Bad Words

Robert has a new bad word - "mean 'ole stibio". It's causing quite a ruckus amongst the Murray children:

M: "Robert called me 'mean 'ole stibio!!'"
M: "Mom!! Robert called you a 'mean 'ole stibio!!'"
R: "Sissy call me 'mean 'ole stibio'"

Even last night, before he went to sleep, Robert smiled and recounted to me, "Today I call you 'mean 'ole stibio'".

I don't take much offense to this, partly because it's made-up, mainly b/c I've truly been a mean 'ole stibio lately. But, since it's name-calling, of course, I have to address it as such, even though it basically just makes me laugh. I guess I've been glad he's using this made-up phrase instead of some of the other words he's been exposed to lately - poo-poo head, big-fat poo-poo head, butt, and yesterday, weeny's. (I have no idea how to spell that one, but I'm sure the other 3-K mothers will be thrilled if he's using it when school starts.) He hears these from little guys a little bit older, and I have to remind myself that one day soon, he'll probably be teaching much worse words to those younger than he is, and I'll probably be hanging my head in shame as he tells his teachers he learned the d-word from his mommy. So many things slip out under my breath, and I'm just waiting for the day when my bad habits are exposed to the public.

This picture is really old, and unrelated, but I saw it today and just had to use it anyway.

Negotiations

Miller has always been a little negotiator, and as she grows older, her skills are advancing in this area, too. Janny makes 90% of my children's' clothes, and they're wonderful, and people always tell me how talented she is. Of course, I agree! But every once in a while, Janny likes to try her hand at EBay, and she occasionally is tempted to buy something..."even though I know it's a little tacky. I thought Miller would love it." Well, Miller loves tacky like I love sherbet, and this summer she's been thrilled with a long, purple gingham dress from EBay. Think Little House on the Prairie. Think a little too big. I truly hate the dress, and I'm not kidding when I say it's her favorite thing to wear. Every day:

M: "I want to wear my long, purple dress."
L: Not today. Pick something else.
M: "Okay...then I want to wear something long and purple."

It's sad to admit, but M & R love McDonald's, and Miller in particular loves eating out, period. We've had WAY too much fast food since I've been pregnant. Yesterday, we ran a few errands and finished around lunchtime. Miller said from the backseat, "Let's go get some chicken nuggets from McDonald's." I replied, "We can't eat out every day. Some days we just eat at home." She followed up with, "Do you want to pick it up and take it home, or just eat at the restaurant?"

In an effort to keep it real, in spite of funny quotes, cute new rooms, and adorable children, the past few days have been hard. I want to blame it on summertime, constant together-ness, being super pregnant, but when I look at my list of scapegoats, they're all things I would hope to be thankful for instead of excuses for my inability to cope with motherhood. I'm far from living out thankfulness for my wonderful life, and instead am turning into a complainer who resorts to two-year-old behavior in tough moments. I'll spare everyone the details. These are the days when I want to wallow, want to quit, want to somehow pay penance for the mountain of sin that rests on my shoulders. But I'm trying to make myself remember that it doesn't rest there, that Someone else bore it on His shoulders for me, that I have to repent, receive the forgiveness that's mine, and start again. My high school bible study teacher used to say all the time, "Every day is a new beginning." Thankfully, not just every day, but every minute can be a new beginning if I'll allow it to be.

I've been teaching my kids this song and teaching the verses to myself as well:

What can wash away my sin? Nothing but the blood of Jesus.
What can make me whole again? Nothing but the blood of Jesus.
Oh precious is the flow that makes me white as snow;
No other fount I know, nothing but the blood of Jesus.

They sound so cute when they sing it, except for today, when Robert pitched a monstrous fit because Miller joined in while he was wanting to sing it "MY BYSELF!!!"

They were both exhausted on Night Two of room sharing. Robert got out of bed once, and that was all they wrote....

Night One

After working for countless hours to turn old, banged up twin beds into cute, red, pottery-barn-ish beds, Jeffy made a big delivery yesterday to help make our two-kid home a three-kid home. After much thought and advice, I decided to move Miller and Robert into a room together, and let yet-to-be-named baby girl have a nursery. Tonight is the commencement of the room sharing, and so far....well, no one has even thought about sleeping, and we've seen them both about 55 times. Andrew and I decided not to give them any rules until we could see what kind of rules we needed. I'm now questioning our strategy.

M: "Robert keeps getting in my bed."
L: Well, is he just trying to snuggle you?
M: "No. He's banging me in the head with baby dolls."

Miller has come out so many times to tattle-tale on Robert, I guess he decided to come tattle on himself. He just appeared at the doorway and told me, "I'm talking....I'm talking."

All pioneers of room-sharing have told me to expect the first two weeks to be tough. Stay tuned...

"I'm a gymnastics girl" - RM

These are several pics of two of the big hits of Summer '09 - gymnastics and popsicles. Miller has taken her first little gymnastics class and has loved it, except that every week she tells me how hot and sweaty she is, which has never yet been the case after class. Some little girls from church, older than us, sent her some really fancy hand-me-down leotards. Robert did not miss out on trying them all on. Another day this week, he went with more of a ballet theme, but wanted to play outside in his tights, so I made him wear tennis shoes.

Hodge Podge Conversations

Anytime Robert is feeling tired, or unhappy, or slighted, or mad, (in other words, many, MANY times per day), he says:
"I'm not feeling very good." -or- "I'm not feeling very well."
The other day, after he had told me this for the 27th time, I said, "What doesn't feel good?
He replied, "My feelings."

