You’re a Kid, Right? Say Something Funny.

A Flat has successfully gone through her first week of Toilet Training 101. While sitting on the pot and waiting for things to happen, we either read a book or sing some songs. One day I sang, Jesus Loves The Little Children, and when I got to the part about all the colors of children He loves, A got really antsy and kept saying something I couldn’t understand. After a few more renditions of the song, I realized she was saying, “…and purple! And purple!”
Let’s not forget all the purple children in the world, people. Jesus certainly doesn’t.

N and A Minor have always had good conversations. I used to want to secretly record them while they were deep in it, especially at bedtime. N would be in his toddler bed and A would be in her crib, squeezing her face between the slats and them both talking like they were solving world hunger or something. A perfect setting for my next children’s book, perhaps- Noah and Abbie Talk at Night. Anyway, they were discussing things again yesterday, after A had started out by asking if you could die from eating too much chocolate. She asks this type of question repeatedly (can you die if…), so I have taken to answering yes all the time, and said that I supposed a person could. N, ever the compassionate evangelist, pointed out to her (he does this repeatedly, too) that if she died, she would go to hell because she isn’t a Christian. He went on to explain that she could talk to Daddy sometime about it, like he did. They got their shoes on and headed outside, N still talking about something, and A still maybe talking about the same something. They are six and four. They may just solve some world problem yet, with this early of a start.

Also yesterday, I came into the dining room to find N beating a dining room chair within an inch of its life, with a dish cloth.
“What are you doing?” I ask, quite curious.
“I’m dusting,” N replies, as if I don’t have all my marbles.
“Oh,” I say. “Why don’t you go dust the windowsills; they look like they need it, too.”
So he walks over and starts beating the sills, too. Where he ever saw someone dust like that I don’t know. I don’t dust enough for him to have seen me do it, so I guess I can’t take the credit.

A Major and Little S come down the hall, talking, having just seen some hamburger thawing on the stovetop. I didn’t hear everything they said, but the conversation ended with, “She must be making tacos. The only other thing she makes is spaghetti, and she already made that this week.” I’m laughing too hard to be offended.

Thanks a lot, folks, we’ll be here all…our lives.

Mopping Up

Okay- I’m in a new house, I have an opportunity to start fresh with good cleaning routines and stick to them- I tell myself. So far, only Friday- Floors has stuck, probably because I am able to remember this alliteration. Still, better than nothing. This morning, I was wiping the kitchen floor with a damp rag. Since I have been doing a decent job of this weekly, there isn’t usually too much to scrub. As I moved along, I noticed the different drips, and thought about what each meant.
A splash of N’s pink antibiotic lay in front of the refrigerator- last week at this time, he was a very sick boy. Luke came home early from work so that he could take him to the doctor for what we thought was an ear infection. Well, after a stuck van, an accident in the driveway, and a few hours, it was confirmed he did have an infection by a very kind pediatrician who reminded me of my sister in law’s dad, another very kind man. I was thankful for so much at the end of that day- transportation and modern medicine not in the least.
Coffee grounds always seem to collect around the trash can. That never fails to make me think about Luke, the only coffee drinker in our household now. Somewhere along the way I must have complained about disposing of the grounds (they are rather nasty, like wet sand when they get spilled), so for a while there he was thoughtfully throwing them out himself. Now I’m back to doing it every morning with the rest of the after-breakfast cleanup, so remains on the floor would be my fault. He is gone right now, so seeing them made me grateful that he won’t be gone very long, and that there will be more grounds to pick up.
Pancake batter plays connect-the-dots between the sink and the stove. In a less-than-supermom move, I fixed them again this morning, bringing the grand total this week to at least three meals of pancakes. I’m failing at breakfast variety, to be sure. But seeing the drips makes me so glad that, though my meal planning has really stunk lately, we have never gone hungry. God takes really good care of us.
Vanilla, salt and cinnamon might be listed together in a recipe for something special, but they were also sprinkled liberally on the floor in front of the buffet, thanks to M’s new talent. Call her the Cabinut! She opens the pantry doors, and goes crazy in there. At first, I didn’t pay much attention beyond making sure a can didn’t fall on her foot or she didn’t discover the sharp edge of the foil box. But one day, I glanced over to find she had figured out how to flip the cap up of the vanilla, and had it running down her sleeve. A quick change, and a quick prayer (if she ingested it, Lord, do I call poison control?), and we found a new toy. A few days later, it was the box of spaghetti all over the place. A few days after that, it was the box of spaghetti again (Doh- forgot to tape it shut!). Of course, wiping up the aftermath of Cabinut this morning made me think of Cabinut, and how glad I am to have her here, getting into stuff.
The moral of my curious tale? Pay attention to your floors. Sometimes the spills and messes tell a story of thanksgiving worth sharing.