Funny kid things

Earlier this week, I made a 10 minute attempt to commence potty-training with little Bud. When I trained Miller, I followed the advice of a book that advised parents to keep the emphasis on the child staying CLEAN and DRY, and to this end had the parent and child pick a specific baby doll to simultaneously train in staying clean and dry. Well, Robert and I put a pair of his big-boy undies on a blue puppy dog, one of several animals and toys that sleep with him. After two back-to-back episodes of not clean and oh-not-so-dry, I decided to throw in the towel. So much for perseverance, and anyway, he's only two and a half. Well, I took the undies off the blue dog before nap time, and Robert strongly objected, so I put them back on. When I went in to get him after his nap, he had transferred the underwear to... his new Batman helicopter.

A few days ago, Robert walked up to me and announced, "Miller born...stable."

Miller had to climb down from her chair at dinner to tell me a secret. She needs to tell me about three secrets during every meal, and they almost always involve Libba's upcoming birthday. Tonight, she whispered, "Libba is going to have a birthday next week and she's going to be 61. For her birthday, one of her friends is going to come over to her house. Her friend's name is Caroline. Sometimes they call her: Carolina...North."

A major difference between Miller and Robert: Anytime Miller gets hurt, even if it's the slightest boo-boo imaginable, her answer to, "Are you okay?" is always, "NO." Robert can come very close to busting his head open, and will immediately jump up and say, "I'm okay! I'm okay!" I relate more to Miller, and milk situations for all they're worth, but I really admire Robert's optimism. All day long, I hear him walking into doors, banging his head, falling off beds, slip-sliding into walls as he rounds corners too quickly, and then, "I'm okay!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Christmas Highlights

Santa Claus, or Anna Claus as Robert calls him, brought my kids great gifts this year: Miller a play kitchen and Robert a train table. I thought they'd go nuts over them. I thought they'd be over-the-top excited when they followed the familiar path down Janny and Jeffy's stairs into the den, a path trodden by Brent and me until we were WAY too old to still be getting visits from Santa. Andrew and I, Bubba and Chicky, and Janny and Jeffy filed in ahead of them and waited in anticipation for the moment when they would lay eyes on the gifts of their dreams. And when they did...neither acknowledged them. They casually walked over to their stockings and began to look through those instead. Robert immediately found a pack of M&M's and some orange tic tacs, and spent a majority of the next hour either eating, dropping, looking for, or crying because he couldn't find, his tic tacs. Many people have asked him the last few days, "What did Santa bring you?" His answer - "Tandy. And a twain table." OR "Tick Tocks. And a twain table." I was a little disappointed. Andrew spent every bit of 4.5 hours assembling the kitchen, and the logistics of getting it, the twain table, and all the rest of the gifts and luggage to Montgomery were mind-boggling. Thankfully, though, the kids have enjoyed their big gifts, and small gifts, and even more, the memories of opening everyone else's gifts.

I've been thinking a lot about my Christmas memories. It's been such a perfect time of year, my whole life, complete with many nights cuddled up reading by the twinkling tree and toasty fireplace, nice gifts, nativity sets, Christmas carols, trips to see Christmas lights and decorations, and a mother who made the whole month...perfect. Every time she called me during December, she said in her trademark cheerful voice, "HO HO HO!!!" She made her house lovely, made the tree and gifts look like something out of a magazine, and made my favorite things to eat. She made it as warm and memorable as it could be. The torch has now passed to her domestically-challenged daughter to make warm memories. Hmmmm...

My highlights of the week:
- Snuggling with Robert in the early morning, since we shared a room with him for a few nights. He'd wake up, realize he wasn't alone, and climb out of his bed to come snuggle/kiss/tackle/kick me. It was blissful.
- Andrew letting me sleep late at his parents' house Saturday morning. When I woke up and walked in the kitchen, Miller appeared and said, "Mom, get you some coffee. Come on in the den. Everyone is so excited you're awake!"
- Having Bubbba and Chicky arrive first thing Christmas morning, and hearing Brent read the gospel account of Jesus' birth. He reads it every year, and it's pretty special to remember how he sounded reading it as a little boy (pronouncing Caesar Augustus "Say-zi-ar Au-goose-tus") and hearing him now, as a man.
- Eating/drinking my mom's custard, Mana's recipe
- Seeing my kids and their sweet cousins together, especially their miked performances of Christmas songs in the lodge. Reminded me of a million fun times with my own cousins.
- Spending time with the Murray clan, and realizing Andrew's family has truly become like my own through the years
- Discovering Wii. Andrew and I rocked Guitar Hero.

Favorite gifts:
Robert: Tick Tocks, a Batman helicopter with which he's now sleeping, sock monkey, hand-me-down Dinsoaur, and a sticky Boots.
Miller: kitchen, ballerina costume, Cinderella doll, light-up princess skirt, and a cheerleader doll that talks (gifted by Anderson. The actual cheer, no kidding, is:
I stomp my feet,
I boogie to the beat,
I turn around,
I touch the ground,
I wiggle it,
just a little bit.
Thankfully, she doesn't know what "it" is, though she certainly knows how to wiggle IT.)

Christmas Eve

"Come to earth to taste our sadness, He whose glories knew no end.
By his life he brings us gladness, our Redeemer, Shepherd, Friend.
Leaving riches without number, born within a cattle stall
This the everlasting wonder: Christ was born the Lord of all."

(verse 3, "Come, thou Long Expected Jesus")

I've sung this hymn for many years, and I know I must have sung this verse before, but it seems brand new to me this year. I'm finding that I think of the night Jesus was born in a way that is likely nothing like the night he was born. My reflections mirror book illustrations I've seen so long of the silent night. The wonder and mystery of God's plan of redemption are starting to seep through my calloused mind full of images of Mary clean and smiling, baby cooing, an illuminated stable that actually looks warm and cozy. I've been thinking this year about my own experience giving birth, in a sterile hospital, and marveling that God sent our King from Glory, from "riches without number", to be born of a woman in time and history, in a dirty stable with no bed, to "taste our sadness" on earth, to suffer and die to win us. I heard someone the other night say what a humble place the stable in Bethlehem was. The God of all creation sent his Son in the most humble way imaginable. I can't believe this was His plan. His love for us must be unimaginable.

We took Miller and Robert to a communion/candlelight service at Frazer church tonight. Robert made it about 15 minutes before being escorted out. I gave the kids a sucker shortly into the service, my great idea for keeping them from talking the whole time. Well, they didn't suck their suckers. They chomped on them so loudly that it seemed the sanctuary was filled with the sound of hard sugar ruining teeth, until the louder noise of Robert saying, "AW MAN...AW MAN!" drowned out the crunching sound as he realized his sucker was nearing the end. Miller enjoyed singing familiar hymns and seeing the dark room fill with candlelight. I hope one day she'll begin to understand the immense love of the Light of the World, and the wonder of the words we believe to be true: "Christ was born the Lord of all!"