One rainy afternoon this week, I took the kids to the McWane Science Center, a wonderful place in downtown Birmingham where in addition to a million fun things to do inside, we get to "park in the dark". (Miller Murray LOVES a parking deck, and this one even has a circular exit ramp. So exciting.) Robert was playing inside a little airplane, where he was sitting in one of two toddler-sized plastic chairs. I peeked in at him and he patted one and said, "Mama, come in here with me."
L: Bud, I don't think I can fit in that little chair.
R: "Fit."
"Try."

The three of us went to my OB check-up this week, and on the way, M & R had a myriad of questions about the baby, how long I'd be in the hospital, how she would get here, etc. After a couple of attempts at vague answers about her delivery (via C-section), I finally said, "Well, they'll make a little cut, and they'll pull her out of my tummy through that little cut....through a little hole.
M: "Will you be dead or alive when that happens?"
L: Alive.
M: "And then we'll have a little baby with a hat."
She's been very interested in the hospital hat placed on newborn babies.

A regular conversation about this baby:
M: "Can I hold her a lot?"
L: Yes.
Next questions, always:
M: "Standing up?"
L: Not at first.
M: "But later I can hold her standing up?"
L: We'll see.

Miller's favorite baby name at present: Flower
Robert's: anything ridiculous

This afternoon:
M: "What do policemen do?"
L: Well, they do lots of things to protect us, and serve us, like making sure we don't go too fast, or looking for robbers.
M: "What are robbers?"
L: People who steal something. Like maybe something from some one's house.
M: "Like their people?"
L: (Trying not to be scary) Well, maybe like a t.v. or computer or something like that.
M: And then the policemen would come and squirt the robbers with their guns?

A new development at our house - we've been getting birthday invitations for one child only. Miller loves to check the mail every day, is elated when she gets mail, and when she doesn't, complains, "I never get any mail." A few times over the past couple of months, an envelope has come that's addressed: Miller Murray (only) or Robert Murray (only). I brace myself for what's coming next. If it's an invitation for Miller, she immediately starts in, "Bud, I'm invited to this party for ----. You're not invited, Bud. Just me. I'm the only one who gets to go." Robert begins to cry, even if he's never heard the name of the birthday child before.

I tried to get a good pic of me and the kids with my pregnant belly this week, but none were so great. You can't tell in this picture, but my belly is incredibly round, and big, and heavy, and I get stares of sympathy? shock? (hard to tell for sure) everywhere I go. I went to a mattress store today looking for a twin set for our forthcoming big kid room, and the salesman expressed fear that I would go into labor in the store. Then he told me to lie down on the mattresses to test them out, as if anything would feel comfortable to me right now, as if I could get back up once I was down.

Dennis

I hate to call him a menace. He's not, but he sure is a mess. Have you ever noticed how things that are permissible, even cute, on a two-year-old, just don't seem to fly on a three-year-old? We had dinner guests tonight. A couple from our church who's raising support to be missionaries to the Czech Republic. They're normal people, of course, and, THANK GOD, have three grown sons of their own, but as I watched Robert pinch Mr. J., bop Mrs. J. over the head with his USA place mat, and tell Mr. J. something along the lines of, "I put a stinky on you", I found myself wanting to lay my head on my plate and close my eyes until dinner was over. These are only the highlights of bad behavior for the evening. Our guests stayed later than regulation bedtime, and by the time I rocked my little men-ess, he was so tired, so incredibly sweaty*, whole body, whole head, and so sweet. I hope others can see his sweetness through his mischievousness, but even if they can't, I'm glad I can.

*Our piece-of-crap air conditioner, coupled with our gas oven, tripled with my kids' habit of leaving the door open every time they walk out (as all kids do), had warmed our house to a comfy 80 degrees in time for company.

I took these pictures at the beach a few weeks ago. Pic 2 is a typical response from Robert when I ask him to smile for the camera, not quite as popular as his silly face (Pic 1), but close.

Miller's behavior tonight was much more socially acceptable, meaning she didn't try to scissor-kick anyone and tell them she was going to cut them. She did go on and on about her corn on the cob:

"I'm eating all this corn."
"I'm almost through with my corn."
"Look, Daddy, I'm almost through with all my corn."
"Look, mom."
"Somebody, look, I ate all this corn."
"I'm so glad I ate all this corn, b/c I wanted to eat all this corn."

This is truly only about 25% of what she said about the corn, and it only mattered b/c it was continually interrupting Mr. J.'s recounting of the path to one of the most significant decisions of his life.

It just occurred to me that I'm glad my mom didn't have a blog 30 years ago with which to record my performance at all social gatherings. =) I'm sure I was perfect.

Glory

In our church, the kids learn the catechism:

Q: Who made you? A: God
Q: What else did God make? A: All things
Q: Why did God make you and all things? A: For His own glory
etc.
etc.

I'm supposed to reinforce these questions and answers at home but never seem to get around to it. But apparently, Robert has been paying some attention.

The other day, we were looking at a picture in a Richard Scarry book of a mouse parachuting out of a plane. "What's dat mouse doing?" Robert asked. He pointed at the plane. "He needs dat...for his own glory."

This morning he walked in the bathroom and said, "Can I tee-tee on the potty? For my own glory." I don't know if it's glorious, Bud. It's just natural.