ode to the four year old mind

The scene: Last night's dinner

My four year old: ". . .a band-aid! an elbow!"

The rest of us: confused silence

My four year old: "It's a guessing game!! . . .a kiwi!"

The rest of us: ". . .uh. . ."

My four year old: "It's a big pineapple!!!"

Obviously, with those clues, the answer would be a big pineapple.

Pregnancy is a whole body experience

As most of you know, I am pregnant with my fifth baby. Therefore, I have been pregnant a few times before, and should pretty much know what's going on.

This is not true.

Each pregnancy seems to be fraught with its own problems, weird issues, and strange concerns. When I was pregnant with my daughter, I had a horrible itching sensation on my (huge) tummy. It was some sort of phenomenon called PUPS (it reminded me nothing of cute little puppies). With my first son, I gained enough weight to make a sumo wrestler proud. With my second son, I had an enormous tummy, while my legs looked strangely thinner than normal. When I was pregnant with my last son (so far - I'm sure this one will be a boy, too - God is working out patience in me), I had bad morning sickness. Actually, I have had morning (all day) sickness with all of them.

With this baby, other organs have decided to get involved. It turns out, your kidneys feel left out and want to get in on the whole pregnancy thing, so the uterus helps them out by squishing the kidneys, until the pregnant woman has a very achy spot on her back. My OBGYN explained this to me at my last appointment, when I mentioned my sore back. It made complete sense and involved some sort of syndrome thingy involving the ureter I think. I fully understood what he was saying at the time, but could not repeat it to you now if I tried. The gist being, your kidneys are smooshed, and it may or may not get better before you deliver.

I have always read that pregnancy is a whole body experience. Over the course of my many pregnancies (including the ones I miscarried), I have found this to be true.

If only this whole body experience could include flawless skin. . .whiter teeth. . .thin ankles. . .increase in number of brain cells. . .

Oh how the years go by. . .

Nine years ago today, my daughter was baptized. She slept angelically in my arms the entire service (and it was the Easter vigil, which is slightly lengthy - ask my brother and sister-in-law who still like to give us a hard time about it!), including during the baptism itself. I was worried about her, because she often had fussy periods as a newborn. But she came through, and we didn't hear a peep out of her.

Until after the service.

During all the pictures (which were taken at about 9:30 or 10:00 p.m., to be fair to her), she is screaming bloody murder. I'm sure my smile is strained, due to her constant wailing, as well as due to the fact that because of a nursing mishap, I had to wear my brother-in-law's suit jacket. I'm sure I was thinking, "Get this over with! This baby needs to go to bed!" Whatever my thoughts were at the time, the pictures are precious to me now.

My "baby" is nine, and is such a blessing to us. Her constant cheer, imagination and joy for life makes us smile. She is a wonderful big sister to her brothers, thinking up games for them to play, and encouraging them when they are down. The faith that was given to her on her baptism is integral to her being now, and she is truly a godly daughter to us. I am thankful for the nine years God has given us with her, and I look forward to building a lifetime of memories with her.

Listen before you leap!

We were driving home from school today, and my 4 year old was waxing eloquent about how big he was going to be when he was a grown-up.

He was saying, ". . .and when I get bigger I can push people. . ."

Me: "Just because we're big, we don't push. . ."

Him: Finishing his thought and cutting me off, ". . .on the swingset."

I guess I shouldn't jump to conclusions when it comes to a 4 year old's logic.

Oh, Caillou. . .

I was taking a break from my chores this morning and reading a magazine while the boys watched Caillou. I was quite immersed in the article I was reading when I heard someone say "Mommy!".

I had half of my response out when I realized that it was Caillou speaking, not my boys.

***Disclaimer***

If you have been so fortunate as to have avoided watching Caillou in your life thus far, I commend you. Caillou is a whiny 4 year old, whose parents give him whatever he wants. He will say things like "But I don't want to put my clothes on!!" in a voice that is like fingernails on a chalkboard (do they make chalkboards any more, by the way?). His parents will respond in some sort of sniveling voice, effectively telling him that it's okay if he doesn't want to put his clothes on. Then somehow, in the course of the next 15 minutes, they will coddle him, play games with him and sweetly encourage him into getting dressed.

I ask you - "WHO LIVES THAT WAY?" Maybe I am a little militant, but if my children say no when I ask them to do something, there are usually swift consequences, and then they still have to do the task I gave them. Is there no PBS series like my life?!?!

Like a child. . .

During Lent, we have been having family devotions around the dinner table. We get out a crucifix and candle and read the Scripture passage and devotion. It has been a good experience for all of us. . .to come together around God's Word in a time other than the sometimes rushed bedtime Bible story/prayer. I hope we continue this tradition next week and following.

My two year old has begun taking the crucifix each time we get it down from the shelf and asking to "kiss Jesus's owies". He takes the cross and kisses Jesus' feet and hands. Such simple faith and love for his Savior. He is an example to me to come to the cross this Lenten season and thank Jesus for His supreme sacrifice.

I may be good, but I'm not that good!

My two year old and I were cuddling before bed tonight, discussing the coming baby. He was asking lots of questions, so I told him a little about breastfeeding and how I would nurse the baby.
He took this information in for a minute, then pointed to one breast and said, "Is it chocolate milk in there?"
With a smile, I told him no, that it was white milk.
His brow furrowed, he pointed to the other one and asked, "Does that one have chocolate milk?"