No Wonder We Have Issues

Lately, Grace has become very interested in categorizing people by gender.

This morning she and I had a little talk:


Grace: I'm a girl, Mom.

Mommy: Yes, you are a girl. What about Mommy? Is Mommy a boy or a girl?

Grace: A boy.

Mommy: No, Mommy is a girl. What is Grandma?

Grace: A boy.

Mommy: Hmmm... What is Abram?

Grace: A boy.

Mommy: What is Jacob?

Grace: A boy.

Mommy: What is Isaac?

Grace: Isaac... Isaac... I don't know.

Roses are Red...

On Mother's Day morning, I was greeted by a plate of orange rolls and a cup of cocoa on my nightstand...and four very enthusiastic children in my bedroom (okay, one of them just wanted to eat.)

Marty had placed in each room of the house a vase of flowers, a small gift, and a handprint from the giver.

A single red rose from my little Abram.

Yellow daisies from Grace. "Da yellow ones are MINE, Mom!" she told me a dozen times.

Purple daisies from Isaac.

Red carnations from Jacob. Along with a handmade calendar of things he would do all week: do his chores before play without being asked, take me out for a doughnut, do the dishes, make dinner one night....

And gorgeous orange lilies from Marty. He even made his own handprint. :)

I am a lucky Mama!

At Least They're Not Snakes

For someone who is irrationally terrified of many things lately (e.g., falling into the toilet, taking a bath, sprinklers, faucets in general - hmm, see a theme there?...) Grace's newfound love for WORMS is surprising. She has caught several dozen over the last month as Marty turned over the garden beds. She carries them around - sometimes individually, sometimes in squirming, tangled masses - and talks to them. Often in the third person.

"He-he! He's so beautiful. I love him!"

{Giggle} "He tickles me!"


She feeds them...

"Here you go, worm. Eat your dinner now."


Sometimes she is a little, um... too loving.

"Da worm is tired. He needs a nap."

Uh, Grace... You squeezed him too hard. He's not sleeping...

"Yeah, da worm is dead now. He's really, really dead."




She gently places the limp worm in the mass graveyard shade beneath the maple tree. (She'll continue to check on him periodically, to make sure he's still dead.) Then she's off to search for her next pet.

Six Candles

My sweet, patient, happy little boy is SIX!

Bakugan, Bendaroos, airplanes and rockets.

Decorating his cake of choice with Mom. (And licking the frosting off the spatula.)

Dinner at McDonald's.

A sunny afternoon of miniature golf.

{That's 6-year-old for paradise.}