Misunderstandings can make you fall off your bar stool

So on Tuesdays and Thursdays Bryce always has a cute little book for part of his homework.  He has to read it three times for practice.  Sometimes we just scoot through it.  Sometimes he reads it once to me, once to Dad, and once to Grandpa or his brothers.

Last night we decided to have fun.  I referenced the game, "The Doggy Licked Me"*, and we took our time with the third go through, trying out different accents and attitudes.

At one point Phil appeared in the kitchen and contributed a solid hillbilly line or two. Then he disappeared to go check on the splashing alligators in the bathtub.

Well, Bryce and I had worked our way the favorites: Scrooge McDuck, Frenchy-Pants, Speedy Gonzales, super-angry-groucho, scaredy-cat, sleepy . . . and we were ready to try something new.  I said (because apparently I will never learn to be 100% appropriate), "Let's read it fast like we really have to go to the bathroom".  So funny.

[a minute or two passes, Bryce and I decide to finish reading regularly]

Phil enters the kitchen.  Bryce, in turn decides that he's ready for an encore says, "Mom!  Let's read it again like we're going to the bathroom!!!" Oh semantics.  Phil gave the me look.  The, "'we're having tea with the queen here and you just burped' look". I tried to rescue my reputation, "No! No! No! I said, 'like we have to go to the bathroom! you know, fast! like you have to go--not going--go".  Phil gives me another look.  The, "that's not a whole lot better look. You are the mom, you know".

At this point I was laughing so hard, of course picturing someone reading the book the way Bryce had misspoken.  I really did almost fall off the bar stool.

 And because you're dying to know: *("The Doggy Licked Me" game is where I say that line and the boys have to guess if "I'm sad or mad or scared or happy or sleepy or grumpy or sneezy or etc".  The game is a hit for helping kids connect their tone with their attitude, and also just a general way to get some major laughing with your kids at any time.  So fun.  I'm an amazing person for somehow forgetting where I got this idea and now claiming full credit for "The Doggy Licked Me" game).

 

Buggy Time & a Violation

The buggy of my youth is coming in handy (my Grandma Jeanne bought it for my mom way back in '79).

Sean sleeps in it every night, and I can just wheel him into the en suite . . . so handy!  He loves being outside, either in the buggy or carried. I'm also really enjoying seeing him grow into cute outfits from family and friends.

Today he would not nap, so I resorted to a major violation--tummy nap.  And have been checking him constantly for breathing.  He can lift up his head, but still . . . 

Naptime

 

Kyle sidled up to Phil to endear him to share his after-lunch coffee . . . but ended up napping. Since Kyle cannot be disturbed during his nap (naptime is nearly a sacred event for me) I ended up trapping Phil into staying put whilst Kyle got as close as possible to the two hour mark. Fresh homemade cookies, more coffee, trying to find good afternoon tv shows . . . we almost made it!

Blurry Marauding

 

Nana & Papa gave Deacon a pirate ship for his birthday. I want all of you to know that (just for fun) the directions for the 97-step, 8 thousand pieces of ship and accoutrements were soley in German (I think). This is the extent of my German (spelled incorrectly because I never took German, I only traveled there once, and mostly just ate chocolates--a chocolate tour, if you will . . . anyway, I give you my German:
Steusel. Dankeshein. Ich bin ein Berliner. Achfiederzhen. Danke. Eidelweiss. Ech shuul-di ghanhng, ich fhair schtay-uh nheisched. Eince, vhie, drhie, vriehr.
Note, please that none of above vocabulary came in handy when assembling the ship. So about two hours after I began the boys had at it.
It is amazing. It is soooo worth it. In fact, this is one of the best presents /toys /childhood equipment that the boys have ever received. If you haven't yet completed your Christmas shopping go to Toys-R-Us right now and become that amazing gift-giver you've always dreamed of becoming.
Also, the combination of German-only directions gives you a sense of over-the-top pride in yourself and your ability to Sherlock solutions.

All-Boy

 

Boys like costumes. Also, lots of props: swords, shields, axes, daggers, bows and arrows, hats, glasses, belts (many a time we've ransacked the entire house in the hopes of finding the right one). A thunder hammer doesn't hurt either . . .

