Memento mori

I preface this vignette today by saying that I may be writing it to feel better -- to remember the (somewhat) sweet amidst the gong show that today has been, starting with the 4am declaration by my sweet and only daughter that if I didn't lay down next to her bed and hold her hand until she fell asleep, she would scream until everyone woke up. This lady understand when she has someone over a barrel.  I acquiesced -- only to wake up at 6am to Judah towering over me, demanding, "WHY ARE YOU IN OUR ROOM, DAD? You need to leave."    And that was the high point so far. Ugh.

Anyways, as seems so often, a rough day can be redeemed by the conclusion thereof.  And so three nights ago after yet another brutal waking stretch for the urchins, we settled in at 7:00 (ok, maybe 7:25), took a deep breath, had some silent time, sang our hearts out to Jesus, and were settling in to bed when we came upon the very last part of the day -- blessings.  I generally place my hands on their hands, make the sign of the cross and ask for something on my heart for them -- peaceful dreams, kindness, ability to look each other in the eye without attempting to blacken said eyes, etc.  As I went to kiss him and head out, Elijah grabbed me and started kissing my face. (This won't be embarrassing later in life or anything.) I backed up quickly -- emotions aren't really my thing, and my sense of personal space may be overdeveloped.  "Sometimes people like it if you give them one kiss instead of one hundred.

"But, Dad," he protested," I just love you so much that I want to kiss you as long as we are alive."

My heart thawed.

He continued," Or at least as long as you're alive, Dad.  We both know you're going to die first. Love you."

Memento mori.

The Grass is Always Greener, Part 2

So a self-indulgent moment (and apology rolled into one):  Since the last post, I have passed the second of eight major career exams that I am trying to jam into the 2016 calendar year, so I finally have a tiny window of time again to chronicle the mayhem happening daily around me as I try to study.  I may simply get them all to paper (figurative paper, at least) and release them slowly over the next month.  In the meantime, enjoy this sequel...

If you haven't read the earlier aspect of this story, it may help explain a couple things.  It can be found here: http://lifeonkingarthurscourt.blogspot.com/2016/05/the-grass-is-always-greener-part-1.html

Anyways, inspired by Elijah's insecurities about the decline of his supremacy over all aspects of siblinghood, Judah woke up the next day and decided, " Gosh darn it, why should LJ have all the fun?"

And so this happened as I tried to put them to bed that evening:

Elijah:  "Dad, I have a tricky question for you."
Me: "Mmm- hmm."
Elijah: "You're not going to get it."
Me: "What's the question?"
Elijah: "Don't say I didn't warn you -- what's one thousand plus one hundred plus one?"
Me: (immediately): "Eleven hundred and one."
Elijah: "Wow! How'd you do that?"

{Sidebar: this was very really good tactically on his part because quick math in my head is about the only life skill I have left.  He should have challenged me to a memory contest -- I have the attention span of a goldfish at this point in my life, and that's insulting to goldfish -- or a karate contest. However, I was not the only one with a trick up my sleeve...}

Elijah continued, "That's pretty good. Now I'm going to give you a real hard one.  One thousand times one thousand."
Me: A million.
Elijah (not impressed this time): Fine -- did you know that I taught myself 30 times 30?
Me: What?
Elijah: It's nine hundred.
--At this point, I was thankful it was dark so he couldn't see the dumb grin on my face.
Me: How did you do that?
Elijah:  Well, they taught up in class that 3 times 3 is nine.  And I remembered someone told me that when you multiply with zero on the end, you add the zero on the end of the answer.  So I multiplied 3 times 3 and added two zeroes on the end. Nine hundred.
Me: Wow.  So what's thirty times twenty.
Elijah: Six hundred.  And twenty times twenty is four hundred.
Judah: Mmm-hmm.  It's not just LJ learning math -- I have been teaching myself math too.

Poor little fella -- I had been so enthralled with Elijah's conceptual math that I had almost forgotten he was there.

Me: Oh good, Judah.  What have you been learning?

Judah (with no hesitation):  Today in my math books I taught myself that 6 plus 6 is 11, Dad!"

He couldn't have been prouder! (I tried so hard not to howl my way out the door!)

I have a sneaky suspicion that this subling rivalry may never die...

The Grass is Always Greener, Part 1

I'm pretty sure that the writer of Proverbs knew his stuff when he said that "a brother is born for adversity."  Only in our house they don't support each other in times of adversity, they ARE the times of adversity. It's funny how that works. 

