Kids Say...

I have been writing these down in my book, but not getting to post them on the blog so there's a lot of them this time!

I knew I was raising boys, but being the only woman in a house full of xy chromosomes has its ... repugnant moments:  Sitting at breakfast one morning Seamus started screaming.  Derek was sitting beside him and gently and quietly assessed the situation, put his finger on one of Seamus's nostrils and said, "Blow".  Seamus promptly blew a cheerio out of his open nostril, picked it up, and ate it.

(sliding off the tall bed without help and talking to nobody in particular) I wasn't very scared, it's good to try new things. -S

I'm not practicing, I just like playing piano! -L

You shouldn't put almonds in your nose. -me

If you have working paper, you can make pirate ships! (construction paper) -L

Thanks for getting that booger off me. -S

Crapulation....seriously?! -L
No, crapul-ENCE. -D
For real, it's in the dictionary! -D

Gwammy and Gwampa are my best friends. -S

I climbed on the most gripful rocks. -L

Chipewayans are like dinosaurs and they have guns. -S
No, they have bows and arrows. -L
Right.  Chipewayans have bones and arrows. -S
(while reading Two Against the North)

You're sad now that I'm big. -S

The quarter is magneting to here! -:L

My birdhouse is gonna catch an eagle. -S

I'm the rotten egg!!!! (grinning and shouting) -S

The boys took off running and Seamus shouted, "I'm fast!"  Luke quickly pulled ahead and Seamus shouted just as joyfully, "I'm slow!"

My penis is a tall building. -S
What kind of building? -me
A business. -S
(eyebrows raised) It's his BIZ-ness. -Grampa

My wound is like the one Westley got from the Rodent: both on our left arms. Only his was from a rodent and mine was from the road. -L
Yours is a ROAD-DENT -D
Did you dent the road, or did the road dent you? -me
(we got a lot of mileage out of this one...pun intended)

Happy Easter egg hunt Mom! -S

I already went poop, Mom -S
When? -me
Sixteen pounds ago. -S

Easter is all about candy...and Jesus. -L

Barenaked Ladies and London Bridge are my favorite songs. -S

Why do Stanley and Luke get to sit by their chuthers? -S

I have most of my gummi bears 'cuz I suck. -L

I'm on my balance Mom! -S

(after lunch) Can you hose me up, Auntie Lissa Bergen? -S

 (after spinning) The house feels turning. -S

I cut my shirt with scissors so we should hammer some tape on it. -S

There's a Charlotte's Web interview! (preview) -L

Can I go tank-topping? -S

Seamus!  Don't cut Mommy's head off!  Just zing or cut her. -L

Mom! Pretend that I'm your son and that water is fire. -L

Benjamin's poop is yellow because he was out in the sun too long. -S

It's warming up out there, at last.

Fathers

I know it is getting less and less common for children to have their birth parents married, and their grandparents still married.  But our boys have three generations of faithful spouses, faithful parents, faithful grandparents to learn from.  I hope they learn the lesson well.  We believe that this is our genealogy of love: God, Jesus, previous generations, Derek, Luke & Seamus.  God the Father's love shows future fathers how to love.  

Boys of mine, for you the road ahead seems long, but I see you growing up so fast!  Soon you will be men.  I pray you grow up to love Jesus, be faithful husbands, loving fathers and grandfathers!  Love your own father and grandfathers, cherish the gift of their good examples.  Carry on the good example for the next generation to learn from.

Bouquet For My Dad

Dear Dad,
         I can't be near you today, when I'd really like to be.  I know you don't need me as much as you need skilled surgeons.  And since that is who is with you instead of me, I am somewhat comforted.  Perhaps you would find my presence comforting; the way I would be comforted knowing you were just behind those Operating Room doors, instead of 2,000 miles away.  I am sorry I am not nearer.  All my thoughts are on you this afternoon and I can't sit still.  I keep calling Mom, Sarah, Melissa, Derek, on the phone.  Listening, waiting, talking, talking and saying nothing important, and waiting to hear the words I'd give anything to hear, which are, "All's well.  He's doing great."  You have been incredibly patient these last few weeks, and now it's our turn to carry on the waiting game.
         While we wait to hear those magic words, I took these photos in my yard.  It's a lovely time of year here.  You would like it.  It's like April in Shafter!  June in Winkler.  My largest tomato plant has set two fruits.  My strawberries are pushing out green fruit.  The lilacs are at their peak, wafting scent up through the kitchen window.  This is my first poppy.  The hawthorne is attracting lots of bees.  I have a tiny "Prairie Joy" rose bud (not pictured).  And daisies and lavender and flax and honeysuckle and chives and irises and lily of the valley and pansies and spinach, spinach galore!  This is my bouquet to you, Dad.  I hope it cheers you.  It has done it's work on this end: reminding me of color, brightness, giving me fresh hope, and getting me out of my house and into the warm growing places you helped and inspired me to make.
          I love you so much, Dad.  So much.  So.  Much.