Addiction

I've had no internet access at my house for a week and a half, and I've been in serious withdrawal, almost to the point of tremors and nausea. Besides not being able to email, or blog, I couldn't mapquest directions to a birthday party this past Saturday, check the weekend forecast on weather.com, look up a phone number on whitepages.com, search my gmail for a recipe stored there, shop for Christmas gifts online, search for our Advent coloring pictures stored in gmail, check craigslist.com for newly listed tacky junk, or play animal noises for Robert from nationalgeographic.com. Andrew brought his computer home last night for the first time for me to use, and I finally got my fix after about two hours. I wish I wasn't so dependent on the internet. I wish I was relieved at being forced to withdraw from it for a time. But, relief has only come as I glide my fingertips over this little keyboard once more and type in addresses that begin with w....w....w.

My kids see me on the computer way too much. A couple of nights ago, Miller called me back into her room for about the fifth time of the evening and said, "Could you send Libba an email for me?"

I keep trying to take a 2008 Christmas picture, even though I'm not sending out cards this year. Robert is making things very difficult during every photo op. See above.

Jesus and Santa Claus

While the primary emphasis at our house right now is the birth of Christ, all the Christmas traditions of the USA make our focus a little fuzzy for Millie. A mother-daughter conversation from yesterday:

M: Guess what Jesus turned into when he grew up? A christmas tree!
L: I don't think so.
M: Yes, he did.
L: Okay.

Miller made up a song about Christmas this morning and told me Libba had taught it to her. She sang of Jesus, Bethlehem, and Santa Claus, and the chorus went:

Mine was pregnant
Mine was pregnant
Mine was pregnant
Mine was pregnant

Jeffy Poo

December 1st is significant; it's my daddy's birthday. We went fishing together a couple of months ago at the River. It was early in the morning, and the world and water around us were quiet and still except for the occasional splash of a fish. After being out there for a while, I put my rod down and sat and watched him for a few minutes. I was looking up at his profile, lean, tall, and strong, cap perched a little too high on his head, watching the familiar motions of his casting and reeling, and participating in the familiar smart-aleck banter we always engage in while fishing. I would have given my right arm to have had a camera. It would have been such a perfect picture, representative of a million similar moments with him in the outdoors, moments when I felt almost perfectly safe, and perfectly happy. As quiet and unassuming as he is, his presence and influence in my life are gigantic, and all the moments I'm with him have a way of filling me up to the brim.

When I was young, as many little girls do, I thought he was the perfect man. As I got older, I realized he's as imperfect as all of us. He has a bad temper, is a sore loser at games, can't/won't say he's sorry, and this isn't an exhaustive list of his imperfections. But can an imperfect man still be a perfect dad? I think so. My whole life, I never remember being with him and wondering if he'd rather be somewhere else. He gave up his dreams of making music as a career to provide for his family, but I've never heard him mention that, or act like he minded. He's worked hard, every day, at work and at home, my whole life. He's almost never idle. He carefully and conservatively weighed decisions concerning me, and all of us, and I'm sure he made poor ones, but I can't think of any. He took me and Brent along and taught us about the things he loved, hunting and fishing, and music. He spent countless hours playing his guitar with me, and singing, and he always let me pick the songs if I wanted to. He still does. He listens when I ramble, and though his responses are incredibly brief, I know he cares about what I've said. Any gift he's ever bought me, whether I like it much or not, I've treasured and guarded with my life, just because it's from him, or at least, because mom said it was from him.

I've tried before to write a tribute to him, but my songwriting skills are pitiful, and my songs always sound something like, "I had a shoe. It was blue. I love my dad. He's what I have." I want a way to capture who he is to me, but my words come up short. But in spite of my lame skills and the humiliation I'm likely to feel an hour after I post this, here's the chorus of a song I wrote for him a few years ago. I want the whole world, or at least the handful of people who read this blog, to know what a special day this is, and what a special man Jeff Botsford is.

You gave up the band but I hope you can see-
the best song you wrote is the one about me.
A song about family, a song about sacrifice,
I can't sing the tune, but I hear it inside.

Miller quotes and caramel cake

Last night, I asked Miller if she would rub my feet.
"No", she said.
In an embarrassing effort to manipulate her, I said, "If you asked me to rub your feet, I would do it for you."
"Okay, here," she said. And she kicked off her pink crocs, pulled off her sweaty socks, and stuck her little feet right in my lap.

The kids were playing in the front yard today, so I carried some chicken out that I had just cooked and needed to shred. Miller came right over to sit by me, and I began telling her that I had cooked it too long, it was a little dry, I was a little disappointed, etc. Then, in reference to the dry chicken, I said, "Oh well, what are you gonna do?" She proceeded to tell me just what she was gonna do. "Robert and I are going to go pick some berries and take them in our little house....." I guess I won't use the "no use crying over spilled milk" line with her anytime soon.

I just finished making a caramel cake for Thanksgiving weekend. My JJ made caramel cakes my whole life, and baking mine today made my heart and mind swell with remembrances of her, as many things do - her hands: I can picture her hands exactly, the way they shook a little bit as she measured out the ingredients when she cooked; her face: I can vividly remember the way she looked when she dipped her fingertip in for a taste, brow furrowed as she discerned whether it was exceptional or only really good. I saw her stand in her kitchen or ours one hundred times making this cake, and in her last years with us, I asked her to show me how to make it. We only made it once, and I wrote down the directions as we went along, trying to be true to her exact method. My recipe, therefore, is vague and slightly hard to follow, and says many things like: Stir the sugar until it's brown, not too brown. Add a good teaspoon of vanilla. Stir HARD until the icing gets thick, not too thick. Apparently, there are lots of ways to mess up a caramel cake, and it's an unspoken rule among the women in my family who make it that you can never admit it's perfect. You have to say it's sticky, or the icing is cracked, even though everyone knows that icing made from butter, sugar, and evaporated milk is good no matter what.

My cake turned out okay, not quite brown enough, but the memories were delectable.

Play-Doh Pancakes

I have a friend who keeps her play-doh neat and separated; it drives her crazy when different colors get mashed together. At the risk of giving her a heart attack, I'm posting a picture of play-doh playtime at our house. Miller makes meals out of mashed together play-doh, and clean up takes about 2 hours. A few minutes before I took this picture, I let the kids play unsupervised while I jumped in the shower. Apparently, Miller made play-doh pancakes, and apparently, Robert messed them up. She came running back into the bathroom, yelling, "Mama! Robert tore my pancake! That is unacceptable, because I don't want him to do that." Instead of feeling sorry about the pancake, all I could think was - did my daughter just say, "unacceptable"? I wonder who uses that word for her behavior way, WAY too often?