It's one of those absolutely depressing paradoxes of life that the harder you try not to pass on your deeply embedded flaws to your children, the more certain that they will have the trait branded into their soul.  After spending my entire life trying to prove that I measured up in the maniacally competitive atmosphere that was my family(I think the example that best shows the crazy going around is that four of my five siblings won a full ride to high school and after the fact, so nastily teased the only one who finished second (out of 50-odd applicants, mind you) that I wouldn't blame them if it's something still remembered), I vowed that I would raise children who knew exactly how valued they were if they never won a damn thing in their life. Even to this day, we don't say "Good boy!" or "Good girl!" but instead say, "Good action!"  to try and dissociate the person --immortal-- from the behavior, which hopefully can change.  Hopefully. Hopefully.  (Side note: this leads almost weekly a beautiful moment when you have a 2 or 5-year old running behind a baby hollering, "BAD ACTION, ARYEL!  BAD ACTION!"  as our little marauder cleans out a shelf not yet baby-proofed.

The above is of course why I have children so competitive that they assign scores to things like how well they brushed their teeth or how many toys they managed to put away during clean-up.  I don't think there's a cure for that. 

Elijah, in particular, has been feeling the soul weight a little bit lately.  As a fellow firstborn, I feel his pain acutely.  There's no applause for winning when you are inherently bigger, stronger and faster.  We have an appetite for underdogs and Cinderella stories, but nobody cheers when the proverbial Goliath stomps out David like all the Philistines thought would happen.   Judah has been recently finding his niche at soccer, bike riding and skateboarding, among other things, and poor Elijah, used to being superior in many academic ways, finally had enough one day.  "Dad!" he exploded, "Judah wins everything!  It's not fair!"

"I'm sorry," I stuttered, completely caught off guard by the outburst. Unhelpfully,  I initially tried to combat it with facts.  You read better, you love math, you're excellent at karate, etc.  I had heard, but I hadn't discerned. "No, Dad! You give him pennies and coins for his piggy bank!  You play baseball and all the things that he wants to do!  And he even wins Memory!"  (All true, and not something I had ever thought would be construed as anything but acts of love.)

But my metaphor-mixing lawyer wasn't finished.  "I don't matter about the everything else, but I just want a lucky day!"  It was all I could do to not crack up at the most serious parental moment in years.  Rough translation:  "I love him too, but I need you to affirm me!"  I pulled him aside.  "I can't make you win everything.  God gives us each special talents. But you have been given so much."  I pointed out how we each have something to contribute to the world that only we can give -- Elijah LOVES people; Judah and I are somewhat allergic to extroverts; Judah has amazing kinetic balance; Jael perserveres, etc.  And -- glory hallelujah! -- he understood. 

Crisis temporarily averted. To quote Mumford and Sons in Only Love, "
And I hunger and I thirst
For some shiver
For some whispered words
And the promise to come." I had been trying to feed the immortal desires of his love-starved soul with the moldy bread that is 'winning'.

Luckily, there's a lot that a (literal) pancake breakfast date can fix, but it was a jarring reminder that ad campaigns be darned, it doesn't get easier.  Life (and parenting) gets bigger as you go.  The stakes will only get higher and the issues more complex.  Grace be with us all.

Tune in next time for the flip side of the brotherly competition in which Judah decided to take on Elijah at math...

Sometimes it's better to forget...

So I just got back from the perfect vacation.  (Keep in mind, I'm an introvert.  This isn't going to be as exciting as you think.)

Where did I go, you ask?  The library. Every day -- except the day I destroyed an entire shed.  (That's a later post -- no worries)   I went to the third floor.  In a corner. With lots of books.  You know what I did?  I studied.  (Frankly, it didn't matter what I did.  It was hauntingly quiet.  AND -- AND ... I had a large frozen cappuccino to myself.)

It was a perfect vacation.  From 11am to 3 pm every day.  The rest of my vacation was spent with the kids, who are not nearly so blissfully quiet, but sooo worth it.... and then I got to go back to work, where this week has been so crazy that when a co-worker left on a stretcher surrounded by EMTs today, it didn't even seem that out of place.

**I'm writing this at 1 am, so this story will be short, but there are more to come.  The anecdotes that happen when you jam six people (most under the age of eight) into a tiny space just have a life of their own, like this vignette below **

It was 7:30pm, and the kids were late for bed.  Now I say this like they EVER go to bed at 7:00 when bedtime is officially charted.  Never happens.  7pm is bedtime in the Court like 55 miles per hour is the speed limit in our great state.  It's not actually expected that you follow the rule;  however, when 7:15 rolls around and we're just starting our story, I pick a nice short one under the auspices that "we're running 15 minutes late!"  No one is fooled. Anyways, we were running '30' minutes late, so Rachel had graciously stepped in to assist the bedtime process.  We were just about to start the nightly praise songs to Jesus when Judah loudly interjected, "Mom!  I need to tell you something before you sing!"

"Ok," Rachel said.  "What is it?"

