Is that in your Bible?

So we're back in the routine of our regular devotions, now that we wrapped up our homeschooling year's study of Matthew. Each night -- generally -- Eric reads a short passage from the Bible and then the kids draw what they heard and remember from the passage on their own little white boards. Then each one gets to show his/her picture and explain it. They get pretty intense on these pictures! It's great to hear each of their descriptions, but Leah has been taking the cake lately:

After a passage on people getting baptized: "...and this is Jesus, and he can't see down in the rivah (river), and see the baptized, because he can't see with his eyes, because I didn't give him any eyes, because my marker was too big."

After a passage on Jesus healing and casting out demons, which is irrelevant because she was still stuck on the baptisms: "...and these are four little girls, and they're going to be baptized in the tomato juice." (she had used the red marker that night)

For your bonus, here's a recent pic of her with her sisters:

This post is for me

I held a four-and-a-half-month-old this week. Our neighbor was babysitting him for a friend and brought him across the road to chat. It's taken me a while to get to this point, but I'm definitely in the nostalgic-about-babies phase. (Most people, I understand, would have their next baby at this point, but since we all know OUR backstory on that, we'll just move on. I'm content to put the whole burden of producing offspring on my sister!)

Anyway, my point here is that my children are growing quickly, and I can't seem to keep up. Someone's always saying or doing or drawing or singing something amazing each day -- times five -- and most days I can't seem to get my head out of my laundry pile and focus my full attention on them, for a real, true moment. So right now, for me, I am going to write, and capture a bit of who they are, this day. Youngest first, don't you think?

Leah Hope

There are no words to describe how much she is her own person, even at age 4. She plans her days as if the whole world awaits her announcement of the agenda. Every fork, carrot, toothbrush, pencil is a imaginary character that wants to play with a similar item in her sister Sara's hands, and every other moment is spent evading work with her brother Jesse. For her and only her, tough big brother Levi will put toothpaste on, tie a shoe, buckle a seat belt and accept a kiss. Her highest aims are to do "reading lessons" like her twin siblings, and hop on one foot for a long time. She gives four kisses, every time, and tries to sneak in a fifth.

Sara Jeanne

Imagine very light, big, clear blue eyes staring innocently up at you, while the whole time you can almost see the gears turning furiously as the five-year-old "good" twin tries to figure out how to stay out of trouble without lying. She is curious! She wants to know everything, about everyone, all the time. Joy abounds at the mention of peanut butter and jelly, but her whole body slumps when anything appears in the shape of a casserole dish. She produces seemingly endless works of beautiful art every morning, all of which she expects will be displayed appropriately. She loves to read, and is figuring out more words each day. She makes friends more easily than any of her siblings, but never, never with a dog.

Jesse Harold

What goes on in that mind? If he notices you noticing him, he reacts with a quick huge grin and two fully extended arms asking for a hug. He plays the best by himself of any of them, but would never ask to do so. He loves to sleep, but doesn't ever complain when his big brother rouses him out of bed each morning. Eye contact is an absolute when giving him instructions, because it seems he usually assumes that no one could really be just talking to him. He basks in praise from anyone, but especially his older brother. He cheerfully -- and very accurately -- completes math problems said older brother has created for him each day, content to just be doing what Levi is doing. He is quick to laugh, quick to help, and very quick to love.

Delaney Kay

I can barely write about her without crying. Six years old is her element, I guess. She leaves us amazed each day with her witticisms and thoughtfulness and obstinacy and intelligence and bossiness. She.loves.to.sing...and the bigger the words in the older the hymn, the better. She directs the group playtime of herself and the younger three each day until Levi bribes her heavily enough to convince her to join him in something and bring along her gang. The newer the food, the more mixed up it looks, the better. Nothing cheers her more than the announcement that it's a "big workin' day!" She lives to write stories, organize/sort clothes, and visit her Nanny and Grandma.

Levi Matthew

A dear friend told me that I would love all my children, but that my love for my son, my firstborn, would be a "fierce" love. I live that every day. This tall, intelligent 8-year-old looks at me each morning and all I want to do is grab him and kiss his head all over. But then he starts complaining and I want to whop him with my dishrag. He will whine and wheedle, trying to get out of chores or schoolwork, but he's actually the one who always does the work. He will complain that something is not very fun, but wouldn't miss doing it with you for the world. If he could sit quietly beside his dad the entire day, every day, that's what he would do. He remembers everything, and understands about that much.

