Saturday, February 27, 2010

Da Man





Before we left, Jack instructed Daddy, "Jane won't get to come with me, and Lulie won't get to come with me so you'll have to watch over them." He tilted his head, watched Daddy nod.

"I'll watch over them for ya, buddy."

Then we left. Jack took me on a date. Tea and a cupcake with white frosting, warm milk with raspberry syrup, I love dates. We settled into a small table, the room bright with sun. Between the two of us we gathered napkins and straws, a fork and more napkins. He made runs to the trash. Oh, and he paid. Did I mentioned he paid? Daddy gave him money and Jack paid for the date. Those little shoulders squared and eyes bright, he barely peered over the counter. "I'm da man, Momma, so I gotta pay," he explained.

And so I let him.

Thursday, February 25, 2010

Angel Armies





"If you choose the Lord your God, Lucy, you'll SEE God and the angel armies in heaven," Jane whispers to Lulie.






Later Jane and Jack ask to try out a homemade sling with REAL rocks. Jack waves his arms and spreads all his fingers to demonstrate. The belt and rubber band contraption looks like it really could kill someone, but I let them give it a try.






Everyday we memorize a little more of the epic exchange between David and Goliath. All audacity and courage, David runs to Goliath in the name of the LORD of hosts. The LORD of armies. Hosts.

All through the house and yard, my children slay Goliath again and again; angel armies poise for victory. Heavenly ranks descend from the skies invisible except in the audacity and courage of my little ones. Goliath shrinks, a giant smudge of a man now snuffed out by all the glory. LORD of hosts, the armies await!






Later I hear from the playroom, "Ok, now I am going to have to behead you." Serious business. Yeah, David actually cuts off Goliath's head. Anyone else forget that part?

Saturday, February 20, 2010

Jack





"Watch out," Jack calls, "there's a berry strong person coming up the stairs."

Goggles on, baby bottle and hack saw in tow, he pokes his head in the kitchen, "We're playing DOCTOR." He raises both eyebrows, "I'm the DOCTOR." Still for only a moment, he rounds the corner off to work. No doubt Jane or Lulie awaits his miracle cure.

Between peanut butter sandwiches, floors to sweep, dishes and laundry and piles of story books, the day lilts by. Jack asks if we can call the new baby Babe-the-Blue-Ox. He offers to lend Lulie his toothbrush.

When I tuck him into bed I lean down eye to eye with this boy. He brushes stray hairs from my face, presses my cheeks between small hands. I watch those blue eyes. "Who are you gonna be someday, Jack?"

He smooths my hair, pauses. "I'm gonna be like Daddy someday."

Of course, Daddy. I see it there guileless and unflappable.

I remember how Janie called out this morning, "Look, I'm dressed," and raised both shoulders. And as I stare now at my boy I still hear his remark, "Mmm. You're pretty, Jane."

Yes, like Daddy.

Thursday, February 18, 2010

Good Guys





"Momma," Janie tilts a mess of curls to one side, "do you know for sure we're gonna turn out to be good guys?"

Good guys. She pictures Daddy and me. I pause, reach for another slice of bread, spread out peanut butter to the corners. I remember how I lugged Lulie out of the pantry a week ago, peeled back her pretty eyelid frantic to find a tiny contact lens, how I combed the house with a flashlight and my bad eyes. I looked and looked and sobbed, shouted for everyone to get their jammies on already. The invisible lens takes a month to replace. I can still feel the sinus headache I had when we left for the doctor the next day.

And even so, Lulie passed the vision test, with the wrong contact. Passed.

I wonder if I passed my test. Of faith.

Children learn foremost by passive observation.
Ken Ortiz's words ring in my ears, take my breath away.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Monday, February 8, 2010

In the Blankets





"How did you get writing on your neck?" Daddy asks Jane.

"Oh, it's probably because I had a pen under my pillow last night, and it wouldn't write on my arm."






The days page by and we play. Blankets and forts.






"Hey, I have cowboy underwear on, and I'm wearing a cowboy hat!" Jack strides in. Sweats and a dress tie complete the look.

Later, I notice a red waistband, "Your unders are on backwards the tag's in front."

"I'll fix 'em tomorrow," he says and faces the day with a smile.





Lulie's only lost a couple of contacts. One was tucked up in her eyelid above the iris. Apparently, she sports quite an acreage up there. At least it wasn't dried and crunchy when we found it. :) Speaking of crunchy, any of you contact people ever re-hydrated a dried up contact and used it? It looks fine.






And every day the children smile, laugh, test the boundaries, and rebound with ease. Resilient. I take note. Days pass like tides washing in and out. I'm more tired and worry less.






Miracles.

"Miracles are a retelling in small letters of the very same story which is written across the whole world in letters too large for some of us to see." - C.S. Lewis