Long pause.  "I don't remember."  This is standard Judah fare; the thoughts in his own head are so interesting that sometimes they mug each other before they even get down to his tongue.  Onward we proceeded through a rollicking chorus (5 of us singing, Aryel howling like a wolf) when, just before prayer, Judah burst out again, "Mom, I remembered!"

"Honey, what is it?" Rachel said.

"Mom," (here he looked at her pointedly) "Mom, I didn't want you to be here."

That boy knows how to make his mama feel loved! 

An open letter to my work...

Dear workplace,

 Ever wonder why I look like hell in the morning?  Do you wish that every once in awhile, I'd seem fresh as a daisy at 8:00am on a Monday, having had the entire weekend to rest?  It seems reasonable.  You only demand 40 hours a week from me (in fact, you regulate the aforementioned 40 as if I might collapse under the terrible strain of sitting for --gasp!-- 40.5 hours at a desk... that last 1/2 hr might just do me in), and in return all you ask is that I'm cheerful for the small amount of time we spend together. Do you wish I wouldn't get off the phone and say, "That lady reminds me of my two-year-old?"

To this very reasonable proposition, I have the following to say: I'm sorry, it will never happen.  EVER. That's all. Mainly because of stories like this...

By Sunday evening, I had been going straight for about 6 consecutive days.  The week had been spent on a business trip, and I don't really sleep away from home.  I don't sleep at home either, but for entirely different reasons. In addition, Rachel had been playing heroine for 5 days while I was away, and was understandably a little tired of said muglets, so I spent a little more time with them over the weekend than normal.  By the time 6:00 pm rolled around, we could all have used a little time away from one another.  Aryel took this to heart and started crawling without any notice whatsoever, which led to a couple of "where the heck is he?" moments before we finally got our act together, and the regular wars that are waged daily by the remainder of the troops were met with great wrath by the governing body (ME)!  So when Elijah proposed that we go out for ice cream to redeem the free sundae he had received from his karate academy, it seemed like a great idea,

(Keep in mind that the only defense I can offer in retrospect is that we were pretty tired (tired enough that the kids offered to drive -- I think I'm joking) at this point and we may not have considered just how amped that they would be.  I know -- it sounds weak to me too.)

The rest of the trip unfolded something like this:

(Car pulls out of driveway.)

Judah: Dad, we're going the wrong way!
Me: Your mom hasn't even gotten out of the parking lot yet.
Elijah: Yeah, we're going to the other ice cream place.
Jael: What other one? Are we still getting ice cream?
Aryel: (High pitched squeaking roughly translated as, "I'm getting ice cream, right? RIGHT?)
Elijah: I'm getting peppermint stick!
Judah: Me too.
Elijah: Ok, then I'm getting candy cane.
Judah: Me too.
Rachel:  They're the same thing.
Elijah: Ok, then I'll get peppermint stick and Judah can get candy cane.  That way everyone can have what they want and we don't have to get the same kind.

... we continued in that vein until yours truly lost it (about 2 seconds) and demanded that nobody speak the rest of the trip until we got there. 

We pulled in and ambled over to the sign that held all the ice cream flavors.

Elijah: See, Candy cane!
Judah: (points at same thing) Peppermint stick!

I should have gone back to the not-speaking gig at this point, but again, I was tired.  That is going to be my excuse throughout the entire post.  Get used to it.  Somehow, we dragged them up there, ordered a cup, then a cone, then a cup again, for pretty much everyone (God bless the long-suffering high schooler behind the glass trying to make a little extra weekend money), and dragged everyone back to the car whining because they couldn't stand out in the rain to eat their ice cream.

So there we were, in an SUV in the rain.  It was like a romantic ice cream date with your sweetheart if the Goonies dropped in.

Judah: Dad!
-- Yes!?
Judah: Are we going to go soon... my ice cream is dripping!
--Um, no eat it now.  We aren't driving anywhere while you eat.
Judah: Oh.
Elijah: I'll eat it.
Judah: NO!
Elijah: Ok, well, if you change your mind, I'm just about done mine. Here, I'll lick it for you.

(The response was in the negative.)

Jael: De-wicious!
Elijah: Are you done?
Jael: Mmm-hmm.
Elijah: Thanks!  (Starts in on ice cream #2)  Dad, you done?
---Aren't you going to be full?
Elijah: Oh no, my belly has special rooms for ice cream. Mama, are you going to need some help?
Rachel: No, thanks, Elijah.
Aryel: (high pitched squealing roughly translated as "I'm here to help!")

Finally, five minutes and fifty volunteer efforts from Elijah and Aryel to 'help' with the ice cream, we headed for home,  Judah decided to help clean Jael's fingers by licking them clean (my Lord, sometimes it's like having cats), but we were almost home when an odd sound was heard from the back seat.

--Judah, what's that noise?
Judah: Oh, it LJ.
--Elijah, stop making that noise.
Elijah: I can't, Dad. It's my belly.  It's telling me that it doesn't think that I should have any more ice cream -- EVER!