One little, two little, three little cutie pies

This morning, Andrew and I experienced a rite of passage for parents of preschoolers: the school program. The three-year-old classes from Miller's Mother's Day Out performed a short Thanksgiving musical this morning. I thought it would be really cute. As it turns out, it was totally freaking adorable, and Andrew and I beamed with as much pride as if Miller had won an Olympic gold medal. While watching my sweetie pie sing and do hand motions for songs like "If I were a Butterfly", which I sang as a preschooler, it occurred to me that four might be the most unique age we've been through with her. As she walked up on stage, Miller still looked like such a little girl, but also like a big girl, and she's doing such big girl things now; the juxtaposition of little and big keeps me constantly surprised and on my toes. She's funny and smart and interested in cooking, music, and getting dressed by herself. She notices if I'm more dressed up than usual, and comments on it. We look at each other and laugh many times a day at the hilarious or outrageous things Robert does. On the other hand, she still wants me to hold her a lot, she still gets hurt all the time, and she's likely to burst into tears when things don't go her way, or when she's tired. I have to be careful not to assume I know what's coming next, or I begin to expect her to act older than she can. She's four. Some cute four-year-old quotes from the past week:

She brought me a little Christmas box that plays "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" and said: Can you turn on, "Mary had a little Christmas"?

I asked if she had eaten all of her toast, and she replied, "I ate a LOT of ton."

This last one is my favorite. I always worry that Miller will only remember the negative things about me, the words I spoke in impatience or anger, etc., but today she came in the kitchen and said to me, in her own little way and wording, some of the things I communicate to her often. "I love you, mommy. I'm thankful for you. God made you."

A confusing bedtime story

Excerpts from "Baby Farm Animals"

Baby Cats are called kittens...At night the farmer gives them cow's milk...

R: Where da cow go? Where da cow go?

L: There's no cow in this picture, bud. It's just talking about the cow's milk.

Baby Rabbit...sniffs noses with the kittens and puppies...

R: Where da puppy go? Where da puppy go?

L: There's no puppy on this page. It's just telling us that the Rabbit and puppy are friends.

M: Libba has a puppy. It's brown.

Baby Chickens are called chicks. "Mother says we must look for worms and..."

R: Where da worms? Where da worms?

Baby Dogs are called puppies. They pretend that a shoe is a big cat. They...

R: Where da cat?

M: Do you know what Libba's puppy's name is? Ginavese.

In addition to having birthdays all the time, Libba gets hurt all the time. Not just scraped and bruised, but really hurt, as though Miller is constantly thinking of the worst case scenario and applying it to Libba's poor imaginary body. Tonight's injury topped all its predecessors:

"Do you know what happened to Libba's bottom? It busted open."

Torn

Several people close to me are being affected in gigantic ways by this economy. It's as though they've had a photograph in their minds of what life is going to look like, and that picture is being torn down the middle. It's sad, overwhelming, stressful, and scary, and seeing them go through it is...sad, overwhelming, stressful, and scary. I've been in a study this fall in which a recent topic has been God's immutability. He doesn't change, ever. He never changes. He's the same yesterday, today, and forever. And though this world changes all the time, and is changing in huge ways for many, the One who made it, and them, is as He has been from all eternity: good. merciful. loving. And these changes he's allowing, even the tearing of their pictures, and maybe especially the tearing of their pictures, and mine, are mysteriously good, merciful, and loving. But my heart is still heavy tonight as I weep with those who weep, and worry with those who worry. I love knowing that He's not worrying.

"...Who does not change like shifting shadows." James 1:17

Mr. Independent's New Line

Don't ever try to help Robert open anything or put on anything, or tie anything, or untie anything, or get down from or up to anywhere, or you will hear the line:

I do it my byself. I do it my bySELF!!!!!!!!!!

"Am I Four?"

It's official. The birthday Milller has been talking about since she turned three has come and gone, and I now have a four-year-old. I kept feeling very emotional about her birthday in the day or two leading up to it, remembering the night before and the day she was born, thinking about how much she's grown, how rich our lives are because of her, and how beautiful, wonderful, delightful, and perfect she is.

As God would have it, her birthday falls the day after Halloween, and she had not gone to sleep until after 10 the night before. So a little of the wonderful-ness and delightful-ness was not present on birthday morning. Just as well for this weeper as I got ready to host Miller's first ever real, away from the house, birthday party.

I'm not good at event planning, and though this party involved nothing more than cupcakes, balloons, and a candy hunt at our church's pavilion and playground, one would have thought I was planning her wedding. I had Andrew picking up balloons and mom bringing the birthday girl and brother while I arrived early at the church to set up. We could have almost filled the parking lot with just our cars. My wonderful mother-in-law, sister-in-law, and brother-in-law all arrived early, and instead of welcoming them with a smile and hug like a good little hostess, I began barking orders like a drill sergeant. Ben and Maria! Hide the candy!! Betsy! Put out the cupcakes! No! Not there! On the cake plate! Andrew! You're here! Hold the balloons! Grab the drinks! Wipe the dew off the slides! Stop talking to your family and help me!!!!

In spite of me, the party actually ended up being fun, thanks to all the precious friends who made the effort to come. The birthday girl seemed to enjoy herself, though she refused most photo op's and sat in a trance-like state eating a KitKat while we sang "Happy Birthday" to her. Today, several people asked her what she did for her birthday. Her answer? "I don't know." So, I can't say for sure that it was memorable, but I can say I learned one important and profound thing: Next year, I should rent out a place where all I have to do is bring a cake.

Robert, by the way, LOVED the party and definitely remembers it. The word "party" encompasses many things for him, and he referred to the cupcakes as "party", as in, "I need my party!! I need my party!!", while reaching his grimy hand for yet another party.

Comparisons

I read an article recently suggesting that parents should give their children praise that's realistic. The author recounted seeing a couple with their toddler at a park. Each time the child went down the slide, the parents said, "You're the best little slider in the whole wide world!", or something to that effect. The author commented that the parents were setting the child up for disappointment in school, when a teacher would no longer tell him that he was the "best little" anything; it would be better to say, "We love seeing you go down the slide." "Going down the slide looks like so much fun when you do it, " etc..

I saw some merit in this advice from Dr. Expert, so I've tried to implement it. If Robert shows me some purple scribble, I'll sometimes say, "Wow, bud, that's really purple." It seems to satisfy my kids, and I've felt like I was smart in saying these things, preparing them for a world that will likely never be filled with the highest remarks of praise for everything they do. Well, the other night, Miller and I had a little dance party in our den/computer room, which has glass doors and windows along one wall. We were dancing our little hearts out when she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the glass and stopped moving. "I'm not very good at dancing."

