"I'm turning this off, 'cause I don't like the way this guy is talking." Craig pops the power button on the radio with the palm of his hand. "There."
On the way home from ice skating, Jack and Jane sit in the back seat. Coats, mittens, hats, scarves, snow pants form a landslide around them.
"What do you mean?" Jane asks.
"How is he talking?" Jack wrinkles his forehead.
Craig eyes them in the rearview mirror, passes a red Subaru. "He's angry so he's using bad words," he says.
"Like WHAT?" Jack makes his eyes round. Craig switches lanes, slows to turn left at our corner.
"You know Jack," Jane jumps in, "it's like when you're mad and you say FART instead of TOOT."
"Oh." With that they round the corner and pull up to our house as if all the world's problems have been solved.
1942. How when I ask Myra to get shoes on she comes out with a spiderman slipper and a sock on.
1943. How Lucy hops belly up on the table, leans on an elbow and watches me work on a project.
1944. Her commentary, "Dad actually makes gooder things than us."
1945. How Myra slurps when she eats an orange.
1946. How Jane lies on the grass and spins a shiny pinwheel in the sun before the snowstorm hits.
1947. How Jack and Lu come in from playing outback and Jane pauses in Math. "Mmmm, they smell like outside," she says.
1948. How Lucy pats her tummy, "I don't know why my belly is getting big," she says, "but I think it might be 'cause there's a baby in my tummy."
1949. How when Jack gets in trouble we pray together. And how when I say I can't understand what he's saying he says, "Oh. Do you think God could?" And we agree he can.
1950. How Myra brings me her blankie when I sleep in.
1951. Teaching the children to obey the first time we ask and the harmony it brings to our home.
1952. How we giggle and laugh over the tiny diapers I've made for the baby.
1953. A frying pan big enough to cook eggs for all of us.
1954. Short grain rice with lime and browned butter.
1955. Learning Canasta and how to be a good sport. Again.
1956. Fried chicken and blackberry pie.
1957. Settling into a season of waiting, seven weeks now until the baby's due.
1958. All the name suggestions. (Thank-you!!) And how we pour over them like a bag full of marbles waiting for one to seem just right.
1959. Learning and praying to be gentle, to let quiet words speak for themselves.
1960. Learning to not laugh at things that aren't funny.
1961. Learning again how small I am and how big God is.