*We always let Gideon play a bit when he gets in bed. Sunday night he was playing with 3 action figures, two “good guys who love Jesus” and one “bad guy who doesn’t love Jesus”. When I left, one of the good guys was singing “Good Christian Men Rejoice” and the bad guy was pummeling him. Lets just take a moment to remember the persecuted toys who suffer in silence…
*I gave birth to my fourth child this week, a gigantic zit on my chin. I named it I-hate-you. Adult acne is awesome.
*Me: “You’re the best, Gid.” Gid: “You’re the best more than me. I think you’re beautiful.” When he’s not being a psychopath, Gid the Kid can be quite the charmer.
*Looong story, but Rebekah’s 2-3 week broken finger recovery did not turn out to be in the cards for us; thus we’ve been making lots of trip to the doctor. And Rebekah never disappoints us in the waiting room. On Tuesday, we were waiting to be called back when she noticed a grumpy-faced elderly women sitting next to her middle-aged daughter. “Why is that girl sad?” she kept asking me. “She’s fine.” I would whisper, hoping that the lady either had poor hearing or wouldn’t think of herself as “a girl” and thus assume Miss Sunday was talking about someone else. I was digging in my purse for some gum and when I looked up I saw that both women were beaming and chuckling in our direction. That’s when I noticed that Rebekah was very solemnly giving them a thumbs up. They gave her a thumbs up back. “That girl” was no longer sad, which made Rebekah very, very happy.
*Looong story, but the 4-6 week splint that was on my daughter’s finger apparently was too big and wasn’t working. When they removed it in the examination room, her finger was like…a horror movie. Her entire index finger was twisted and her fingertip was pointing to the right when all of her other fingers were lying flat. The entire room gasped, including me and Mr. Gore. When the staff emptied the room to figure out what should be done, Rebekah kept putting her Quasimodo finger in our faces and growling. It was so nauseatingly hilarious, the most macabre levity I’ve ever witnessed in person…we couldn’t not look at it. We couldn’t not laugh. We couldn’t not shudder with disgust at the same time.
*Looong story, but after Rebekah had to have her finger manually “reset” (without being numbed first) and cried for one hour straight, we decided that her usual brave patient reward of “pink ice cream” wasn’t enough. Instead we took her to Pottery Barn Kids and said “What do you want? Pick anything.” After perusing the entire store of toys and books and lovely fripperies she said, most decisively, “I want that.” “This Valentine plate?” her Papa asked. “No…that.” she said, pointing to a humongous glass canister with a bright red lid. She is my daughter after all. (p.s. The canister wasn’t for sale, so we went home with an “Olivia” book instead. Shucks).
*Looong story, but I finally allowed myself to bawl about Rebekah’s traumatic doctor visit a day later, when she and I were home alone during church. She was crying in pain, seemingly tired of her plight, and it just finally set me off. But I think my tears annoyed her: “Mommys aren’t supposed to cwy!” she cried. “Only babies and little gels (girls) are supposed to cwy!!!” I convinced her that that just wasn’t true, and we both cried on the couch until we both felt better.
*I kissed Gideon today and he responded by scrubbing at his face. “I wiped all your kisses off” he challenged me. “No you didn’t” I said. “I kiss you when you’re asleep and you’ll never be able to wipe them all off.” He began to scrub all over his face and hair. “Nope, not there. You’ll never find them.” I taunted him. He wiped off his shoulders and arms.”You can’t even reach it” I said. “You should just stop trying.” So he started scraping his back on a chair. Hard as he tried, he still didn’t get them all. Impossible.
*What I meant to say: “Chris I need to cut your hair soon.” What I said: “Chris I need to change your diaper soon.” Momnesia.
*Rebekah was playing “doctor” with Baby Betsie and it made me wonder what kind of gender views we are passing on to our children. When Rebekah is a “nurse” she speaks in her normal high-pitched voice, but when she is the “doctor” she speaks in a very deep voice, like Rebekah-on-steroids. Its too funny to correct right now, but I promise, one day I’ll teach her that even women can be doctors.