EXCUSE ME????? My heart sank. How does an almost four-year-old even know what counts as good dancing? Is she already comparing herself to others? How does she know she's not good at it? To be honest, to say that she's not a good dancer would be an understatement. Robert seems to have both the rhythm and the coordination in the family.

So, did I follow the advice of that silly Dr. Expert? Bleep no! I lied through my teeth! And I'm glad I did. "You're a GREAT dancer," I said, and we kept shaking what our mama's gave us.

This pic is of Miller and her friend, Lainey, pretending to sing at church. Thankfully, as you can see, Miller has full confidence in her ability to sing in a pretend choir.

Breakfast conversation

"Mom, when will we go to heaven?"
"Probably in a long time. But it will be really great when we get there."
"Yeah. And we can see if they have suckers."
"I bet they will."

Big smile.

Dinner Time

I've heard a couple of girls say lately that they already dread the day when their kids are older and they can't have pleasant family dinners every night. My internal response is always, "Seriously??" Here is a one-act script that is representative of Murray family dinners these days.

(A - Andrew, L - Laura, M - Miller, R - Buddy Man)

L: Okay, boys and girls, it's time to get in your chairs.
M: There's only one boy and one girl.
L: Okay, boy and girl, get in your chairs.
M: I want to sit in the regular chair.
L: No, go ahead and sit in your own chair.
R: REGU-AR CHAIR!! REGU-AR CHAIR!!
L: NO, bud, get in your own chair.
(This is usually followed by a total breakdown that takes 5-10 minutes to recover from. We finally all sit down)
A: Who wants to say the blessing? Miller?
M: No. Get me some milk.
A: Can you say that in a sweeter way? Let's say the blessing first.
R: NO PRAY!!! NO PRAY!!!
M: Please get my milk.
(We go ahead and pray with Robert yelling in the background.)
A: Laura, listen to what happened at work today. (Begins to talk to me)
M: Daddy, guess what happened to Libba today. Guess what happened to Libba today. Daddy, guess what happened to Libba today.
L: Baby, you're interrupting. Let Daddy finish telling me this and then you can talk. (Andrew continues.)
M: Daddy, guess what happened to Libba today. Guess what happened to Libba today. Daddy..
A & L: WHAT?? What happened to Libba?
M: She broke her eye. Guess what else? Her grandmother broke her eye, too.
R: Poor Libba. Poor Libba.
L: Miller, what was your favorite thing that you did at school today?
M: I don't know.
L: What did you learn about?
M: I don't know.
A: Robert, what about you? Who was in your class today?
R: Davidddd. and Barretttt.
A: What did you do at school?
R: David SNATCH!!!! my toy.
L: Robert, eat a bite of your food. No, bud, don't throw your food! Don't poke holes in the table with your fork! Don't bang your fork! Miller, take a bite of your good chicken I made you. I made it just the way you like it.
M: I don't like it.
A: ROBERT! Don't rub your yogurt in your hair!
M: I have to go tee-tee.
L: Andrew, grab a napkin and wipe that yogurt out of Robert's eyes.
M: (From the bathroom): Come turn on the light!!!!
L: Robert, don't squish your banana into a big mess
R: (after eating nothing and pushing his plate towards me): I want treat. I have sherbet?
L: No, you have to eat one bite of your chicken. (Tears.) (Crying.)
L: One bite. You can do it.
R: NO!
(Miller's back at the table.)
L: Andrew, I forgot to tell you this life-changing news earlier!
M: Mom, guess what Libba and I did today. Guess what Libba and I did today. Guess what Libba and I did today.
L: WHAT?
M: She fell and broke her hip and had to go to the hospital. I stayed home with my husband, Johnny.
R: Wow.... I have treat?

After all this chaos, we wipe Robert all over with a rag and strip him down to his birthday suit. Then he runs down the hall to get his bath, and seeing his cute little fanny makes up for the fact that food is smeared all over the floor, table, and his chair, and only 1% of it ever made its way to his mouth. I'll definitely miss the fanny one day. And who knows? Maybe I'll really miss stories about Libba.

The Murray Family Singers

For those who don't know, my husband is a closet rock star. People always assume my kids would rather have me sing to them, but they sincerely love to hear their daddy's voice. And while I can't agree that it's beautiful, his enthusiasm makes up for his lack of raw talent.

I went to another church yesterday to hear a speaker talk on the subject - Mothering: Taking Care of Yourself. A better topic for me might have been - Mothering: Stop Trying to Take Care of Yourself All the Time and Take Care of Your Kiddos. Oh well, I didn't pick the topic. The speaker's name was Langston Haygood, and he used to be the pastor at my J.J. and Big's church in Gadsden. I saw him in the lobby and went up to introduce myself. I told him who my grandparents were, and he said, "I led your grandfather to Christ." "I know," I told him. He then said, "I'll never forget that." Neither will Big, I thought, not for all eternity, thank God.

When I left the talk, I headed to the nursery. Robert was in the Puppy class, so I went to the classroom door to look for my puppy, but he was missing. After a little bit of confusion, I followed his trail to the front office, where he was sitting, semi-happily, in the nursery director's lap. My puppy and I went and got our Panda, who was faring much better in her class, and dressed head to toe as Snow White. They brought home a craft of a boat with two disciples and Jesus in it, and a piece of blue tissue paper glued underneath like water. The title of the craft was Jesus Calms the Storm. This morning I was asking Robert about his, and he grabbed it and started pulling the Jesus figure all around, saying, "Whoa, God!!! Whoa, God!!!" The boat was still intact after all this activity, which was surprising because of Bud's tendency to rip to shreds all his crafts (or Sissy's) that he can get his hands on.

Birthdays

We've been singing the Happy Birthday song a lot lately. Are more people born in the fall than other times of the year? Seems like it. Anyway, between singing to all our friends and Miller telling us every day that "Today is Libba's birthday!", the song has become Robert's favorite, and he has been singing it non-stop, to people or inanimate objects (example - oatmeal). Last night on the way home from church - "Happy Birh-day to do. Happy Birh-day to do. Happy Birh-day, dear Lauren (the nursery director) (not her birh-day). Happy Birh-day to do."

Today we celebrated the special, and actual, birh-day of our Aunt Chicky (Catherine), who's as close to perfect as an aunt can be, in my children's eyes and mine. M & R eagerly sang a duet on her voice mail, and Miller kept explaining to Robert that we weren't going to be eating cupcakes. She kept asking me, "Why aren't we going to celebrate with her?" Miller loves to use the word "celebrate", and I've also noticed lately that she uses the word "shall" more often than the rest of us. For instance, if she's talking about a boo-boo that hurts, she'll say, "What shall I do about it?"

