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.