*When Betsie was a good girl at the “doctor”, Rebekah tried to reward her with a “pretend sucker” that she found in the candy bowl, an orange M&M. She was just about to shove it in Betsie’s mouth when I stopped her: “Rebekah she can’t have that! It will choke her!” “But its a pretend sucker.” she defended. “Yes, but its a REAL M&M”. I told her. This is what I do all day. Not much…just saving the world, one child at a time.
*Overheard from Gideon to Betsie, as he hugged her tight: “You’re so pretty, Betsie. I love you so much I just want to hit myself.”
*Rebekah has been clicking her tongue a lot, like an all-out busybody. “I’m going to go find the doctor kit (click, click, click).” “You keep an eye on Baby Betsie and my horsie for me, Mama (click, click, click).” “I’ll be right back (click, click, click).” It is just so…Rebekah.
*Gid the Kid and I were playing a rhyming game. “Cat.” I said. “Hat!” he exclaimed. “Fat.” I replied. “…shooda!” he exclaimed. When I looked at him inquisitively, he shrugged and said “Sorry. Sometimes I speak Spanish.”
*I do wish you all could see Betsie’s face when I take her upstairs with me. She smiles differently, eye alight, like she knows we are entering the realm where the children live…
*It is 3:30 and all 3 children have been in bed since 12:30. Love my kids. LOVE naptime.
*Looong story, but Friday night the crushing weight of being a stay-at-home-Mom/blogger/chef/nurse/homeschoolteacher/pastor’s-wife/grocery-buyer/pilgrim/fashionista just bowled me over and I retreated to my bed to cry like a dorkus loser. Soon my entire family had followed me and was staring at me like a zoo exhibit, none more concerned than Gid the Kid. Mr. Gore said that he kept looking up at him knowingly while he moved in closer and closer to tentatively offer comfort to the sobbing creature on the bed (I wouldn’t know because I had shoved my face into a large feather pillow to hide from their view). “What’s wrong with her?” he asked Chris. “She’s sad because she doesn’t have any food to cook for supper.” Chris replied. Which was true, but when he said it out loud like that, the ridiculousness of my plight popped a chuckle out of my mouth. “Oh…” Gideon said consolingly as he patted me. “You don’t have anything to cook?” he asked sympathetically. I shook my head in the pillow, took a deep breath and raised my eyes to meet his, embarrassed for him to see me that way. “I have food.” I said, “but I just don’t know what to make.” Gideon put his hands on my arms and said, in the sweetest voice “Well maybe you could just make something else. Sometimes, when I don’t have the toy I want, I just play with another one.” Sometimes all it takes is a little 4-year old wisdom to turn your frown upside-down.
*I gave Mr. Gore (the birthday boy) leave to do whatever he wanted Saturday morning…he chose to sit upstairs on the floor with me and watch our kids play. Love that guy.
*I surprised Mr. Gore with an outing to The Melting Pot for his 31st birthday, and I have to agree with our friend Louie…a 3-hour eating “experience” is for a couple in the courtin’ stage. We ran out of stuff to talk about after the salad. But man it was good.
*And one more thing about The Melting Pot…when the waiter set a plate of raw meat in front of me and the sight and smell of it sunk in to my senses, our cozy booth became a prison, resulting in about a 20-second anxiety attack – apparently, Mr. Gore and our waiter did not notice my fidgety discomfort, but I almost busted out of there once I had overcome the urge to throw up on the table. Sensory overload + claustrophobia, I guess. But my country girl raisin’ prevailed; once my heart stopped pounding in my ears, I stabbed a raw piece of chicken and started cookin’.
*Chris was going over his sermon Saturday night when Gideon called his name from upstairs…”Papa?!” Chris’s absentminded reply made me laugh: “Yes, God?…I mean, yes Gid?” That one letter in the middle there makes a big difference.
What a week!