I took Robert to the doctor this afternoon because I was afraid he had an ear infection. We were running late (as always), and as I ran out the door to put babies in car seats, I saw that his shorts looked a little full. "Robert - did you poop?" (In the diaper I JUST changed?) "NO." "Robert!!! Let me see - Oh, Bud! We're running late!!!" I frantically unlocked the door and raced back in the house. He leisurely followed behind me, loudly singing, "Happy Birh-day to you. Happy Birh-day to you..." After exposing M & R to germs I can hardly stand to imagine at the pediatrician's office, we discovered Robert was suffering from...nothing.

The nursery worker for his class at church last night told me, "We had to ask Robert to use his inside voice tonight." Little does she know, Robert has no inside voice. He was apparently having a VERY LOUD imaginary phone conversation with someone on the toy telephone.

On Sunday nights, we meet with a group at church to eat dinner and hang out. Last night, we discussed an article I had suggested to the group called "Honest to God" by Gordon Bals. An excerpt:

"How honest are you with God? How much of yourself do you give directly to God? Do you believe what David said, "We can pour our heart out to God at all times, " (Psalm 62)? It seems to me we often act like we can only bring God the good parts of our heart. Unfortunately, this fuels indifference towards God because when we don't think He can handle all the mixed up stuff inside of us we shrink away from a deeper intimacy with Him."

I picked it because I've realized over the past couple of weeks that I'm often not honest with Him at all. We recently had a tragedy in our church that I let pull me into some dark places, and instead of running to Him with my questions and complaints, which He already knows about, I found myself not really talking to Him at all. I've been reading some other really good stuff by John Piper, and thinking a lot, and what I keep coming back to in the midst of all that is incomprehensible and mysterious about God is this: Jesus. God sent his Son to suffer and die so that we could know Him and spend eternity with Him in a place where there is no more sin, and no more darkness, and no more crying. In moments when I doubt His love and goodness, I'm trying to cling to the reality of the sacrifice made for sinners like me, the blood that dripped from His precious, loving, good, sinless brow to wash me white as snow.

This pic is Millie in her Halloween outfit this year. Apparently, I'm the only mom in America that doesn't give her children a choice of costumes. Everywhere we go, people ask Miller, "Who are you going to be for Halloween?", as though she will respond with Dora! Cinderella! Minnie!, or another child hero. Poor Millie just has to say, "a Giraffe".

New Smile

I know there might be some curiosity about this tooth injury, so here's cutie pie's new smile.

This afternoon, while I was making spaghetti casserole and Miller was perched near the counter talking nonstop, she said, "Libba makes strawberry spaghetti." I said that I'd never had strawberry spaghetti, to which Millie replied, "Well...it's awesome."

Our across the street neighbor, Emmie Anderson, (an elderly lady who's become our friend over the past few years), returned home from a six-week hospital stay this afternoon. She had broken her hip but is walking now and feeling much better. My children affectionately call her "Anderson". Miller started it and Robert followed. I tried to intervene, since it seems like only college fraternity guys call each other by surnames, but it has stuck, and now it's just hilarious to me. Anyway, both kids were so excited that Anderson was home, and though they're crazy about her, they also know she keeps Hershey Kisses on her coffee table. I kept telling them we would have to be gentle around her, so the whole way across the street, Miller kept asking, "Can I touch her???? Can I touch her, mom????"

We had small group tonight at our friend's house, and were up a little later than usual. Robert lived up to the name on his t-shirt (Crabby) and went crazy for his paci (which mommy forgot) around 7:45. I bought us a few extra minutes with a piece of gum, and while the group discussed some of the deepest issues of life and death, the background sound for the last few minutes was Robert smacking the heck out of his gum. A small pack of M&M's got us almost home, and I remembered a long lost paci in the bottom of my purse for the last mile. I'm glad paci's are the deepest issue he's dealing with these days.

Nurse Millie

I had a touch of stomach bug yesterday in Montgomery, and Miller was my sweet little nurse. I was lying on the couch, fairly miserable, and she told me she wanted to bring some things to help me feel better. First, she brought me Raggedy. Next, a dead ladybug. Finally, a few other toys from around the house. The ladybug worked wonders....

On a totally unrelated note, my little nurse is also really interested in helping with laundry these days (yea for mommy!!). Notice the perfectly folded washcloths in her hand. She is extremely proud when she folds them, and equally distraught when Robert (inevitably) runs over to knock her clean pile onto the floor.

Picture Day(s) and An Accident

Monday was school picture day, so I got the kids up in the morning and made them look like little dolls (not hard, though I did take extra time to blow dry Miller's hair, which I NEVER do). I requested on my form that the photographer take their picture together. When I picked Robert up after school, the director yelled from her office, "They just didn't do AT ALL! They cried and cried!" Robert's teacher said, "Can you believe it?" Yes, I can. Robert and I got in the carpool line to pick up Sissy, and I could tell from her face as we pulled closer that she knew her behavior had been less than stellar. As soon as the door was opened for her to climb in, she said: "We were a little frustrated about getting our picture." What was frustrating about it? "Well...we just didn't want to." She continued to mutter a few more excuses about the photographer having an Elmo doll. (Elmo has been the source of many breakdowns at the mall toy store. Who knew he was so scary?)

She was supposed to have another chance today, but I decided not to subject her to Elmo again and didn't send a form with her. I guess her teacher decided she needed to learn a lesson in photo session courage, b/c when I picked her up today, she said, "I got my picture. The man with the mustache was doing some things to make me laugh."

I'm glad she had it taken, because it's not going to look the same for a while. Millie fell tonight on the rug in the den and caught her full body weight on her teeth. They are pushed up into her gums a little bit, and it was a scary, bloody mess. Our wonderful dentist (Miller's least favorite person ever, possibly) made a house call and said that unless the x-rays show anything tomorrow, we'll probably just wait several months to see if they come back down on their own. After total hysteria for quite a while after the fall, she became very giddy right before bedtime, and she looked in the mirror. Laughing, she said, "My teeth are crooked!" I said, "They are, a little! Aren't they cute?" She said, still laughing, "They look silly!" I assured her they were adorable. I hope she thinks it's funny tomorrow; they definitely don't look adorable, except that they're right in the middle of the sweetest little face and smile in the world.

I took this picture last night when two friends and their kids came over for dinner. This is Polly, and Miller began as soon as her mom, Sara Ellen, walked in the door - "Can I hold Polly? Can I give Polly her bottle? Can I help feed Polly?" Mother Miller is relentless with these babies, though, as you can see, they usually love it.

