Quotable Quotes

(After Breakfast with Santa)

Scooby: Mom, I think Santa sounds a lot like Mr. Phil

Mom: (uhhhhhhh.....) Well, honey, I bet he hears that a lot. (smile brightly. hope that will suffice.)

Scooby: Mom, I think Santa IS Mr. Phil

Oh dear.

Also, on the way home from school the other day, I once again thanked my lucky stars that my boys are in a private school. I'm certain this conversation would not have taken place between parents and children of a public school.

Scooby began telling me about Pablo Picasso and the paintings of his blue period. Then he went on to discuss Vincent Van Gogh.

His favorite painting was Starry Night.

Six years old. Yup. I had to go to Pepperdine to learn this stuff! He gets it in first grade!

Lastly, we rejoice with little Scrappy who has now, after several failed attempts, gone potty IN the potty three times. After one failure, he looked up at me, with two dimples and shrug and chirps: It no working, Mommy!

Yellow Blankie

Dear Yellow Blankie,

I know I have shunned you in the past. I'm not a big fan. I thought he had almost outgrown your love.

I'm here to say I am sorry. I was wrong.

You loved him despite my best efforts to keep you apart. You were there for him in his darkest hour. You comforted him during those moments of total horror. It was you he wanted when the needles were brought out.

Thank you for being there for Scooby and going with him into Surgery where I could not go. You are a faithful, if rather faded, friend.

Sincerely,

Mom

p.s. he informed me this morning that he plans to bequeathe you to his own babies someday. He won't be having the babies, of course, his wife will. He doesn't know ho she is going to be, but he does know he's having two. Their names will be John and Han. Just so you know.

Jesus loves me...

I'm so happy to now have one-liners from Scrappy to post!

He loves to sing. It is so precious to hear his baby voice bobbling along with the lyrics of whatever we are listening to (and sometimes when we're not). Yesterday in the car, he was trilling along and I finally picked out the (rather off-kilter) tune to Jesus Loves Me. He warbled along, most of the words untelligible but for the last one in every phrase. It comes out something like this....

(to the tune of Jesus Loves Me, duh!)

bee-dus luh ME!
ah bee-dus bugh ME!
ahhhh bee-dus blughus ME!
bah boozble bah be SO!

(and then, crystal clear, he wraps up his stirring rendition with...)

"Good night!"

I guess he just assumed that was part of the lyrics. Sweet man!

fond memories...

(I've been cleaning up my blog and found that I had several very old drafts just sitting around, never published. This was one of them, originally dated 2/5/08.)

As many of you know, my father is getting remarried this coming weekend to a lovely, gracious, godly woman named Nancy. We are all thrilled that they have found each other, and joy, once again! But, with all these changes, I have had to go through a great deal of closet detritus that has been emptied out of Dad's house. Some fun things - like poetry written by my Grandmother at the age of 17, two days after the invasion of Normandy. A letter from my Great-Uncle Robert's C.O. to his parents, honoring him posthumously after he perished in the Marianas Islands in July of 1944. His photo, shown, is a little spooky as you may notice...my brother Bob is his spitting image, but for the straight hair. We always wondered where Bob came from, since he didn't take after either of my parents! Now we know...

Day 11

Try to see the world through the eyes of a child. Think about the things you take for granted on a daily basis, and then express gratitude for everything down to the basic necessities that sustain your current life.

The Morning, by Scrappy:

Blankie. Love my blankie. Blankie soft. Oh look! Dragon is here. I love my dragon. Dragon soft. Elmo? Where Elmo? Oh! Hi Elmo! Love Elmo. Blankie soft. Where Daddy? Daddy?! Daddddy? DADDDY? DADDDDDDDDDDYYYYYYYY! Oh! Hi Daddy! What dat? Where'd dat from? No! No! No jammies off! Jammies ON! Jammies soft! No cold! Cold! Cold! No shirt! No shirt! Jammies on! No pants! No pants! Jammies ON!! Blankie? Where blankie? Blankie soft...

And what are they thankful for? This is what I think they are thankful for:

Soft beds.
Blankies.
Warm pajamas.
Cold milk.
Oreo cookies.
Grapes.
Cartoons.
Hugs whenever you want them.
Diego band-aids.
Umbrellas.
Blankies.
Puddles.
Clean laundry that magically appears in your dresser.
Knowing with unwaivering certainty that, if you fall on your face, someone will be there to pick you up and kiss your owies.
Tickling.
LEGOs.
Swingsets.
Mud.
Mom and Dad's warm bed.
Blankies.
Nana's purse.
Papa's toys.
Peanut butter.
M&M's.
Laundry baskets that can alternately or simultaneously be: a fort, a castle, an airplane, rocket ship or a pirate brig.

Gratitude, Day 10: The Sound of Sleep

Pick one of your five senses to focus on today. Take note of how many gifts come to you via that single port of entry. Write about this experience.

