Or It Might Be ME. . .

The kids and I were jumping on the trampoline this morning. (in the frigid weather, I might add.) My heart was warmed by Owen saying, "It's the FOUR of us! Let's all FOUR jump together!" I'm included! It's a bit interesting, but for whatever reason, I love that sometimes I'm a compatriot with them. When we're all snuggled on the couch reading books we are like one mass of Curtises, and I DO feel such "oneness" with my little ones. Perhaps growing up as the oldest (and biggest for a long time) of four causes these stirrings of happiness. I remember what it was like to be one of four- my first real TEAM (and I'm definitely a team player!). And I used to be kind of the ringleader, and I'm still the leader. And I used to direct and play with three others. . and now I have responsibility for three others that I get to also enjoy beyond my wildest dreams. Well, for now. Until there really are FOUR (of them!). Will that change this dynamic that I find humorous and yet precious? Even so, I'm looking forward to it.

Anyway, now to the point of the title. As we were playing Rhyle started asking me to sing THE song. . . about the MARGARITA.

Margarita? I'm thinking. Has he heard any songs about margaritas? Who has he been spending time with? Could he possibly have picked up that one word? Margaritaville? What does he want me to sing?

It took me quite a while to catch on. When he finally said, "yeah. the one about the penny." I put it together. He wanted me to sing, "See-Saw, MARGERY DAW, Jacky shall have a new master. Jacky shall have but a penny a day because he can't work any faster."

Oops. (And yet I'm quite relieved that I didn't have to sing about a margarita.)

Turns out that "See-Saw. . ." has the perfect rhythm for four bodies jumping on a trampoline.

It Might Be a 3 Year Old Thing. . .

My previous posting on Rhyle's mis-interpretations of things he had been hearing brought about this comment from a dear friend of mine, which I find to be even funnier. Here is her response:

"RE: "Hearing Wade", methinks mayhaps it be a 3-y-o thing...

The other day, after I read the children a portion of the passion story from the Bible, we discussed Jesus' washing of the disciples' feet and servanthood.

Shortly thereafter, during lunch, I asked Josiah to get Elly a straw, but he didn't want to. I reminded him that it would be a good chance to be a servant like Jesus, and Elly added, "Yeah--you need to be a SERPENT!"

A moment later, after thoughtfully sipping her chocolate milk through her straw, "Why was Jesus a serpent??" :) "

This is Your Day

Owen's prayer at breakfast:

"Dear God,
This is Your day- I always say 'this is your day' because it makes Him happy- that you have made and we don't know what we are going to do, but You do.

Amen."

Does Anyone Know?

I'm having one of those mothering moments. One of those moments when I just know that I have NO CLUE- and these poor, helpless children that are mine must suffer for it.

It happens with babies a lot. You wonder why they are fussy. It's not a normal cry. It's not for food. They aren't overly tired. Is it teeth? Are they sick? Is it a phase? Are they too hot? Too cold? Ornery?

Livia. (of course) She's the closest to a baby, but not really a baby anymore. She's been up in her crib crying on and off through naps and crying in the night for long stretches of time. . . and this has been going on for many days. I just can't figure out what's going on! And she's old enough that she can talk. . . but not old enough to tell me clearly what is bothering her. Mostly she just says, "Crying. Sad. Crying. Sad." It's downright confounding!

On one hand I'd like to be frustrated. She is, after all, imposing upon my sleep and my free time- as well as making me feel stupid. But COME ON!

I'm horribly selfish, and recognizably so. Now I feel badly. (guilty, too!) I admit my failure to serve willingly, even my children. Woe is me! May God be ever patient with me as I keep tripping over myself and yet endeavoring to please Him. And may HE continue to take ever more infinite care of my children than I do!

I'M CERTAIN!

I think that THREE must just be an age of saying really funny things. I post more of Rhyle's comments here than anyone else's.

Yesterday we picked up Braden at law school. This was sweet for us, and the kids especially love to ride up and down the hills near Liberty. Owen and I were commenting how different the giant LU on the mountainside looks when we are so much closer to it than normal. Then Braden pointed out that there was someone up there- a miniscule, moving dark dot on the white background of the LU.

"Dad, can we hike up there?" Owen wanted to know.

Braden: "We can, but I don't know how to get up there."

Rhyle: "I want to go up there."

Braden: "Well, I think it's only for the workers to go up there."

Rhyle: "I'M a worker."

Braden: "Yeah, you are. You're a great worker."

Rhyle: "Then can we go up there?"

Braden: "Well, I think only certain people can go up there, certain workers."

Rhyle: "I'M CERTAIN!"

Yes. .. There Is A Reason

Yes, there is a reason that it has been a few weeks since my last post. No, it's not because the watch dropped in the toilet stopped working and I lost track of time for days on end. I AM expecting again. The nausea and end-of-the-day weariness have kept me from the office most nights, except to check email quickly and then retire to the couch again. I have seriously fallen asleep mid-conversation with Braden at 8 pm . . . and also fell asleep during my women's group on Wednesday nights as we were praying! (Horror!) Mornings are great, but by dinner time I'm just DONE.

So now, in our family, we are having nightly belly comparisions (to see whose is the biggest.) Again, this is why I love preschoolers: we have to check EVERY night, because you NEVER know, one of these nights Rhyle (the dark horse) might actually have the largest belly.

I've complained a few times, I must admit, when Livia has climbed me, using my stomach and chest as "outcroppings." When I tell her that she's hurting me she is very concerned and wants to lift my shirt to "check baby." (This might be really cute except then she usually touches my belly button- and I really detest having my belly button touched. And she knows it.)

Now you have my excuse. It's a great one, in my opinion.