Dialogue is another necessary accessory. Though we have banned the bellowing of death threats, such as, "I'm going to kill your family!" Alas, when the kids memorize the Tellemarines (also I don't know how to spell 'Tellemarine', was Lewis phonetic? am I?).

Recently I got to hear a lovley talk on the life of Mary the mother of Jesus. The speaker mentioned how Mary had the priviledge of mothering a son that was all-boy but without sin. That really struck me. All the boyish vigour, and energy. All this boyish thirst to avenge the wronged and proctect their mother. All this boyish bit-chomping over getting to use their muscles and wield a hammer (thunder or carpentry).

All boy. All boy.

And my boys are.

Just thinking about how our Triune God is masculine and feminine, helps me understand all-boy. Jesus was Him in the flesh. Jesus was all-boy. That's what I've got (with that side of sin), and they remind me of their all-boyishness daily. Squeezing the toothpaste tube so hard that contents adorn the sink. Slamming the doors as loudly as they can, for fun (not out of anger). It's a weighty task to teach them how to channel all this bubbling manness into productivity, and I fail daily. Often giving silly reminders. Saying "gently" when it doens't matter. Exhorting them to do ridiculous things like, "run with quiet feet". Sheesh.

It was good for me to hear the reminder: all-boy. I'll strive to replace "run quietly" with "run like the a Calormene is after you"!

They also know that Mom needs a lot of hugs and kisses and snuggles. That Mom wants to hold their hands when we cross the street. That Mom loves to see them use their muscles when carrying groceries and opening doors. It's convicting (to me) to see this masculine and feminine play out with my children. I realize how ridiculous I can be (yes, daily) and while I'm thankful I see it, I am tremendously thankful for a husband that calls me on it.

We sure are lucky to have that man around as an example of manhood and an example of parenthood!

Diesel Smokestacks

 

Oh to be six years old and have the deepest desires of your heart be fill-able by your mother, who--armed with the best tool from her arsenal--can glue-gun almost anything you want to your truck. First it was a ladder so he could have a hook n' ladder fireman truck. Next Deacon wanted a flashlight atop his truck so he could have the first thing he thought of on his truck. Finally, after being wowed with the ladder and flashlight, and following a fruitless search for any thing else that Mom would okay for further glueing (denied items included but were not limited to: a machine handgun, a steelhead net, a roll of painter's tape, and an assortment of tinker toys), Bryce lamented (forlornly like the horn) his lack of diesel smokestack. Voila, the plastic tube from the miniature glowsticks availed itself . . . and you see the satisfied smile. (Of course, as I type this, they are both in desparate need of being the the firechief which entails driving the firechief suv Nana bought yesterday . . .)

Honestly though, I use the glue gun all the time to wow them.

"But Mom, I not dead!"

 

Another treasure rescued from the garbage.

As I went down to the river to pray . . .

 

Sunday afternoon Bryce and Deacon each publicly declared his identity in Christ Jesus!

Granddaddy Dan & Aunt Adie won the baptism-gift prize with a remote control helicopter. Above is my post-dinner view from tonight: three extremely happy guys, chasing the helicoptor as that pesky Palouse wind teased them all far out across the pasture.

We had a wonderful Sunday at church, with lots of whispers between the boys and us about how, "after this afternoon I get to take communion every Sunday!" They were more aware then ever before as the trays of bread and wine passed--and they gave bright-eyed replies when we prompted for the meaning of each.

They've been excited for weeks, since the day for our church's immersion baptism was scheduled and they were signed up. Our picture bibles show John the Baptist baptizing Jesus, and then Jesus baptizing believers, and all summer at the pool and in the tub the boys have been practicing.

Initially, we'd hoped to have them baptized in a river by Papa Ron, but that didn't work out . . . so we joyfully embraced another "tradition" and I wore the very same dress to their baptism, that I wore when Pastor Wilson baptized me in the spring of 1998 at their home; this time he baptized our sons in the Nazarene Church's baptismal pool--the very same place a friend said she was baptized years ago. I love the memories and fellowship surrounding it all.