I was going to write about my eyesight. I've had such a love/hate thing going on my entire life, being so terribly nearsighted and all the complications that ensued. I'm so thankful I can stil see at all after what my poor peepers have been through.

This morning, I lay in bed dozing (as I always do) listening to the sounds of my house waking up (today it was peaceful, though not always!), I couldn't help but think what a precious time of day this is for me. Not only to be able to wake up at my own pace (slowly) while someone else is on kid-duty, but to eavesdrop on it all.

I love the sound of the espresso machine - when I hear that I know my light is about to flip on, and a steaming latte is about to appear on my nightstand.

I love the sound of the dishwasher being emptied, because it means I don't have to do it.

I love the sound of quiet footsteps in the hall, and the daily interactions and rituals between father and sons.
The precious exchange of words.
The gentle tones.
The whispered "Good morning, Sunshine!" and the responding sigh and yawn, or squeal: "Daddy!".
The sounds of stretching and hugs.
The soft scuffle as jammies are pulled off and head, arms and legs are stuffed into the day's attire. Two voices, one chirping a constant commentary, and the other in a manner so gentle and manly - the voice of a Daddy in love with his son.

I even love the protests that now issue from a bedroom that once was alive and vibrant at 6am (and often earlier).
"NO! Not yet! Five more minutes..." followed by the sound of a blanket being wrapped around the head and long skinny legs curling up, spider-like, until my boy is nothing more than a glob at the head of the bed, firmly protesting the dawn.

What a gift to meet the day with sounds such as these.

I love the sound of boyish laughter and screams of fun - it means they are finally able to play with one another and both find each other hysterically funny. (It also means someone is about to get hurt, so I usually just head for the Bandaids right then...)

How amazing is it that we can distinguish what sounds to keep and what to ignore? In the deep of the night when I'm sound asleep, and the cat's footpaws on the floor make no difference, I can still instantly awake to the sound of a cry, a cough, or (like last week), the distinctly identifiable sound of a small body landing on hardwood.

There are other times, too, when the sound of "Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!" in stereo makes me want to tear my hair out.

I love the sound of "I luh loo!" (it's coming unsolicited now from Scrappy - but usually when he's getting in trouble for something. Does it work? Of course.)

Best of all, I love the sound of their sleep.

The sweet, snuffly breath, going in and out.
The sigh of a stretch; chubby striped jammied body curling up like a potato bug.
The whiffle as they roll into themselves, pulling blankies closer, bottoms up and knees tucked in.
The sound of knowing they are warm, they are safe, and they are well.

Gratitude, Day 9

Enjoy the people around you. Take a moment to appreciate their unique talents, abilities and personalities.

"This is my command: Love one another the way I loved you. This is the very best way to love. Put your life on the line for your friends."

I want to take a moment to talk about my friend Renae.

Renae has known me for so long, I almost have more history with her than my husband. In fact, I have known her longer than my husband. She supported me through an ugly breakup right after college. She cried with me when my mom got sick. We have celebrated birthdays together. weddings together (I in hers and she in mine), births, and even deaths (and yes, in my world, death can be a celebration. I love you, Mom!) She knows so much about me, we start conversations in the middle. We've even survived hurtful words and torn feelings, and I think, we're stronger for it.

We've shared sleepovers and baby showers; she coaxed me out of my post-baby coma into the fresh air (with both kids), she helped me rip out my kitchen carpet (yes, carpet. in the kitchen. gross.), she has prayed for me, cried with me, and she has loved me when I haven't been lovable. she even taught me how to make Butternut Squash soup.

Renae has the ability to spot a lost soul from 50 yards. Her home is never empty. Her door is always open, her pool is always warm, her arms are always seeking out women who are hurting, lonely, struggling, and who need God. If there is a celebration to be had, it's probably going to be at her house. Does your back hurt? Headache? In flash she'll be on her knees in front of you, using reflexology and massage to work out the knots. (oh yes, she touches other peoples' feet. on purpose.) She is a born cheerleader; she makes retreats come alive, and she never lets anyone be left out.

I am honored to be her friend.

I had the privelege to spend last Saturday evening at her house, and as I sipped a glass of wine (she always serves great wine!), leaning up against the island in her kitchen as fresh garlic and olive oil made a heady combination over the stove, I realized what a gift it is to be in her home, at her table.

Renae is one of the rare few who are born hospitable. She neither asks nor expects anything in return. Is her life picture-perfect? Is she so overflowing with happiness and joy-joy that she can't help pouring it out on others? Did she miss out on the female worry-gene? Oh no. She has her own share of sorrow and struggle - she just chooses not to let it rule her. She carries wounds and scars that run very deep - in others, they would still be festering and spraying hurt and anger all around. But not Renae.

She doesn't think about loving other people. She doesn't work at it. She doesn't do it 'cause she feels like she has to. She just does it. It's who she is.

I am grateful for Renae. She is truly a blessing in my life.