There's no use crying over spilled...

King Ranch Chicken Casserole. I splurged yesterday and bought a pre-made casserole at Super Suppers for $16.00. All day today, I rationalized why it was a valid purchase: My kids needed some variety; I thought Robert might actually eat and enjoy it (in contrast to his usual pushing of the plate across the table, along with "I don't WANT it!"); it would last us for two nights, etc...Well, I pulled it out of the oven tonight, and the dish started to slide off the top of the cookie sheet I was instructed to cook it on. Miller was right beneath me. I screamed bloody murder, and pushed her out of the way before it splattered all over the floor. To say I was disappointed would be an understatement, but thankfully, I managed not to cry. Miller, who can be very compassionate when she knows I'm upset, kept saying, "I'm sorry that happened. I didn't know that was going to happen. I'm sorry." And Robert chimed in, too, "I'm saw-wy. I'm saw-wy, spill." After a few minutes, Miller said, "Mom - when you spilled the casserole, that was terrible." Yes, it was. Andrew sat down beside her. "Dad - that was horrible, wasn't it?" Yes. I remarked that it would have been even more horrible if the casserole had landed on and burned her. And this prompted her to remember that, "One time, when Libba got burned, we put her in the cold shower." At least she knows some first aid for her imaginary friend.

Robert is starting to talk about Libba, too. "Libba likth oatmeal." "Libba likth ith cream." I'm starting to wonder if Libba might be with us for a long, long time.

This pic is from the first day of school this year. Toddlers in Keds - is anything cuter?

The Adults Only Weekend (Rated G)

As Miller was stalling on going to bed tonight:
"Brother, do you love a paci?"
"Uh-huh"
"You love a paci every day, don't you?"

Just posting this picture to prove what I've been thinking all along - my son has the cutest feet in the whole wide world, and the cutest bunny teeth.

Miller and Robert spent the weekend at Janny and Jeffy's house. I recently read, on the blog of another friend, that she's not "one of those moms who needs ME time", or something to that effect. I wish I could say the same, but God help me, I'm a mom who needs some time sometimes!! Or, I may not need it, but I certainly want it. Andrew and I had friends to dinner and were able to really talk to them, we slept until 8:45 two days in a row, we ate a quiet lunch Saturday and ran errands together, and though none of this sounds extraordinary, it was darn wonderful. And the thing about being away from my kids for short periods of time is this: when they're not at my house, I have the chance to walk into their rooms, miss the way they smell, miss their little voices, think about how they look when they're asleep, about how perfect their hugs and kisses are, look at all the dolls and toys they love, and soak it in. It's harder to do this when they're here, though my house is infinitely more alive when they're in it, and I never want to be away from them for long. The other plus is that when we're back together, I'm a sweeter, better mom, for at least seven minutes.

We had a great sermon Sunday. Our pastor preached that this world is a broken place, and that at any given point in our life, we are probably either just coming out of a crisis, in the middle of a crisis, or about to be in a crisis. He referenced Psalm 46, which begins, " God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble." We're promised we will have trouble in this world. The sermon made me think about the recent tragedy of a family from Montgomery, whose daughter-in-law suffered a massive stroke in April and is in the excruciatingly slow process of recovery. Not long after the episode occurred, the girl's mom and aunt made some statements on her CaringBridge site that became firmly implanted in my mind. Her mom referred to the fact that, in a moment, everything in life can change. In a moment... She also wrote, "This is what we’ve been in training for, what we’ve been given preparation for.” Her aunt wrote, "I’m just wondering; what phone call might change your life in the next week or month or year? Are you ready?" Psalm 46 continues, "Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging." My fears these days center around my sweet babies, the health of all my family, normal stuff, and I wonder - if the worst were to happen, where would I turn for refuge? Could I believe that God was always present to help me in anything? Am I preparing and training myself to believe this by seeking to know Him more and more, by letting my roots grow down into Him in such a way that nothing can jerk them out? The lighthearted musings of my Sunday morning...

Ellie

Ellie is Miller's favorite baby doll, not the one that brings her comfort, like Raggedy and bun-bun (her blankie), but the one she loves to mother. This morning at breakfast, she suddenly jumped up from the table and ran as fast as she could back to her room - "Ellie's crying!!!!" We took our babies for a walk yesterday, Miller pushing Ellie in her stroller, and me pushing Robert. We had to stop every ten steps or so. Miller would lean down close to Ellie and say things like, "Are you okay? Do you want your mommy to hold you?" Sometimes she needed to sit right down on the side of the road and hold Ellie for a minute before we could continue the walk. Then there was strapping her back in her stroller, making sure she was comfortable, that the sun wasn't in her eyes, etc. which she took care of patiently, and ever so slowly...

She's much more attentive and sensitive to her babies than I am to mine. She never sees their crying and wanting to be held as a disruption in her day or imposition on her time. I'm such a stickler for not wasting time, and I never want things to take longer than they're supposed to. For instance, a short walk down our street should take about 7 minutes, but ours took about 30. Getting us dressed and out the door in the morning should take about an hour, but it usually takes us two or three, and sometimes we never get out the door at all. If I'm trying to complete a task around the house and Miller comes up and says, "I need you to hold me", I inwardly (best case) or outwardly (wish I could say worst case) sigh. Every older parent I ever talk to, without exception, says the exact same thing - "Enjoy this time. It will be gone before you know it." I wish I could slow down and live in this mindset! Is it possible? Maybe I can learn a few things about it by watching Miller and Ellie.

By the way, this seems as good a place as any to note the following: If Robert knows anything by the time he starts kindergarten, he most likely will have learned it from his Sissy. And I don't just mean that he will have picked it up from being around her. She actively teaches him, much more than I do. This morning - "Say one." "One. " Say two." "Two."...."Say ten. "Ten."......"Good for you, brother."

"Listen to the doctor, pleeeease"

Dr. Miller Murray examined Robert this morning with her stethoscope, and Robert kept coming up to me and saying, "I go doctor." They also had this conversation:

M: "Hand me your paci." (Robert, amazingly, hands it over.)

M: "When we are through with your check-up, we will have play-doh, and you can have your paci."

R: "Wow...."

M: "Let me see your lip." (Robert begins to smack his lips like a fish) (Miller puts the stethoscope somewhere near his elbow.)

M: "I think it sounds good. Now you get to have a sucker." (She has no sucker to give him, so she brings him a whistle, a flag, and a small bag. He seems satisfied.)

This picture was taken a couple of nights ago during bath time. I gave M & R washcloths, and when I peeked in every few seconds, I saw that she was bathing his arms. Then I overheard, "Turn over and let me wash your bottom."