We were blessed by the company of three other young believers being baptized too: a super-smiley boy, and beautiful identical twin sisters (doesn't that make you smile), and a host of families from church there to witness and Amen along with the two other families and us. Plus from Coeur d'Alene and Spokane . . . what JOY . . . my father, mother, and sister!

God is so very good and kind! Christ encouraged us all to have faith like a child, and further that a mustard seed of faith was enough. Christ welcomes us, and we have nothing to prove, nothing to earn, nothing to bring but our faith bestowed on us by grace.

I promised those faithful Kyles who weren't able to attend--but who have been praying for the boys since long before they were McMurrays--that I'd give a description of the proceedings: after church we got ready for a dinner of favorite foods with Granddaddy Dan, Grandma Greta, and Aunt Adie as guests--both boys requested to sit next to Aunt Adie--we finished it up with huckleberry pie, cupcakes, and ice cream. We arrived at the church in the nick of time (too much visiting at home), and I hustled the towels and change of clothes bag to the back area behind the sanctuary stage. Then Mr. Wilson gave us the skinny, and I realized that my job was to sit with my family while Phil, when cued, took the boys up on stage. We sang two hymns, and then Phil was cued. This baptism pool was down in the stage (all other baptismal pool immersions I've attended were more of a see-through affair). When Bryce went first, powering through his three "Yes Sir's", we the audience could just see his chest and stoic face. When Phil raised him up to the stage level carpet his face shone, and he looked around, a dripping, smiling little solider of the cross. Next, Phil put Deacon in the pool, on a higher step then Bryce, then Mr. Wilson moved him down to the "right spot", and Deacon's precious beaming face was mere inches above the pool's edge. He assuredly "Yes Sir'd" three times, and hadn't plugged his nose like Bryce, so he shook off all the wet a bit more then Bryce had done as Phil raised him out and next to his big brother. After each child was raised with Christ, Pastor Wilson said, "Amen" and we all clapped loudly. The boys followed their dad back to get towels, and peeked themselves around to watch the other three children. We prayed and then boys presto-change-o'd into dry clothes and ran out to hug me, Aunt Adie, Granddaddy and Grandma, and then greet little friends. We'd brought cupcakes, and I was so glad I had something to say, "Have a cupcake!" because I was just too joyful to think.

Mindless Music

Oh this topic is pretty funny!

The moment you catch yourself humming (or ACK!! singing) an iffy-at-best-tune it's appalling, and you sort of have to rethink your recent doings to make sure you weren't milling the grocery aisles as you sang, "Vouslez vous couchez avec moi? C'est soir?" A song I caught myself singing whilst making copies . . . at the office . . . in the full staff room . . . naked {ok, one of those isn't true}.

Or, even better, just this Spring I was buzzing up the F Street hill nearish to our house with my favorite lite rock station blaring. (My muchachos love silly 70s and 80s rock and usually it all seems so safe . . . especially after I caught myself singing along to, " . . . the taste of her cherry chapstick . . ." and immediately swore off 106.1 forever.) So, anyways, I'm singing along [loudly], the boys are singing along [at the top of their lungs]. Come to think of it, this may very well have been the very first Moscow-windows-down-sunny-day-of-2011.

Then . . .

Bryce: Mom?
Me: {loudly off-key singing] Shake-shake-shake
Bryce: {louder} Mom! What's a??
Me: {still singing} Shake-shake-shake
Bryce: {louder still, very quizzically} Booty?
Me: {radio off!} Pirate treasure!

Now, I'm a little more selective, and I really wish our cd player worked.

Best Grace Ever

 

Within the last seven days, amazing graces at our dinner table have included . . .
Bryce: . . . thank you for the food. And, God, thank you for our super powers, and for Jesus dying on the cross for our sins . . .

Deacon: . . . and dear God, thank you for Mommy being beautiful, and thank you for providing work for Daddy, and Bryce and Deacon . . .