...And you can imagine the rest.  So if I ever drag into work, looking like it was a rough night indeed, it probably was...

But the good news is, I'm so talented, I can look like hell without any alcohol being involved whatsoever. Cheers!



'

How to confuse airport security in the modern world...

Well, I had a fourteen-year streak broken last Friday.  (To be fair, I improved my chances by not playing the game for almost seven years.)  I have had relatively decent luck in airports my whole life, never being "patted down" and having never had my bag searched since I was 20 and had all my sister's clothes in my carry-on when it was searched (I'm lucky the mortification didn't kill me).

THAT streak came to a crashing halt on the tail end of my business trip Friday evening.  My team had ventured into Nashville, survived (and by survived I mean made Rachel VERY jealous because we went out on the town basically every night while she had to stay at home with the urchins-- the sad part is that I'm the introvert and this meant far less to me than it would have to her), and were limping our way home, ready for our own beds and to see family. We had two quick hops on an airplane to get back home at 11:00 pm and crash. I knew that I had jinxed myself earlier in the week by commenting to my friend that I had never been strip searched (ahem, sorry, 'patted down') or had my bag searched since that incident fifteen years ago...

so it was no surprise when I walked through the funny machine (and by funny I mean creepy) where you walk in, stick your hands straight up like you're about to get arrested,  wait until the robotic eyes analyze you in 360 degree glory, and have someone bark at you, "Sir - get out!" like you are wasting time enjoying feeling virtually undressed by some artificial intelligence...

"Walk this way."  (oh-oh)  But I had completely misunderstood.  They really just wanted me to pull my best Aerosmith and not go back into the 'officer needed' line.  (I was ok with that!)  Exhaling, I went over to grab my bag, which was not there. NOT THERE.  Hmmm... I walked back up the line and went to look for it, but it was not anywhere in the line where I had left it.

"Excuse me, sir," came a voice from my right.  "We're going to need to do a bag check.  Is that ok with you?"  (First off, I want to know if anyone with an IQ over 80 has ever answered no to that question.)

"Sure, go ahead."  (Because the alternative makes me look even more like a terrorist than my Lebanese heritage already provides.)

"The scan picked up some irregularities in your bag.  Did you remember to take all devices out of your bag?"

"Yes."

"All right, I am going to need you to stand right there as I open it."  The gentleman -- who was, truthfully, one of the most cordial members of our fine security agency that I had ever met picked up the bag and started to open it slowly.  "G--d---, son.  What you got in that bag?"

This wasn't going as planned.  "Um, just some stuff from my business trip."

"Alllll right, take it easy.  What are these?"  His voice took on a slightly suspicious tone.


**Any guesses?? **


I kid you not -- he had opened up my bag to the three giant hardcover novels that I had brought for the plane ride and was looking at them suspiciously.  I think he had located the 'suspicious objects' the machine had alerted on.

"That is just the books that I was reading on the way down," I said.  "There's a couple more too."

He looked them over one more time, riffling through the pages,  All of a sudden he stopped and looked at me.  "Oh, man, I'm sorry," he said, and a look of concern came into his eyes.  "These are pretty old, aren't they?"

They were about thirty years old, but in the era of the Kindle/ Nook/ whatever else electronic book is now in vogue, these well-read beauties probably seemed like they were from late antiquity.  "I think they'll be fine if they don't get smashed any more."

He tucked them back in like they were made of  Egyptian papyrus and bid me a good day.   It could have been worse.  At least I didn't get 'wanded'  (there's another term that doesn't have anything to do with reality) like some of my team did.

But just a tip --if you ever want to confuse someone in the 21st century, read real books!

(Join us next time when I have a whiny rant about 

why Mother's Day almost ruined my favorite thing to do with the kids... hasta luego!)

Lawyered!

I work in an industry where we deal frequently with members of the legal profession, so the potential for getting an email in which it takes 4 paragraphs to say absolutely nothing is high.  Nowhere, though, is the potential for getting lawyered nearly so high as stepping through my own front door to greet the firstborn. 

From the out-of-nowhere rant that shows that I guess he was listening to good-morning Bible story after all ( my comment to a sick Elijah, " you should go to sleep.  Sleep makes everything better."
His impassioned retort, "Are you kidding?  What about the little girl in the Bible story that was sick? (Luke 8 for reference if needed)  She lay in bed for a month and slept all the time?  AND DO YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENED?  (Unfortunately, I did know where he was going).  SHE DIED!  Do you really think that I'll get better just by sleeping?  (Yes, but after that grandstanding performance, I wasn't about to say so.) DO YOU?"

