Two-A-Days

It was 6:50 this morning when Rush and Tate were told to put on their shoes and then sent into the backyard to run laps.  If they want to get up with the sun and use their muscles and voices, I might just plant crops for them to harvest.  They can greet the morning with a basket of grain and a hearty spiritual. 

If I had one wish, it would be for all of God’s creation to live together in justice, harmony, and peace.  If I had two wishes, the first would be for all of God’s creation to live together in justice, harmony, and peace, and the second would be for someone to come to my house and give me a haircut while I eat Taco Bell and watch reruns of Wife Swap on tv.  If the person cutting my hair is an actual cosmetologist, I would like to pay $25 for the haircut, plus whatever he or she wants from Taco Bell.  If the person cutting my hair is just someone who wants to give it a try, I will pay you in whatever you want from Taco Bell.

The second wish sounds attainable, if elusive.  The first…sigh.  I already find myself using this refrain with the boys:  You can’t control what other people do, but you can control what you do.  That’s going to be said a lot over the next, oh, rest of my life as a parent.  Doing what I can, plus a fat dose of prayer (I happened upon these Prayers of the People today) and I can at least work on my part for Wish #1.  Let us remember the poor, take care of those in distress, stop fantasizing about tacos and haircuts and do the work of the gospel!

If Trent and I are doing nothing else right as parents, we have this:  Rush has talked about foot washing* with great excitement and anticipation more times this week than he has about Easter eggs.  He’s counting down the days to Holly’s baptism and to seeing extended family.  He’ll get pumped for candy, but it’s not his priority right now.  Amen and Amen.

 

*Foot washing always seems so very un-Episcopalian, yet here we are again.  My favorite foot washing experience was last year’s Maundy Thursday service, when I washed my children’s feet, then sat down only to have them look at me like, “Hey lady, no way.  We’re done here.”  That sounds about right.

That’s the Way We Do Proud Mary

It’s Holy Week, also known as Answer Intense Theological Questions Week.  Holly will be baptized this weekend at the Easter Vigil service, so that plays into the questioning as well.  A seemingly simple question rapidly becomes a test of not only knowing exactly what you believe, but knowing it well enough to articulate it.  You have to UNDERSTAND something to be able to explain it to a 3 or 5 year old.  And these are 3 and 5 year old Episcopalians, so they want real information.  And it’s 6:45 in the morning and the coffee is still brewing.

Rush and Tate have been baptizing each other by getting their fingers wet and making the sign of the cross on each other’s foreheads.  They baptized Holly while she was taking a bath the other day and Tate baptized me today with condensation from the window.  It’s very holy and sacramental around here when it’s not off the walls bonkers crazy.

Back in the days before anyone had heard about Keeping Calm and Carrying On, before any dude in a truck could have a Keep Calm and Eat Bacon bumper sticker, my BFF Kate had the poster, probably pulled straight out of that couple’s shop basement in London.  It’s so annoying to have something unique and then everyone else gets it.  So noted:  Kate started it.

Keeping calm, is that a thing?  Mwahahaha..that’s the sound of Rush and Tate’s laughter.  It was raining and chilly (what?) today, so we were stuck inside for most of the day.  Included in the festivities were no naps, lots of crying, someone getting hit with a shovel, someone trying to scale the fridge, someone trying to saw our new carpet with a cake server, screaming, screaming, screaming, Tate wearing boxer shorts instead of pants because Monday is laundry day and somehow last week he wore every single pair of shorts and pants in his drawer, and the glory of everything.

Last week we went to register Rush for Kindergarten (!) and the night before I was telling Trent that I hoped it would go well with keeping Rush and Tate quiet and contained and Holly happy while I accurately filled out important paperwork.  He started trying to figure out a plan for us, maybe a way I could go with less than three kids with me, but I stopped him.  That’s just the way we do things around here, the new standard.  You see, we never ever do nothing nice and easy.  We always do it nice and rough.

Yummers

Holly just entered the super drooly phase of being a baby.  She found her hands and wants to EAT THEM.  Trent made a very sweet little wooden bird teething ring for her and we’re trying to get her to chew on that at least sometimes. Not that she’s teething just yet- just very, very chewy.

We pry open her little fingers, wrap them around the ring, then direct it to her mouth.

Within seconds, the ring falls onto her wrist like a bracelet.

Then we help her prop it back into her mouth.

Holly is modeling a dress that I made for her that is so short, it was actually more of a shirt.  Luckily the line between skirt and shirt is blurred for babies.  She was pulling the bottom up to chew on it, but alas we couldn’t get her to recreate that moment to capture on film. 

Ultimately, her favorite things to chew on are her fingers.

The New Phonebooks Are Here!!!

Surprisingly, we weren’t the only ones outside cheering when our new, *big* recycling bin was delivered.  It feels so fancy.

It’s Not Like Picking Pumpkins

Strawberry picking is a great yearly event for us, excluding that moment when I realize I’ve voluntarily put myself in a field with buckets to pick berries with 2 children and a baby strapped to my chest. 

Then I feel the breeze, look up at the sky, and think, this is my job.  Holy cow, life is good.

Realization:  Based on Holly’s strawberry picking outfit, it could be the case that I’ve trained my children to want to wear costumes every day.  We’re participators.

Later that afternoon, when we were all stuffed with strawberries, I noticed the box of vegetables that we picked up at Froberg’s and executed an overly dramatic hair flip while saying, “oh I have to get a picture of this for our blog.” 

I felt so hip (insert high schooler rolling her eyes- “if you have to say it’s hip, it’s not hip”) with a box of locally grown veggies in the kitchen, yet much less so while eating turnips for dinner.