Why it didn't take is actually an interesting story. You see, it's pretty rough being a middle child. As an oldest-- I'm not even going to pretend I know what it's like. I was a loud, demanding, rude, insanely smart oldest child with self-discipline issues... at times, I'm surprised my parents were aware that they had four other children other than their insanely high grocery bill. But from the other side, as a parent, middle kids have it rough. Elijah is always doing things first-- plus he's a social monster, always willing to deliver a dashing compliment ("Ina, I just loooove your earrings.. are they new?") or snarled insult ("Dad, I'm going to take my dinosaur and tear your face off before you can discipline me. Then you won't be able to tell me what to do anymore with no face"). Jael is equally as social, plus she's the baby, PLUS she's a very complex bubba.
Judah-- quieter. Patient. Quite happy playing by himself. Perhaps even that dreaded condition in America -- pokey, or as we like to call it, "running on African time." He takes thirty minutes to be put to bed...fifteen of which happen after he's in bed because he keeps remembering pesky things you promised far earlier in the day. He likes going incognito in a crowd. What he wants isn't your superficial attention -- it's your deep affection. Which means, he's going to wait until it's quiet and you think you have a moment to yourself, and declare himself ready to be loved. Often, by burrowing a foot into your rear at 5:30 in the morning when you thought you were reading a quiet devotion by yourself, and giggling uncontrollably that he managed to find you so ready to play with him and only him. He has all the attributes of a jealous God-- and none of the potty training, despite his mama's best efforts.
And so it was that as I sat down to write something deep and thoughtful, this delightful little urchin approached the window between our deck and the kitchen with a sheepish look on his face. "Sorry," he said." That's a full sentence for Judah, and since he rarely apologizes when he actually does something naughty, it's generally not any good when he voluntarily does so. It wasn't. I think the most tactful way I can put it is that child #2 had done #2 in the second-worst place I can think for him to do it. That was fifteen minutes of my life that I will never get back. With that settled, I stretched out, fired up the laptop, and..
"Dad.. sorry. You fix?" Someone had sneaked in while I wasn't looking, set up shop under my left elbow, and accidentally (he's so strong, my little Hercules) snapped his brother's Lego toy in half. So I fixed it. Then I fixed it again when he destroyed the propeller; then I fixed it again when he destroyed the landing skids; then I fixed it again when he pulled off the rotors; then -- I snapped.
"WHAT IS IT, JUDAH???????"
The huge brown eyes focused on me with concern --and just like that, I got it. My magnum opus wasn't waiting to hit the already crowded blogosphere. It was waiting to be lived on a canvas of eternal cloth in front of me, a unique little boy with nothing to do but linger in his daddy's shadow and spend some time with him... because what could there be better than spending time with me? (The answer is: many many things, but I won't disabuse him of his notions just yet.)
So I apologized -- and we made some coffee together. (Decaf-- everyone calm down.) And we drank it together... and instead of a sensible bedtime song, we sang Petra as loud as we could and jumped on the bed while we did it until we were so tired we curled up together and prayed our goodnight prayers.
And then when I dropped him off in bed, right before he fell off my back, he whispered, "Luff you,Dad..." real soft, before the bed swallowed him and he dove under his comforter (always a comforter, even in summer).
I had almost gotten halfway down the stairs to drink the rest of the coffee in his honor when that distinct little voice called out, "Dad.. you forgot something." I knew I was fifteen minutes away from the rest of that coffee, but strangely enough --