So I shouldn't have been surprised today that that I got lawyered again.  It crept up on me as I was explaining the new bedtime policies to the kids.  Apparently, no one liked the way I tucked them in at night, but it took a REALLY bad night for me to see the error of my ways.  Anywho, I was in the middle of explaining that I would not be a screaming maniac anymore, but would instead be a calm force doling out love and rationale discipline if necessary.  Not surprising, this was not a moment my little solicitor-in-training could pass up.  "I don't believe you, Dad."

"Beg pardon, Elijah?"
"I don't believe you.  I don't think that you will go all night without yelling at me, and I don't like it."
"That's fair, Elijah, especially after last night.  But I promise you that I will do my best to be calm and just take away minutes of TV if you are naughty."
(Without hesitation) "Well, if I bit someone really hard, I think that you would yell at me."
"Bit someone?" I was trying so hard not to giggle) " Well, I wouldn't yell, but I might have to take away a lot of minutes of your show.  Maybe three."
"Two.  I think two would be fair."
"Um, this isn't a negotiation.  I will take away as many as I need to make you stop biting. I might even have to remove you quickly."
"That doesn't seem fair at all. What if I don't want you to grab me while I'm biting?  Plus, I think it should be two minutes."
"Elijah, do you know how you could get no minutes taken away?"

He was genuinely puzzled.

"DON'T BITE ANYONE!"

"See, Dad, I knew you'd yell."  And I was lawyered!  I should just resign my job if I can't outthink a 7-yr-old...

You know it's your fourth child when...

Recently, there have been a series of commercials telling us how awesome we are the second time around as parents.  After the hyper-sensitivity of first-time parents, we easily slide into perfect parenting the second go-round. 

I CALL SHENANIGANS.  Just saying.  For me, at least, I was a terrible second-time parent. I was probably less relaxed with Judah than with Elijah, and didn't make good adjustments on the fly at all.  Frankly, I think my second time set me back at least until the fourth child.  Ah... but now that I've got four... now I'm a perfect parent.  (I think I just heard Rachel snort so loud I need to go check on her to make sure she didn't rupture a nostril.)   In all seriousness, I STILL CALL SHENANIGANS.  Poor little Aryel has to undergo so much more craziness then our first two that it may take years of therapy to undo some of it, although quite frankly he's so mellow most of it doesn't bother him.

Without further ado, I present to you the top reasons you can tell in our family that there's six of us and no less...

#1 -- you take family photos at the bowling alley.  We might all be crying, darn it, but you can't tell in the blacklight.  Also, it's cheaper than posing for Sears portraits.  And less bleeding.

#2 -- you hire the cheapest babysitters possible... in this case, Insignia!  (Yes, TV might make them instantly stupider, but it makes them instantly quieter.  For 30 minutes a day, the trade-off is WORTH IT.)

#3: You get together with other families with 4 kids and take 8-child photos in which you realize that Jael can hold her own in a fight because she's the only lady present.  (No, seriously, half the children in this photo are terrified of her.)

#4: By the fourth kid, the baby becomes the football.  Thankfully, this handoff was successful.

#5: After you have an entire band in your house, you let them rock out --UPSTAIRS.  Always upstairs.  Especially if they're playing your entire selection of pots and pans.

And finally, you know you've got a gaggle of children if....

they successfully storm your bed and throw you out! (and you happily sneak off for a quiet cup of coffee and try to ignore the fact that it sounds like your room is imploding....)

Now, about me being a perfect parent...

The butterfly emerges...

At some point in his life, my second-born may kill over the title of the post, because today's musings are indeed about Judah.  (Good news, though -- he can't read yet.)

Every once in awhile, you see something, but it's unconfirmed. You know that in the little fuzzy wrapping something beautiful will emerge, but you aren't allowed to open it.  Anticipation builds...

I had been looking forward to watching Judah play soccer in his town league for a long time.  We are intentional about keeping our kids to minimal of structured activities ( we think it's lame how insanely structured tiger-parenting can be; we don't have enough money, we have too many kids to pay for them all, etc.)  But.. Elijah has karate, mainly because he needs it and it needs him, and Judah's so damn good at ball sports ( at least at our house) that I really wanted to see him play.  (Plus, he really wanted to play, and let's be honest, it's more fun playing soccer on grass than in our "backyard" parking lot. Less road rash and the like.)

So on Saturday, April 9th, he had his first game.  Except he didn't -- because it snowed that week and apparently a co-ed 5-yr-old league isn't that serious about its games. Judah and I moped.