Points

Since the onset of the stomach bug, my kids have watched about 2300 hours of television, and I keep having an overwhelming sense of panic over this. Why? What else are you supposed to do when you feel puke-y? Here's why - I'm losing points.

I've been thinking, in relation to trusting in performance, that I have a sort of point system for my life. Not literally, but I operate this way - I'm always trying to get more points. These are some of the things I get points for: handling a stressful situation calmly; reading lots of books to my kids, or doing crafts or puzzles with them; feeding them healthy food (extra points for cooking a big meal) ; keeping my house clean; flossing my teeth; reading an interesting book myself; having an inkling of what's going on in the world, and being able to have a stimulating conversation with Andrew that's not about our sweet babies.

These are some of the things I lose points for: losing my patience and yelling at my kids (the biggie); letting them watch too much t.v. in a day; having lots and lots of crumbs on the floor; feeding them fast food; basically the opposite of all the things I get positive points for.

I even hold other people to my point system. If I walk in and Andrew is sitting with the kids watching The Wiggles, I mentally subtract points from him like some kind of crazy schoolteacher.

I function as though the more points I have, the better mom I am, the better wife, the better my standing before God. And I take pride in these things. Andrew will walk in the door at night and I'll proudly and obnoxiously announce, "We didn't watch ANY t.v. today!" or "You have a clean bathroom and clean sheets!" Or I'll have some lame artwork taped to the windows so Andrew can see how creative and industrious I am with our kids. If I have negative points for the day, I'm melancholy and down, and that feeling of despair creeps in, and I think, "I'm not cut out for this job. " I've been operating this way for so long, it's very hard to get out of this mindset, but I am taking minuscule steps towards realizing the truth: My standing before God doesn't change, ever. He sees in me the righteousness of Christ. My good works that I love to boast about don't make Him love me more, and the moments when my score is negative 500 don't make him love me less.

So...I'm trying to break free of my point system, and trying not to give myself points for the effort. "It is for freedom that Christ has set us free." Galations 5:1

The Old Pro

Miller has had the stomach bug once before, on a weekend trip to Janny and Jeffy's house. So last night when hers started around midnight, she handled it like a champ. (This was very impressive to me - I always cried and carried on every time I vomited until I was about 27 years old.) Right after she got sick, she said matter-of-factly, "I want to sleep in your bed. Go get bun-bun and Raggedy for me. If they have throw-up on them, go ahead and put them in the washing machine, and I'll use something else for now."

I got a little bucket to put beside my bed, and Millie was so interested in the bucket that we had about eight false alarms before she actually got sick again, just so she could get down and try out the bucket.

I took this pic earlier last night during the Murray family Auburn party. Miller stood in her little house outside and talked to Libba on the phone for about 20 minutes.

The Pukes

Robert is sick, and was the most pitiful thing I've ever seen in the wee hours of morning during his first experience with the stomach bug. " I spit!!!!....in my bed!!!" He seems better now, and was excited about his ice chips. Guess who else declared that she LOVES ice chips, that they are her fravorite. (Not a typo, just the way she pronounces favorite.) Miller also began telling me how Libba is also very sick, that she has been throwing up all day, up into the clear blue sky. I haven't mentioned Libba yet, but she's Miller's imaginary friend, and she's a huge part of our lives, mentioned in almost every conversation.

The Best Birthday

I never thought there would be anything particularly special about turning 31, but last night, when the house was quiet, and I thought about all God has given me in these 31 years, I was overwhelmed with thankfulness. It happened again this morning. I felt so blessed and so full of joy, and it has to do with something that is totally unrelated to my being 31; the timing just happens to coincide.

I've recently been going to talk with a Christian counselor named Julie. Lest this conjure up images of me lying on a couch, incense burning, talking about how I'm scarred because I remember not being held enough as a baby, or something else weird, that's not at all what this has been. This wise lady has basically been helping me figure out what I believe. Not what I say I believe, but what I really believe. Through our conversations, I've been learning something huge. HUGE. One blog will not contain it all, and I think it will seep through in bits and pieces, but the gist of it is this: For years and years, I've been trusting in my performance. I've been trying so hard to earn God's favor, and I've thought it was possible to earn it. I've said I'm a sinner saved by grace, but I've relied on my own effort since then. When I yell at my kids, think unloving thoughts about my husband, slander a friend, feel envious of a someone else's circumstances or possessions, when I SIN , it has sent me into a pit of despair. I end up thinking: I'm a Christian, so I should be able to do better. Julie has been helping me see that what I needed for salvation is the same thing I need for every moment of my life: Jesus and His grace. And what's glorifying to God isn't for me to be perfect, as a mother, wife, daughter, friend, etc., but to stand before Him and say, "I can't do it. I'm a needy sinner. I don't want to need your grace, but I do need it. Please give me more of You." He wants a broken and contrite heart. What my children need isn't a perfect mom who never messes up, but a mom who lets them see her mess up and points them to the lovingkindness and forgiveness of her Savior. And in the midst of all my sin and failure, I am loved, more than I can imagine.

So...a pretty great birthday, topped off by Robert actually licking and sucking his plate to get every morsel of Edgar's strawberry cake off of it. Yes, I ran for the camera. No, I didn't get the shot. By the time I returned, he was rubbing his plate and the last few crumbs around in his hair. Miller's gift for my birthday - one of her purses filled with pop beads and a blank magazine subscription card. She was so proud of herself, and I, too, thought it was a great gift, even when Robert poured out all the pop beads on the kitchen floor this morning.

Three princesses

To be such a tough guy, he sure walks well in heels.

A side note unrelated to being a printh: I was reading Robert an Eric Carle book the other night with a drawing of the sun. I pointed to the rays of the sun and said, "What's that?" His answer: "French frith." French fries have never had a bigger fan.

The Loner and the Social Butterfly

It's fascinating to see the personalities of my children develop, along with all the little characteristics and quirks that are innate to them. Miller is very social. She never wants to be by herself, or quiet, and this is interesting for me, because, while I'm not exactly anti-social, I'm definitely more of a loner, and I long for time to be quiet and alone. I've always been this way, and this has been a huge challenge as a mom of young kids, since lots of time alone is not part of God's will for my life right now (a painfully obvious observation that a wise friend had to make for me.) This is one of the thousands of reasons I'm so thankful for my family: I'm not meant to live in isolation. It's not best for me, and the constant together-ness of family life pushes me to the end of myself and into the strength of Another.

