Love Means Yellow

We have some fun conversations while we are rocking at bedtime. Sometimes, if I'm really lucky, I just get to listen to how his little mind works.

Me: Gus, I love you
Gus: Momma, love you!
Me: Do you know what the word love means?
Gus: Yes! No!
Me: It means that you care so much about someone else that you try to do as much as you can to make them happy.
Gus: Yeah! Love! Yellow! Big bird, momma. See his head? (Big Bird was rocking with us) Oh! That's daddy! Daddy drink pop! Daddy cooking?
Me: No, daddy's getting kitty his medicine.
Gus: Daddy feed kitty now mommy, oh! there water! Daddy play in water! Feed kitty and play in water daddy, good daddy (I find it fascinating that the kid can narrate daddy's movements downstairs when he 'can't hear me' say his name in the same room). Hans nigh-night momma? All friends nigh-night? Trains nigh-night? Need eat? no...Speecee (Spencer) in mud momma, Hiro helper! Hey momma?
Me: What baby?
Gus: Love you momma. Night!
Me: I love you too baby.

Humiliated? Or Humbled?

"They are so darling!"

Checkout ladies love my boys. 

I HATE that by the time we reach the checkout, it's all I can do to grit my teeth and growl "Thank you," and listen to the cashier and patrons behind me in line coo to Teddy. "Oh you were an unhappy boy weren't you! I could hear you two aisles over! There, there now, dry those tears, aww, there's a smile! You're a happy baby aren't you!" And to Gus (as he adoringly strokes the top of Teddy's head and helpfully loads the conveyor belt): "What a good helper you are! Are you a good big brother? So handsome!" And to me: "Oh I remember these years. This is such a great age, cherish every minute, they grow so fast. You have some really great kids, you know."

Rewind a few aisles...Gus is throwing stuff out of the cart. I tell him no. He smashes chips or bread to let me know he disagrees with me. I tell him to stop and move yet another item to the overflowing bottom of the cart. Helpful patrons point out the stuff falling off the cart as I trundle down the aisles at warp speed. To express displeasure at being thwarted Gus reaches over the top of the baby seat and pokes Teddy's eyes (or hits him on the head, or pulls his arm, or something else guaranteed to provoke screams from the baby and wrath from mom). I give the whole if you want to ever want to eat ever again spiel...he may or may not get disciplined...usually I have to abort the shopping trip and leave immediately. When we get to the checkout, Gus is pretending he can behave for more than 12 minutes at a stretch if only I'll reconsider and not make us leave because he LOVES grocery shopping and it's SO MUCH FUN!! ("Store! Not bye-bye! Fun! Store! NO GO HOME!!! MY fun store! I be nice! Puh-LEEEEASE!")

And now, we get to go grocery shopping AGAIN in two days because I didn't get everything we needed.

That night, while rocking Gus for the second time because, "Need more rock, more hold, mommy PLEEEASE!" he begs to pray again. 

"What do you want to tell Jesus?"

"Tell Jesus I sorry."

"What are you sorry for baby?"

"For poke Teddy's eyes and make him owwies."

Wow.

So this is me.

Cherishing every minute. Crying. Laughing. Rocking as many times as he wants it because he's rapidly outgrowing my lap. Leading him through repenting the first time. Repenting myself for not showing the same patience with him that God has shown to me time after time. Awed that our two-year-old desires to "Not make Jesus sad." Rejoicing over one less time-out a day. Thankful for the many, many opportunities to teach him how to behave in grocery stores.

They are pretty great kids you know...

Whosoever therefore shall humble himself as this little child, the same is greatest in the kingdom of heaven. -Matt 18.4

Come Join the Pity Party

It's just one of those weeks. The kind you have to write about or you'll cry... One of those weeks that even though you manage to take a shower every night, you still smell like you haven't bathed in a week by 10.30 a.m. The kind of week where every time you put the baby down he screams like he's covered in fire ants. The kind of week where your kitchen floor smells like baby vomit and oranges. One of those weeks where your husband brings home his ear plugs from work.

What is this? Teething? Even medicated, he's completely miserable. And then I looked in his mouth and it's completely white. Thrush? That's not an emergency. So I'll wait till tomorrow to get him looked at. So 14 more hours of dealing with a squalling 12 lb. bundle solo. The other boy is covered in a "heat rash" (says the allergist) that gets worse every day. Heat rash? It's been anywhere from cold to downright beautiful here. Is that worth a doctor visit?

Where is this stuff in the parenting books?


My industrious two year old has taken advantage of my somewhat distracted state to teach himself advanced climbing, beginner lock-picking with a twist-tie and fastball pitching with oranges and tomatoes.

At least one of us is having a productive day.

I need a high five. Or an expresso. Or a massage.