... So on Saturday, April 16th, he had his first game.  (Thank goodness, this is true).  'Game' may be a misnomer.  I'm such an introverted novice to the world of middle/upper-middle class parenting.  Rachel is a natural, being all social and working the crowd ( she calls it "being friendly," something I've never tried); I am there solely to watch/play the game.  Which is why it's incredibly disappointing when after five minutes, we are herded over to the third field in a long series and get to practice for a while before anything else happens.  Frankly, I came to a realization that day.  I am "that parent." The intensity doesn't diminish just because it's practice.  Rachel may have banned me from ever coming again three or four times in the first ten minutes alone.  I wasn't sure Judah was going to make it either as they stood in a circle, Kum-by-Ya style, and passed the ball to each other while calling out their new friends' names.  It was actually a little bit of an inverse ratio of skill-to-memory in effect.  There were kids who could pass the ball, and there were kids who could remember the names of their new friends, but not many (if any) who could do both.  God bless the coaches.  I hope they get paid.  Judah, for his part, would boom passes at his counterparts, then shrug his shoulders when asked who he had just passed to.  (True to form **Spoiler alert ** he had a LOT of fun, but when pressed at home after the end of the game, he hadn't the faintest clue as to the names of any of his peers.)  At least he remembered his coach's name.



After this were dribbling drills, where we got to see a lot of little people going left while the ball went right, and tripping over the ball and taking headers. this was actually worth the price of admission -- free! -- and then some.  As Rachel said to me while engrossedly watching, "Four and five is such a great age.  They have NO idea what their bodies are doing."

Mercifully the whistle eventually blew, and they were again shepherded for a water break and split up into squads for the game.  As soon as the game started, Judah ran straight back away from the ball.  What is he doing???? I thought.  It soon became clear.  He has been so trained from our own backyard soccer that you never let anyone score on you that he sprinted straight to his goal, stood menacingly in it like a goalie (there aren't any in kindergarten soccer), and waited for the onslaught to come.  As soon as the ball got near him, he booted it away, but still didn't make any move forward.  The two forwards for the other team came in again, and again he sprinted straight at them to take the ball away -- only this time, it was like watching the butterfly emerge.  He stopped thinking and let instinct take over, taking the ball away cleanly and bursting left, actually dribbling faster than the other team could run, with the exception of one astute defended who took a beautiful angle to cut him off, tripped on his own feet, and ended up on a blooper highlight reel somewhere. Judah went racing down the field, all alone ... and paused ten feet away from the goal to drill it five feet to the left.  Oh well,I guess we'll try again next week, I thought to myself. I looked out -- he had his hands on his hips, grinning as he sprinted back to his goal.





The crazy part about the game was that it just kept happening.  The other team would come down like waves on the seashore, leaving no one back, and letting Judah and one other little flying redhead take away the ball and dribble down for chance...

after chance...

after chance. He ended up scoring 6 times in a 7-2 victory. And the look of delight was something to behold. It reminded me, just for a moment, of Eric Liddell's famous quote, later lionized in Chariots of Fire, about why he ran. "I believe that God made me for a purpose, but he made me fast.  When I run, I feel his pleasure."

Whether it's soccer or something else down the road for Judah, I was glad to be there when he first got to turn the jets on and score a goal. Can't wait for next week --if I'm not permanently banned :)

Conversations with Elijah...

(Much like conversations with God, save slightly less linear.. You know, maybe not. You be the judge.)

 Elijah:  Dad!

--I'm right next to you.

Elijah:  Daad!
-- I'm right here.

Elijah:  Daaaaaaaaaad!
--I'M RIGHT HERE, ELIJAH!  WHAT DO YOU WANT?

Elijah (walks away):  You don't have to yell, you know.

*********************************************************************************

Elijah:  Dad, do you want to hear about My Little Ponies and their special Rainbow Sparkle abilities?
--Um, no.

Elijah:  Good.  So there was this one time when .......  (continues for two minutes; honestly, I can't deal with sparkle ponies, sorry.)  Dad, isn't that exciting?
-- Um, Dad doesn't appreciate the show as much as you do .

Elijah:  Its ok. When I finish telling you this story, you will. So when Rainbow Dash met her best friend....


********************************************************************************

Elijah (approaches with a twinkle in his eye): Dad, I think that I have found a way to trick you that you will never see coming.
--Ok.

Elijah:  I --well, just wait a minute.  (writes down four or five addition problems).  All right.  You have one minute to do these  or --
--Or what?  I love a good challenge.

Elijah:  I haven't thought of it yet.  On your mark, get set, go!
-- (2.2 seconds later) Done!

Elijah:  (Thoughtfully look over the paper, nods)  Well, that was disaappointing.
Rachel:  You know, Elijah, I have a secret for you.  Your dad is really good at math in his head.  You might want to try something a little different to stump him.

Elijah:  I have it.  (Scribbles furiously) I bet he hasn't learned subtraction!

