A New First

Hannah made her first attempt at drawing a guy

a few weeks ago--just before she turned 4.

Here it is in all it's glory.

They are exactly what you think they are.

Just like Daddy

Note Grace's little white "work boots" mixed in the pile in Daddy's closet with all of his work shoes. She proudly brought me up to show me how even she tossed them in there "just like Daddy!"



The girls actually kissed me good-bye, took their little bagged lunches, and packed their "tools" into the back of their white work vans, "just like Daddy."




"Mama! Come quick and see my squishers (whiskers) just like Daddy's."

What Dad wouldn't be blessed by such adoration?

My Shining Moment

About a month ago, we had friends over for dinner. They are a very nice family from church, both parents very involved in leadership of men's and women's ministry and three well-mannered, nice kids. My girls took an immediate interest in the middle child, a 10-year-old boy, and proceeded to chase him around the yard, giggling and twittering.

Finally, he came over to where I sat visiting with his mom and plopped in a lawn chair. Grace quickly caught up and flopped across his lap. He seemed a little irritated, and so I quickly intervened with words of abundant wisdom. "Grace, you shouldn't sit in boys' laps unless they say it's ok."

Silence ensued, as the other mom just stared at me with half a twinkle in her eye, and a thousand unspoken responses flipping through her mind. Being oh so sharp, I finally began to realize that maybe my words were askew and replayed them in my mind. Slowly, it dawned on me what I had said. Yikes! Thank Heaven that this family is not only nice, but is also possessed of a fantastic sense of humor.

You are What You Eat?

These days, Hannah actually prefers to be called Hannah Banana. She seems to think it an honor, a title of distinction and respect. So you can imagine my delight when I glanced in the living room to see this:

If You Can't Laugh at Yourself

Recently, I picked up a pile of little girls' ballet-wear at a garage sale. The girls have been having a delightful time dancing and twirling.






I was jealous.

Being neither the most athletic type, nor the most graceful, ballet was not part of my childhood repertoire. But I always longed to wear the slender leotards and flowing skirts and spin my way to dance heaven. I imagined that if I could just wear something so light and beautiful, even I could float gracefully across the room.



So here at last, was my chance.













OK. Now that that's out of my system. . . .

Learning

Hannah is my little kitchen helper--constantly perched on the counter and sticking her fingers into whatever concoction is nearby. Thus, I have spent some time teaching her the dangers presented by raw meat and such. Still, you never know what they actually hear and remember.

Now I know. The other day I was making meat loaf and as I plunged my hands into the mix bowl of ground beef, egg, milk, crumbs, etc. I heard her cry out as she dashed into the room to stop me, "No Mama! Don't touch that. It's wrong meat!"

Dumb and Dumber

All's fair now. I have permission to tell about Jack's latest goof, as long as I report my own too. So, Jack first.




The other day Jack came home from work and flopped back on the couch. As I flopped next to him I noticed he had a large bandage on his leg. Concerned, I immediately asked what happened. He glanced down and began to pick at the corner of the bandage, "Oh that," he said, pulling back the gauze pad to reveal his wound. "It's just a scratch, but it sure bled like a stuffed pig!"

I chuckled and said, "A what?"

He looked at me with disbelief. Hope surged in his eyes as he thought that he had finally discovered a word or expression of the English language that I wasn't familiar with. "A stuffed pig! Haven't you ever heard that expression?"

I hated to shatter his joy, but knowing he'd certainly want to share in my hysterical laughter, I said (as gently as possible of course) "Stuck pig, Honey. It bled like a stuck pig." I was right--he did share in my hysterical laughter!

Ok, my turn. I hate to tell this. I've a feeling it will haunt me for the rest of my life, but a deal's a deal.

Just about a year ago, we got a window air conditioner. It has been worth it's weight in gold already, despite the fact that it will probably cost that much to run it by the end of the summer. At any rate, I quickly learned how to use it most effectively--being the resident gadget queen and all. There are four settings: Cool, Fan, Energy Saver and Dehum. We generally use energy saver, but one unusually humid day last month Jack set it to Dehum. As he did, he turned to me and asked whether I had used the dehumidifier yet and how well it works.

Time stopped for a second as the past year of my air conditioned life passed before my eyes and I breathed out, "Oh man." Being the ever loving and attentive husband that he is, Jack immediately noticed my reaction. I tried to brush it off as nothing, but he smelled blood. He kept after me for several minutes before I finally confessed. " Well, ever since we got that thing, I've thought it was unfortunate that a brand new air conditioner was just as noisy in "Dehum" mode as in the others!"

So there you have it. Dumb and Dumber. You decide which. (But keep your decision to yourself. I don't want to know!)

You'll Laugh At This Later. . .

It had been a very long day. Bickering little girls, too many days of hot weather, and too many stops on my errand list had all of us walking the fine line between sanity and "that other place." Just three items left on my list and we could get home to air conditioning and some quiet rest time.

As I stood wearily comparing yogurt prices, I turned to see my (very well potty-trained) 4 year-old inexplicably squatting on the seat of the shopping cart front of everyone. Yes, I said squatting. Everything sort of went into slow-motion for me as I forced my eyes downward to see pee flowing over the seat, down into my purse just below, spreading over our popsicles and bananas below that, and pooling in a nice yellow puddle on the floor.

You’ve always wondered what it takes to make me speechless. Now you know. Of course, I more than compensated for it on the trip home.

But by the time Jack came home a few hours later, I was able to chuckle. . .a little. Even as I pulled my dripping cell phone and badly smeared journal out of my purse!

Have a wonderful day, and don't stop laughing!