I am so thankful for each one of them.

My apologies, lawncare specialists

We did it. We confess.

All of you who make a living providing homeowners with lush, green, perfectly uniform lawns will be working extra hard. All you homeowners who care deeply about such things are in for the fight of your spring, at least if you live in a certain-mile radius of us.

You see, we promulgate weeds here. Not just any weeds, mind you -- dandelions.

I'm not a particularly gushy mother (SHOCKER!), but even I cannot deflate the faces of those who delight in bringing me dozens upon dozens of bright, yellow bouquets each spring. "Flowers!", they shriek, when they find the first one of the year sprouting up in the yard. Since moving here nearly five years ago, we've gone from a few patches here and there to near ground-cover status.



This may be because -- yes, you guessed it -- our activities do not end at bouquet collection. How can you be dandelion specialists if you do not help nature do its work?

End of the year test, homeschool style

I cut the first part off by mistake, but thought you might enjoy this poem, recited by Levi.

...And that's two points for the girls

In the Suburban...

Levi: "Hey, we need to pick our joke of the year. How about Jesse's 'catch-up/ketchup' joke?"

Eric: (getting in the spirit of the kids first bowling outing) "I've got one for you. What did the bowling pin say to the bowling ball?"

Levi: "I don't know."

Eric: "It's not my fault!"

Levi: (after a looonnng pause) "Ha! I get it Dad! It's not my fault...that's a good one. Delaney, do you get it? You don't get it, do you. It's like the bowling pin gets hit, and..."

Delaney: "I get it. It's not funny."

Things I Like (a stolen post title)

Thank you to my sister for inspiring this post.

1. Quiet evenings after a loud day.

2. When you just happen to be finishing up a study of Russia and Russian music, and you just happen to hear an announcement on the radio about a free orchestral presentation of Peter and the Wolf for families, and you spontaneously take the kids, and sit in the front row, and it is absolutely wonderful, and they sit spell bound, and give you excited looks when it comes to parts they remember. And there is free food.

3. Things that are free.

4. The growing realization -- that must only come with growing older? -- that being content with what you have brings so much more satisfaction than getting something you wanted.

5. Sitting in a cozy chair on a Sunday afternoon, making out grocery and menu lists, while my daughter snuggles beside me writing new stories and pictures in her notebook.

6. The start of a new week, with a clean kitchen sink and a promise of sunshine.

Kid - 1, Mother - 0

I realize, now, that I have been coasting. We've been diaper-free for more than a year. Everyone dresses themselves. I can read my own books in the corner of the children's section of the library for quite a long time without any shushing. As a bonus, we get lots of hugs and spontaneous "I love you" 's and "thank you, God, for my dad and mom" prayers. I really like these ages.

I'm taking my cues from society, I guess. It tells me that the babies are demanding, and toddlers are terrible, and just wait (!) until they're teenagers. But I have never gotten any warnings about oh, say, 8-year-olds. Which must be why I was so caught off guard this week, as we ventured out for a long walk and playtime in the finally-warm weather, at a local park. We had a great time together throwing rocks in the creek, and finding interesting things to look at on the trail. When we got to the large playground, the four youngest ran off to climb and play. Levi, however, camped beside me on the picnic table. When a neighbor friend of his -- whom we haven't see all winter -- strolled up with his mom, Levi camped beside me at the picnic table. I said, repeatedly, in various forms, (sounding very much like a voice from my past) "Go play."

He said, repeatedly, "No. I don't want to."

After an hour or so of trying to have a conversation with my neighbor, while talking over the head -- literally -- of my suddenly-statuesque 8-year-old, we headed home. He asked me, in the truck, "Do you want to know why I didn't want to play on the playground?"

"Yes!" I said. "I really do."

"I didn't want to play with the little kids," he said, as if I should have known.

Oh. Yes, of course. The little kids, who are, like, seven.

At the end of the warm weather last year, he was the first one out of the truck and on the top of the monkey bars (and I'm sure we'll still have more of that this year). Someone could have mentioned to me that I should have buckled myself in a little earlier for the roller coaster of "I'm old/I'm just a kid". Didn't you remember my motion sickness?