********************************************************************************


** I have to note on this last one...  a dear friend gave him a Yoda sweatshirt for his birthday. He refuses to wear it as a jacket and instead has relegated to the toy bin, calling it a costume.  He wears it pretty much exclusively to scare Jael.  However, he was wearing it today because, lo and behold, yesterday at Target he and Judah were so impressively obedient they picked lightsabers as a reward.  He knows NOTHING about Star Wars but did somehow remember that his Yoda sweatshirt and the lightsabers were somehow related.  Thus, during this conversation he was wearing his Yoda sweatshirt brandishing a lightsaber.  Just thought it would add to the ambiance.  **


Elijah:  So what hurts more, a lightsaber or a sword?
--Well, one's not real.

Elijah:  I know.  Answer the question.
-- Well, if a lightsaber were real, I think it would hurt more.  It would probably cut you in half?

Elijah:  Would it cut Judah in half?  He's really tough.
Judah (wanders in): No. it wouldn't.

Elijah (grabs lightsaber): Let's find out.  Judah, grab a real sword.
-- And besides, I don't think Yoda's allowed to use a lighsaber.  He moves things with his mind.

Elijah (keeping in mind that he has Yoda's face on): Who's Yoda?

**********************************************************************

Top Ten Alert: Epic Battles

Because life is too short to be snarky and think deep thoughts all the time, I present this quick -hitter.  While I wouldn't trade our life, every once in awhile (okay, every waking hour) I look up and think, "Did we really just fight about that?"

Sadly, the answer is always yes.  Without further ado... and with varied combatants, the top ten battles waged daily in our own little MMA cage known as the living room!

10.  Elijah vs Aryel ...  'Oh, you were peacefully sitting here chewing on something?  Oh, you didn't want to be the lucky recipient of another 'Aryel goes to Boston' ride?"
Winner: Elijah. Always.

9. Jael vs Aryel, round 1:  Anytime Aryel has a toy. ANYTIME.
Winner: Jael. 100%.

8. Elijah vs. Rachel -- this one happens three times a day (well, really just once, but it could happen three times a day ... 'Elijah, come get dinner.'  MOM!  Can't you see I am TOO BUSY PLAYING WITH LEGOS?  (Followed by everyone's favorite that somehow did not make the list -- ten minutes of Elijah screaming on the steps that he was unjustly railroaded and that he didn't deserve the discipline.. classic.
Winner: people who like noise at rock concert levels.  Loser: anyone else (including neighborhood animals)

7. Jael vs. Aryel, round 2:  'I might have lost round 1 (see above), but, big sister, you have such long luxurious hair..."
Winner: no one.  Loser: Jael's hair -- or what she has left after Aryel yanks half of it out.

6. Rachel vs. me -- we're good at improvisational sparring.  I'm good at starting fights, and she's good at finishing them.
Winner: Rachel

5. Judah vs. Jael: The mirror image of Jael vs. Aryel.   Judah is minding his own business on the heater when Jael comes in hips and elbows flying. If you have ever seen Legend of Drunken Master (one of my favorite Jackie Chan movies), that's approximately her style.  Judah never knows whether he should just kill her on the spot or try and talk things out, so you are treated to the odd sight of him retreating while screaming in her face, "BAD ACTION, JAEL!  BAD ACTION"
Winner: comedy routines worldwide

4. Jael vs. Aryel, final round: Jael walks by and sees that he is in a good mood --unacceptable. She clocks him on the head, to which he responds with a scream so shrill that our kitchen window shatters (ok fine, that wasn't really how it happened-- the kitchen window, that is).  The fight was real.
Winner: split decision.  More to come tomorrow, I'm sure.

3. Rachel vs. Aryel -- less of a true fight and more of an endurance contest, this battle lasts all night.  (No, really, all night -- Aryel is our best baby and worst sleeper).
Winner: Aryel -- I guarantee Rachel doesn't look like this when she wakes up after a night with him.

2. Elijah vs. Judah.  These can be pretty epic, generally involving Legos fighting and devolving into people fighting -- today's included two dragons so evil that neither one of them could be anything less than the Lord of Darkness. You can see where this gets headed.
Winner : depends on whether the fight is at striking distance (karate master Elijah) or at close range (even I won't fight Judah at close range).

1.  Jael vs. Daddy: Truly epic, these duels most often occur at the boys bedtime. It features multi-round action in which Jael is repeatedly disciplined using a variety of techniques, but generally still manages to climb their ladders, holler through our silent times, and sing her own song right over ours. She is generally hauled downstairs for the prayer, but at this point, can climb stairs so fast the advantage is negligible.  I have not yet worked up the courage to a) build a timeout cage; or b) lock her in the basement.  Both seem a little Dickensian.  In the meantime, I have this little face in my nightmares.

WINNER: My nightmares.  It's a pretty cute face, even if it is in trouble approximately 80% of its waking moments. (I'm pretty sure she put herself in timeout right after we unwedged her from the Bumbo in the photo below.)

\

So if you ever think, 'I need a little more excitement in my life, feel free to borrow some of ours. 