When I pray with the boys before meals, I usually say the same thing, pat, each time. Phil is a varier. The boys love to take turns praying and usually do my example with some McMurray flourishes. Sometimes the boys and I do a hand-squeeze thing, where I "assign" each of them an item and we go in a circle squeezing hands as cue.

It's so fun to feed men and boys. Even though when cooking for ladies' luncheons I get to make chick food, like fancy quiches or salad as the meal, those same similiarly-paletted-to-me moms also say things like, "Oh, just half a slice". The boys will request huge portions, "'Cuz mom, you want me to grow and get bigger muscles. Don't you?" Of course I do! Also, the ladies aren't too thrilled to find you've hidden a chocolate chip at the bottom of their yoghurt.

Peanut butter and Nutella are hugmongous treats around here. Not because they are by any means rationed, but each time they appear the boys react like I do when I discover that Grandma Greta arrived with her homemade Nanaimo Bars.

Reflecting just bit on their graces, I think the kids really understand Christianity at a "in bones" level: reference the truths you know, and then look to Christ and flourish with wild abandonment. You do have super powers.

Two Years!

Here's the boys' first four-wheeler ride, their 1st or 2nd night with us (I think first but my camera said 2nd). And we whirlwinded them to a 4th of July celebration in the Tri-Cities to meet many of Phil's relatives. See little 2 1/2 year old Deacon! And a little three year old Bryce (just 3 months shy of four).

These photos are from that first week or two. In the one where I'm wearing the green shirt, a friend stopped by out of the blue with diapers and tons of Play-Dough! Our family, friends, my office, and church were supportive and showered us with clothes, books, toys, and meals; which enabled us to just focus on learning how to apply all this parenting advice!

Last year, June 2010, the boys officially became McMurrays. And among other celebrations of sorts, we went to Silverwood a lot!

Yesterday the boys loved playing with their Coeur d'Alene cousins again--this time at their house. And while they were busy playing dump trucks, I was busy pretending to be helpful, while I held baby LittleBits--which made it hard to be helpful.

This is best, most exhausting job I have ever had . . . God has been, and continues to be so kind to our little family. A big thank you to everybody for their counsel, advice, prayers, support, encouragement, introductions to little buddies, inclusion in play-dates, activities, mothers' bible studies, and chatty friendships.

Overwhelmingly, I am blessed with a husband who made a very hard decision 25 months ago, to take on the role of instant father. He caught on so quickly! And, he's been patient as I learned how to prioritize and has encouraged me over and over again. I respected and loved him as a husband, but that is pale-pale-pale to how much I respect and love him as the father of my children.

Organized Chaos

 

Bryce loved Logos Basketball Camp (isn't Mr. Whitling a trooper). Phil took Bryce the first day, and stayed to watch for a bit--and thought it was hilarious. I intended to stay for a bit the next day . . . but it was too much for me to just sit there and watch. That's why it's so good for Bryce to be a part these sorts of things, and why it's so, so good for me to not be allowed to run out there and organize.

I'm working on appreciating chaotic joy, exuberant fellowship, thunderous delight. I have a long way to go, but am thankful I get to learn with two adorable boys, rather than twenty plus eager would-be basketball players.

Over five or so years ago I was visiting with a friend, and at one point she was changing her almost-toddler aged son's diaper. For some reason this was taking much too long for him, and so he determined that kicking his mother would perhaps speed things up. He gave it to her good and she winced in pain. I didn't realize it until she spoke, but I had unconsciously been expecting her to be all sterness and say, "No! No kicking! We never kick!" and then finish changing him. But . . . she didn't (and this was huge for me) she very gently and cheerfuly said, "Honey, we don't kick in anger. We kick for fun!" as she took his little legs and kicked them for him, smiling and laughing.

And every now and then I remember her example, when I'm in the midst of one of these sorts of exchanges,

Mom: When do we spit?
Kids: When we brush our teeth!
Mom: We don't spit all the time because . . .
Kids: We're not llamas!

Or, another favorite around her [yes, that does mean we have to say it a lot]

Mom: Silly! Don't lick me:) I'm . . . not . . . a . . .
Kid: Popsicle!

