You know you need to get out more when. . .

you can sing harmony to the music on your baby's swing. . .

The king of non sequiturs

My son and I were cuddling this afternoon while the TV was on. He was playing with my hair (as always!), and said absently, "I love you, Mom."

I asked him (shamelessly fishing for compliments), "Why do you love me?"

Without missing a beat, he said, "Because I burp."

I guess that serves me right for trying to force declarations of love.

We three kings of Orient are, bearing. . .what?

We were reading the story of the wise men last night. . .

Me: What did the wise men bring to Jesus?

Son: Myrrh!!

Son: Gold!!!

Me: What was the third thing they brought?

Son: (furrowing brow and thinking quite seriously) Chocolate?

Extra, Extra!!

I was nursing my daughter this morning at 3:30. I was sitting in the glider in the dark, and noticed headlights on the street below. "Who," I thought, "would be out at 3:30 in the morning?!?" As I pondered which of our neighbors might be out at such an hour, and what on earth they might be doing, the car circled back around our neighborhood. I realized it had a flashing light on the top and that it was delivering our paper.

What happened to the cute neighbor boy who would throw the paper at our front door? He used to come to "collect" every couple of weeks, sending my parents scrambling for their checkbook. These days, I get a bill in the mail, and I pay by the month or even the year. No tips for the boy who lives down the street, no before-school job - just a car going around the block, with a flashing yellow light.

I suppose it is much safer now to have adults delivering the paper; I wouldn't want my sons out on their bikes in the dark. But for some reason, as I sat there in the dark this morning, I felt sad; like an era had passed.

A walk down memory lane

The other day, my son and I were talking and I remembered this story, which I feel is worth telling here, though it happened many years ago (before my blogging days had begun).

My son was about 18 months old, and was taking a nap. The kids and I were going to attend a house blessing service/party when he woke up, so I was getting ready. I heard him wake up and play quietly in his crib. While I did my hair and makeup, I marveled at how nicely he was playing. I almost didn't want to bother him, so well was he amusing himself. The time, however, did come, and I went in to get him out of bed so we could leave.

I knew something was amiss from the moment I opened the door. The stench was overpowering. As my nose was assaulted, I turned my head toward his crib. There sat my (happy!) son, covered in poop. There was poo everywhere. Poop on the crib rails, poop on his sheets, poop on the walls, poop on his face, hands, clothes. If the poop had been blood, it would have looked like a grisly crime scene. Instead, it looked like a nightmare of epic proportions.

Ah, the memories. Suffice it to say we were a little late for the house blessing.

Writing this story reminds me of another poop story (is this some sort of sign??). We were having friends over (thankfully very good friends who would not be freaked out by our children's bodily functions). My husband was rapidly giving the two kids a bath. I was downstairs and going to answer the door when I heard my husband yelling. Our son (the same one, ironically, as in the story above - hhmm. . . )had gotten out of the tub and walked down the hallway, pooping along the way. While I let our guests in and explained the situation, my husband was upstairs, searching for poop. That was several years ago, and we're assuming he found it all.