(Or you could just keep it -- frankly, we don't really need it back.)  Until next time... 

Sometimes, a good parenting day...

. is making all the kids cry at once!

(Jael isn't crying above, but nobody takes stock photos of their kids crying to have on hand when needed for blogposts!  Someone should think of these things!)

So while it isn't exactly my life's dream to make EVERYBODY cry, sometimes it just happens.  Rachel had gone out for some much-needed time with other ladies at a book party, which makes me jealous because if I wasn't such an introvert, I totally would have invited myself.  (Heard the joke about the introvert who threw a party... all his guests stayed in their room and thought quietly is his honor?  But I digress)

Anyhow, Rachel was gone and I had all four for the night.  Now I would like it stated for the record that I am a pro, and the children do  not scare me :) .  However, as I commented to the lady at the grocery store on Sunday when she said, "You're running those three like a well-oiled machine...", to which my reply was, "ah, but I don't have the baby.  With kids, easy is one less than you actually have,"

I was right.  Three - easy.  Four - not so much.  When we have five (we're  not having five,) four would be easy. (see below for three being easy)

Right now, however, it looks more like this -- "ALL RIGHT, EVERYONE, time for bed."  (Two go  

upstairs, one starts running for the downstairs Legos with a smirk on her little face.  Corral her to find that the toothpaste wars have begun... think Star Wars lightsaber toothbrushes.)

"ALL RIGHT, STOP IT!  Judah, in bed. Elijah, in bed. Jael, stop climbing the ladder to Elijah's bed.  Aryel, keep sitting like an angel. "  (Wait, what!)

"Dad, look!  Jael can climb the whole ladder! " (Indeed.)

"Dad, can we all jump on Elijah's bed now that Jaelster can climb ladders?"

"NO."

"Dad, why are you so mean?" (Remove Jael from ladder, where she is about to teeter off at 4 feet up -- Jael starts caterwauling)

"Dad, you let her back up there now!!!"  (Judah's overdeveloped sense of justice kicks in and he starts screaming at me.)

And so there I was -- in the middle of quiet time, I had Jael screaming that she was a big kid now, Judah defending the right of children to disobey their parents at any time and with no prior notice, Elijah screaming for everyone to be quiet, and Aryel screaming because, let's face it, it sounded like the hounds of hell were coming for us and that's a little bit scary.

What to do?

 I decided it was time to pull out my 'valuable life lessons' hat, because -- frankly-- the  baying was beginning to affect me and I couldn't remember my own name at this point, and no matter how far away I drop Jael off in the house, she comes bouncing back like a bad check.

"KIDS," I said to the older two, "there will be times when everyone around you will be making terrible noise (I resisted the urge to quote them Rudyard Kipling's  poem If), and it's especially important then that you listen.  Remember the parable of the Good Shepherd?

"YES, DAD, WE KNOW.  THE SHEEP KNOW HIS VOICE!"

And that was that -- we prayed our goodnight prayers amidst the "howling mad hullabaloo" (bonus points if you know what book that's a quote from) and went to bed.  

Glory hallelujah! (Aryel thought so too)

Like Jack Nicholson in the Shining...

"We're back!" (and about as scary).  I had all sorts of big heavy thoughts over an amazing Easter and Lenten season, but realized that's no way to reintroduce yourself.    The inner voice in my head is already saying, "Don't be that guy at the party when someone walks by and says, 'How are you?' and your response is, ' Well, could be better.  My cat just died and my girlfriend left me because apparently she was only in the relationship for the cat and the cat videos she could subsequently post on Facebook..." only to realize that the person has already walked away while you were being Eeyore.  No Eeyores here.

Just these madmen....




and this insane group ...






with a tiny little bit of this going on on Sunday morning trips to Market Basket.

Oh, and Jael is our first to really have TERRIBLE twos -- she was sashaying by the bishop in church today and I heard Fr. Ray say to the bishop, "There goes our little warrior princess. She was the one whose story was being shared on Easter morning" (there will definitely be a post about that at some point when my leaking emotions can CALM THE FREAK DOWN) to which the bishop replied, "I love it!" and I almost turned around and said, "You have no idea, but thank you" because at this point, like any good warrior princess, she has identified the enemy (us/rules of any kind) and  she is taking the fight to us 16 hours a day.  (Available for rental -- little girl with feel -good story and ability, against all odds, to whip harmful projectiles with frightening accuracy... anyone? anyone?)

And we might just be done having kids because after 3 INTENSE children, Aryel seems to have the most happy-go-lucky disposition we could have ever hoped for (here he is in his imaginary recliner)

....UNLESS you try and take his food.  Then he gives you the death stare like this...

Well, that's a re-entry post for you.  

Regular weekly thoughts that will studiously

 avoid any mention of the fact that it's an election year will follow.  Cheers!