When my older kids were younger and we were reading through Psalms in school, we always had a laugh. Presley (9 now, probably 3 or 4 back then), would thoroughly entertain us without her even knowing it. At the time, she’d just be playing while we were singing and reading, but I always knew she was paying attention. For example, Psalm 3:
O Lord, how many are my foes!
Many are rising against me;
2 many are saying of my soul,
there is no salvation for him in God. Selah
3 But you, O Lord, are a shield about me,
my glory, and the lifter of my head.
4 I cried aloud to the Lord,
and he answered me from his holy hill. Selah
5 I lay down and slept;
I woke again, for the Lord sustained me.
6 I will not be afraid of many thousands of people
who have set themselves against me all around.
7 Arise, O Lord!
Save me, O my God!
For you strike all my enemies on the cheek;
you break the teeth of the wicked.
8 Salvation belongs to the Lord;
your blessing be on your people! Selah
I would read verse 2, “… there is no salvation for him in God. Selah,” and we would hear Pressy’s little voice yell, “LAA!” Every time I said Selah, she would yell “Laa,” and we would all stifle laughs because it was so cute.
So I am not a cook. I don’t like to cook, in fact just writing this down stresses me out. I understand part of my job is to provide food- mashed together into meals- for my family. But I did not grow up with that influence, and have learned very little of the art of cooking as an adult. That means I start to get anxious daily- every time I realize I have to make dinner (especially on nights we have church things going on where my time is limited).
Apparently dinner is very important to Cory (5 1/2). For the last several weeks, every day, he tells me “Mom, it’s 4:40,” or, “Mom, it’s 4:29.” It’s always 4-something. He follows this declaration by informing me it’s almost dinner time. (Apparently he picked up somewhere that dinner time should be 5:00- although that’s a little early for us usually.) If I don’t respond as immediately or as enthusiastically as he would like, he asks me, “So what are you going to make?” Ughh!
As innocent as his inquiry is, it stresses me out! His dad, however, knowing full well about my cooking aversion, is terribly proud of him, and since I pointed the routine out to him, has done nothing but encourage it. And it’s not like he’s hungry (snacks are readily available in this house)- he’s just into dinner. I need to stop writing about this, I’m getting stressed out!
Ok, so last night, Eva (2 1/3) and I Googled images of baby African animals. She loved to look at them and talk about them (her vocabulary and speaking skills are off the chart). But she fell in love with this picture:
She would not stop saying this:
“Look, Mom, it’s me (and she’d point to the baby)! and it’s you (and she’d point to the mommy rhino)! That’s all fine and well except how perfectly it fits. Eva is a little tank- just like this baby rhino. She came out that way. I am almost 32 weeks pregnant with my 10th baby. I am also a tank- one comparable to an adult rhino. I don’t need the visual reminder from my two-year-old about my largeness!
The other picture she liked was of a mommy and baby cheetah:
Once she could no longer laugh, she fake-laughed at this picture. Even now she just said “Oh, that’s me! That’s you! I’m on your head!” I definitely prefer this picture to the rhino one. It’s fairly accurate as well, I’m pretty much a jungle gym for Eva.
The last thing I’m going to update is about this little baby, Israel. He was breech at my 20 week ultrasound, and he hasn’t moved since. I’ve never had a baby breech this long. So in a month they’ll do another ultrasound to see if he’s decided to move. If not, I’ll be in the hospital at 37 weeks to try and move him manually. (They do it in the hospital because occasionally it stresses the baby out and they need to do an emergency C-Section). So, that’s new for me. Anyway, we’ll see what happens I guess.
I hope you enjoyed the holidays. We did, but as always, I am glad they are over and things are back to “normal”- whatever that means in a household of this size.