                                              laura

The party party

 

 

The birthday boy:  Seamus
The birthday:  first
The weather:  perfect
The food: hot dogs
The cake:  chocolate
The friends:  talkative
The children:  sandy
The dog:  stealing food
The party:  the best

Turning

The garden is full of so many wonderful metaphors applicable to life.  And death.

On Good Friday we began to turn the compost pile.  It took a couple days because we hadn't done it in a while.  It looked like such a towering rat's nest!  I finished pulling out the lovely black stuff at the bottom Saturday morning, tossed the rest of the decomposing material back in the bin and closed it up again.  It was really hard work.  Heavy lifting, shifting, carrying the compost to its new home and digging it in.  I was sweating.  Sweating and thinking.

It is so rewarding to harvest your own compost!  All that delightful black soil that I am feeding my garden with this year, was our kitchen garbage last year!  I find myself hoarding scraps in the kitchen to add to the pile because I love the freeing process, I love the end product, so much.  Linus does his part too.  He sniffs around the bottom of the box and finds any tidbits that may still be tasty and takes his teeth to them.  Then we toss them back in!  Last year our compost pile grew two heavy-yielding tomato plants - pro bono!  The compost bin gives back, abundantly.

The more you turn the compost, the better the decomposition, and the more harvesting you can do.  My goal this year is to turn the compost once a month.  That doesn't sound like much, but we turned it once last year and we got a good six inches (maybe eight!) by four feet squared of compost this Spring.  In my life, the more I turn the better I get too.

I've been feeling bad about how often I have to apologize to Luke for losing my patience with him.  I lose my cool, I shout, I get angry, I send him to his room in tears, and then I make myself turn and apologize.  It's become a pattern.  A pattern I have been ashamed of.  Then one day a few weeks ago I got impatient with Luke climbing all around inside the car while I was waiting to buckle him in.  Luke lost it first, and screamed at me.  I had a few choice words to say, but I held my tongue and before I could get angrier I got into the driver's seat, and took a few deep breaths.  Shortly, I heard a sniffle and a quiet, "Mom?" from the backseat.  "I'm sorry I screamed at you," Luke murmured.  I was so surprised I could barely choke out, "I forgive you".  My three-year-old has never apologized under his own steam.  Not until this moment, anyway.  It made me pause, and I realized that all of these times when I've been so ashamed of losing my temper, I did something right.  I apologized.  And my son's heartfelt apology is proof that we can learn from somebody else's mistakes.  I have to keep turning.  There's more to harvest.

The great thing about compost is that dead doesn't mean gone, or useless, or even sad.  After you finish that delicious, juicy cantaloupe, you put the rind and seeds in the compost bin and a few weeks or months later you find the most healthy, warm, black soil in the entire world, just waiting for you to plant something new in it.  Yes, perhaps you wish you could eat it again, if it was that delicious.  But the memory is savory enough to last a long time. Or perhaps it was moldy before you got to it and nothing good came of it in life, but in the compost bin it can find a new cause!  You might even get a surprise and find that one of the seeds has fallen just outside the bin and sprouted all on its own, volunteering a new, fruitful vine!

Three days after we had a wonderful Easter dinner with Derek's grandparents, celebrating Jesus's resurrection, Derek's grandma died.  We enjoyed her company Sunday, alive, smiling, talking, eating.  We talked to her Tuesday, while she lay unconscious and nearing death.  We saw her Wednesday, an hour after she breathed her last breath.  We saw her Thursday, dead, and in a coffin.  Sunday we buried her.  We enjoyed knowing Grandma, Great-grandma to our sons.  We sometimes regret that we didn't know her better.  Like me, she enjoyed gardening, and I think she would appreciate being compared to my compost.  I am sure Grandma turned plenty in her life: apologizing, repenting, forgiving, loving.  I didn't know her that long, only ten years out of nearly eighty-five.  And the last few of those years her dementia really got in the way of our relating to one another.  But I know she loved Jesus, I know she prayed, and I know she loved people and did her best to love them like Jesus does.  She did a lot of turning, had a really good life, and death is the last turn before the harvest.  We literally get to be dug into the ground after we die, left to decompose in the earth for Jesus himself to harvest when he returns to make a new creation!  How lovely is that metaphor!?  We will have new life - no!  We will BE new life, made from the old, made from the turning and turning and turning and turning.

This I believe.  Praise Jesus!
         

Putting on the work boots

I moved some plants around last weekend and the boys played and played in the sunshine.  I was surprised how long Seamus stayed happy in the playpen: nearly two hours!  Luke was more enamored with the box that the sand toys were in than with the sand toys themselves!  And I got to dig around in the dirt a little.  The volunteer spinach is up and some of it is even ready to be picked.  The weeds are doing spectacularly, of course.  And the lawn looks fabulous after Derek de-thatched it.  It's going to be a great summer.  I have energy, and ideas, the children are so content to be outdoors, and we've got an early start on the yard work.  I'm planting carrots this weekend!!

A Most Unusual March

Sandals.

Ice cream.

Spring cleaning with the back door WIDE open.

Yes, he's naked.  As a jay bird.  Outside.

Emerado Park.

My lily-white Canadian legs saw my Californian soul-mate, the Sun.

Even the exersaucer made it outside.