Make Love, Not War

Something about falling asleep on the couch near the end of the Olympic Opening Ceremonies as people from the US, the UK, Germany, Iraq, Afghanistan, India, Jamaica, South Africa, Norway, North AND South Korea, China, Mexico, et al were all crowded together peacefully and excitedly, and waking up to the news reporting on Sarah Palin tweeting a picture of herself eating Chick-Fil-A made something inside of me snap.  If I talk about it, I find myself using the exact same words and voice that I use when I catch the boys going through my nightstand or bathroom drawers:  Stop.Stop.Stop it.Stop it.Put it down.Don’t touch it.Stop.Stop.Walk away.Leave it alone.Walk away.  It’s the voice I use when I catch small children meddling in something personal that they have no business messing with.  Geeze.  Everybody mind your own business.  Take the log out of your own eye, and haters, stop hating.

Here’s my own business- taking two kids to the grocery store.  We’re headed there again this afternoon.

A few weeks ago, Tate decided he was DONE with any kind of cup with a lid.  He’ll steal a cup from a baby, but flat out refuses if he has a kid’s cup and anyone else has a grown-up cup.  He likes to keep up.  We’re at that in-between stage where he is advancing and learning very useful life skills, but we just need a little more time to fine tune it.  He loves to take his cup to the sink or counter when he’s done with it, but the height of the counter means that sometimes the cup doesn’t quite make it and comes splashing down on his head, and everywhere else.  I’m so close to crying over spilled milk, both for myself and the chain of events that begins with crawling on the floor with a dish cloth and ends with sour smells and more laundry, and for those poor cows.  But how can I deny this little man, wanting to be so involved with life?

A story in pictures, as I walked upstairs during naptime-

We finally had to make a new rule called Don’t Play With My Games Unless I Say You Can.  Trivial Pursuit 90’s Edition, with its cappuccino and alternative rocker shaped playing pieces, is just soooo tempting.

Actual conversation from the library yesterday-

Rush (holding a giant book out in front of him):  I’m God from church.
Me:  You’re not ‘God from church.’
Rush:  I’m God from church.
Me:  You’re the priest?  The deacon?  Carrying the gospel?
Rush:  Yeah!

So he was playing deacon, carrying the gospel to the people.  Rush has been asking me lately if God is at church.  Yes, and God’s in our house, too.  He’s everywhere.  Why doesn’t he have a body?  Well, he did have a body, that’s what we’re talking about when we talk about Jesus.  From there it turns into a complicated bedtime story.  Like good manners, if we live it, I’m thinking it’s all going to make sense for these kids eventually.