of chutzpah, this sweet little girl deflects the taunts of one Ronald Durkin and wins the admiration of all she encounters.
• Sugar Would Not Eat It (reviewed here).  Along with Molly Lou Melon,
• the Toot & Puddle books as well as Holly Hobbie's Fanny and Fanny And Annabelle, about a plucky young lady who sews and fashions her own doll when her mother flat out refuses to buy her a Connie doll, who Mama says is "just too... much".  I think I might find myself in a similar position someday, and I would *love* to create homemade dolls with my lasses instead. 

The lass also carts around three ballerina-themed books from my sister in a toddler-sized owl backpack (along with sundry other "necessities").  At virtually any time, one may be assured of a willing storyteller in a pint-sized package.  Does it get much better?

keepin' it real

Yes, that was my precious girl letting the faithful gathered for school Mass that "I want the PURPLE bow!"  She also wanted to know if we could "go now" and "have a snack in the car?"

"Soon," I told her in a stage whisper. 

On the bright side, no kneelers were dropped on anyone's shins or toes (though the lass did trip on a kneeler as we exited our pew to go to Communion and wanted to be carried the rest of the way).  The younger lad didn't attempt to slither out into the aisle from our pew (as he is sometimes given to do).  The baby girl registered some squawks as punctuation, but saved the yelling for later in the day when her brother the younger was all up in her face (understandably).  I caught a glimpse of the elder lad with his Bon Jovi hair sitting with his class (and looking the other way), but we made a hasty exit after Mass and thus didn't see him again until pick-up time.

So we made a minor scene today, but that's how it goes sometimes.   It's all part of learning how to behave in church just as anywhere else.  Little children have as much a place in church as adults do.

For the most part, the bambini did just fine. The color commentary (or "signs of life", as the associate pastor who presided at Mass this morning described them) often have impeccable, terrible, or simply comedic timing.  But they're are all a part of keepin' it real.  God willing, we'll be back next week.