Dangers in multi-tasking

The other day a friend mentioned how she and her husband can't talk-talk anymore on car trips with their kids, because you never know what your kids will hear and/or repeat. Ahh, a timely warning.

Today, after Bryce finished his lunch he chose ten candy-hearts from his Nana Judy Valentine treat-bag. As I handed his bag over to him, I continued to prod Deacon to finish his lunch with lots of, "okay-good-job-one-more-bite". All the while having a serious conversation with Phil about a college friend.

Bryce stretched out his arm holding up a yellow heart to ask what it said, at the same time that Phil asked me how the friend had gotten pregnant. I gave Bryce a soft-under-my-breath answer, "too cute honey", and said deliberately to Phil, "date rape". Bryce looked down at his yellow heart and sounded out, "t-t-t date rape".

Raising Vikings

Pictured: A little before breakfast exercise for Deacon. He also ran through this routine during the puddle-debacle mentioned below.

This week the deluge of rain left an inviting little puddle at the local park for none other then my children, who quickly impersonated ducks competing in a contest for, Most Enthusiastic Puddler, or perhaps some hippy-duck contest for being one with the puddle. What started as a brief pretend-you-didn't-just-get-your-shoes-wet run through, quickly escalated into a let's dive-in-with-our-knees-and-splash-mud-up-to-(and inside)-our-ears.

Note to lazy mom's, 'tis better to head off the puddle then have to undress your pre-schoolers at the park so that they can actually get inside the car.

Ooops!

This was the sort of day that had me thanking God for keeping me in good (laughing) humor, as well for the small mercies wrapped into each bit of chaos, and for Phil for being such a good sport about it all.

1ST: We arrived a day early to Bryce's dental appointment. Ha!  
2ND: I used the tail end of Deacon's nap to start painting the kitchen and ended up pouring paint all down myself (shirt to shoes) . . . not to mention the counter top, floor, and dishwasher.  Near hysterical laughter!
3RD: I grabbed the wrong sized pull-up for Deacon's nap (which he took on our bed) and he ended up wetting our bed down through to our mattress pad.  Very thankful that Deacon didn't wake up until after I'd cleaned up the paint;  frozen pizza for dinner!

Dragon Fire

From the "I should have seen where this was going" file:

Me: Deacon blow your nose.
Deacon: [breathes in]
Me: Blow your nose like a dragon.
Deacon: [breathes in and growls]
Me: Blow FIRE out your nose like a dragon
Deacon: [successfully blows his nose]
Bryce: Deacon, what color is your fire?
Deacon: Mommy, show me my fire.
Me: [long sigh]

Never too sick to practice elk calling

 

We had our first ER trip this morning--Deacon was having some breathing issues, and our wonderful family doctor assured me that I was not over reacting, and that it would be okay to visit the ER.
Four hours later, Deacon is okay and resting in "Mommy's bed"-per request-and enjoying a good old Primos elk dvd. The nurses gave Deacon the blue treatment tube from his first treatment, and it quickly became his newest elk call.

Worn Out Before Oma's Birthday

During his afternoon rest on Monday, Bryce was loaded up with a stock of books to peruse. You see, I fully expected him to stay awake, since our whole nap schedule was purposely pushed up. (The nap schedule was pushed up in the hopes that we'd have a happy car full for our drive to CdA for Oma's 77th birthday dinner.) So there Bryce was with a stockpile of books, and what had been included? One of his brother's toddler "What color is it?" sort of books--boring to no end, enough in fact, to put one to sleep. What the picture isn't capturing is the fact the book is resting on his head, and the fan is actually whipping pages against his face. When I went in to move the book, Bryce woke up and the whole idea of resting was put to rest.

Don't "blow it out"

Following suit with some advice for how to help kids shake something off, the other day I told Bryce to just, "blow it out" when he was distressed over something that was quite minor to put it mildly. However, he just kept on being distressed. Deciding that it wouldn't hurt to give a clear demonstration, I knelt down in front of him and gently repeated, "blow it out, it's okay, just blow it out" as I steadily blew. Bryce looked at me like I was crazy, and then very obediently blew his nose.