This weekend, I had the college students from church over for Sunday lunch. I spent several hours in the kitchen Saturday cooking, an activity that requires a lot of concentration for me. I was nearing the edge of sanity with my child helpers, child taste testers, stool climbers, stool fall off-ers, etc., and just as I had my 27th heart attack from someone's finger getting too close to the gas stovetop, Andrew offered to take them for a ride and let me finish my work in peace. I breathed a sigh of relief. Well...Miller refused to go. She wanted to stay with Mommy. I was inwardly annoyed but tried to welcome her back to the counter graciously. She looked up at me and said, "I stayed here because I knew you needed a friend. I knew you didn't want to be alone."

I keep thinking about this, not only because it was such a sweet thing for her to say, but because it's evidence of God's grace poured out into my mothering. It's only because of Him that my daughter doesn't see all my selfish thoughts, that she's sometimes unaware of my struggles, and that she could think I'd be lonely at the very moment I was wanting to be alone. She sees so much of my sin, and I thought it was precious of Him to keep her protected and oblivious to my true thoughts at that moment.

The past few days, she's been more into Mommy than Daddy. Last night, when Andrew and I were in separate cars leaving church, she said to me, "I love you, so I want to ride with you." I have to admit, I'm loving the temporary preference from my daddy's girl. And this sweet little family of mine might change me from a loner into...well...not as much of a loner.

Millie quotes

I got my hair chopped today, and when Miller saw me, the following conversation ensued:
"Did you have fun getting your hair cut?"
"Yes, I had a great time."
"Did they have suckers there?"

When I was swinging her in the tree swing this afternoon, I whispered in her ear, "I love being your mommy." She whispered back, "I love being your sister."

Does it exist?

A vacation with two toddlers...does such a thing exist??? We just returned from two nights at the Muscle Shoals Marriott and one night at the River. Our trip was...exciting. There. That's a good word. I'll do high points and low points:

HIGHS:
1. Miller and Robert swimming in the hotel's wonderful pool, which was complete with waterfalls and a big slide, and running (fearlessly-Robert) (cautiously-Miller) through the huge sprays of the fountain nearby.
2. Miller's excitement over the fact that we were all sleeping in the same room. She said to Robert, "Bud, nobody's leaving! The whole family is sleeping together!!"
3. Robert's decision to start firmly patting (ok...hitting) random strangers in Krispy Kreme because of his excitement about the doughnuts. The first poor lady got it right in the tummy. (This was also a low point, but it was so funny and startling, I thought it needed to be on both lists.)
4. Seeing M & R's little silhouettes across the room one morning as she walked up to his pack n' play. Both of their heads were so close together, and Robert said softly, "I sleep good." (Side note - this is the first thing Robert says every morning, unless he says, "You sleep good?" I know the grammar's incorrect, but I don't have the heart to try to change it; it's become such a catch phrase at our house now.)
5. A semi-slumber party (it only lasted until 9) with Uncle Ben and Aunt Maria Saturday night. Robert jumped and dove on the beds about 100 times. Poor Millie bit her tongue on her first try. We had eaten dinner together, which was fun, and neither of my kids threw up during the slumber party laughter, which was another high point of this high point.
6. Robert's response to our question while we were leaving the hotel: "Robert - what was your favorite thing we did? Did you like the pool? The slide? The fountain?"..."I like french frith (fries). I like chicken fingerth (fingers)." Ok, sweetie.
7. Taking M &R on a boat ride with Jeffy; they love being out there with him as much as I do. I jumped in the water when we got to the Big Basin, and after Miller's initial concern about my clothes being wet, she and Robert joined me.
8. Fishing with my daddy early Monday...sans children...my all-time favorite way to spend a morning.

LOWS:
1. See High Point number 3
2. Robert pitching a fit in the hotel lobby.
3. Robert pitching a fit at Krispy Kreme
4. Robert...well...you get the idea. What's a guy to do when he's two and all decisions aren't made with his highest happiness in mind?

Overall, a fun trip. And a vacation with toddlers does exist. It's just more about memories than relaxation.

Robert's Other Mommy

Miller is, by nature, very interested in babies, very nurturing, somewhat bossy, and therefore often plays the role of Mama more than Sissy. She loves to take him his milk, take away his paci, tell him what he's not allowed to do, and repeat verbatim anything demonstrative that I tell him, e.g. - Robert, don't rub your yogurt all over your head....Bud, don't rub your yogurt all over your head. You are not allowed to make a big mess. Let me take your paci and put it in your bed, brother. This is followed by the sound of Robert screaming in protest, a sound which causes my tension level to increase one hundredfold, but doesn't ever bother Sissy in the least.

Miller also likes to hug, kiss, and hold him, which has long been problematic since he only weighs a few pounds less than she does. She also convinced him a few weeks ago to let her change his diaper. I found him lying on his bed, Miller attempting to fasten the diaper, and she looked up and said, "He just had a tee-tee. I already wiped him." When he stood up and turned around, we saw more than a little of the top of his cute fanny, and sweet Sissy just burst out laughing. This morning she was less willing to do the dirty work. She came up to him, took a whiff, and said, "I can't believe he pooped."

I love this quality in her and don't want to discourage her motherliness; it's too bad Robert doesn't always appreciate it as much as I do.

Silly Girls

Miller thought this ponytail on top of her head was the funniest thing, and wanted me to fix mine the same way. This is the one and only "funny face" she knows how to make.

Robert

I'm a little confused about how to start with this blog, so I thought a brief update on Miller and Robert might be just the thing....Robert's main prerogative these days is doing things himself. He insists with a loud "I got it. I got it." -or- "I do it. I do it", on putting on his shirts (which are always backwards, 100% of the time), opening his applesauce and string cheese, and picking his little "boogies", as we affectionately call them at our house. His other main interest is making sure he knows where his paci is at all times, and he asks me for specific paci's by color - Pink paci (a favorite), blue paci, purple paci (which is another, darker blue paci. Don't worry - Sissy always corrects him.) He is alternatively rough and snuggly, and you never know if you're going to be hugged or punched. He's high-strung. He cries often but smiles often, too, dances often, and jumps almost all the time, if he's not running. He is very interested in music, and his head starts to bop whenever he hears it. Among his favorite books: Drummer Hoff, Snoozers, Goodnight Moon. He can sort of count to ten, and sort of sing his ABC's. He has been exposed to way too much girl stuff, and loves to wear Sissy's dress up clothes, and more recently, regular clothes. Janny sent her a new smocked dress last week, and for two days, Robert would cry to wear it, then spin around and say, "Printh dreth" (Princess dress). Janny is coming to the rescue with a pair of Superman pajamas. He's making great strides in talking, though still hears many times a day, "I don't know what you're saying, Bud." It's no wonder he's frustrated a lot of the time. In short, he couldn't possibly be any cuter than he is, and in the midst of these terrible two's, he's pretty darn wonderful.