Here’s a couple of weeks’ worth of compiled kid-stories. I’m not even going to find photos to add, because that’s what turns five minutes’ worth of blogging into an hour’s worth, and I still want to have time to read a book tonight.
Oh, but before the kid stories, here’s the best thing I’ve heard this week. This came from a a friend of my friend Stacey. Stacey’s friend had just had a baby, and someone asked her what it was like to have her fourth child. She answered, “It’s like this. Imagine you’re drowning–and someone throws you a fourth child.”
(Stacey, by the way, has NINE kids. Like those big Mormon families of yesteryear. Stacey has a lot of wisdom about how it’s almost impossible to raise nine children.)
So, back to the stories about my impossible-but-also-impossibly-cute five kids. (Maybe only three of the five kids are actually featured below–but don’t discourage me with your math and logic, or nothing will ever make it out of my drafts folder.)
Hazel pointed to a potato-chip delivery truck and said, “Look, Mom!”
“Yup. It’s a big truck.”
“It’s a garbage truck!”
“Oh. Yeah, I guess so.”
Hazel has become exceedingly verbal. (She’ll be three in February.) The other day she asked Mabel if she would “come over into this area.” And her current favorite expression is, “You know what I mean?” which she asks after almost every sentence.
The other day a couple of my brothers and my sister-in-law came over to watch Isaac and Dean play Skyward Sword (the new Wii Legend of Zelda game, don’t you know) and when it was time for the kids to go to bed, Hazel said our family prayer, with Dean coaching her. When Dean said, “And we’re thankful that Andy and Christina and Spencer are here,” Hazel said, “Yes.”
Some months ago, when I asked the kids to cull their stuffed animals, they wanted to get rid of a soft, cute, Eeyore, and I wouldn’t let them. (In fact, that was a largely unsuccessful cull; it turns out we do such good selection in the first place that everything’s too adorable to part with. It’s not at all that we’re hoarders. We’re collectors. Which is completely different–don’t you know?)
But now the kids have been watching the latest version of Winnie the Pooh almost every day, and suddenly Eeyore has acquired a high status. A little kangaroo has been assigned the role of Roo. And Henry wants me to make a red shirt for his favorite teddy bear. The bear is dark brown, but I guess Henry feels that if only he has the right wardrobe, Bear will make a convincing Winnie the Pooh.
Hazel was playing with some pages she tore from a small notepad. The papers have a small floral border and a monogram in a circle. (It’s an “M,” so the notepad must be Mabel’s. Sorry, Mabel.) Hazel tried to hand some of the pages to me, saying, “You want some hundreds of dollars?”
“Yes, I would love hundreds of dollars.”
“Here’s some hundreds of dollars for you.”
Seeing the brand name on the scrapbook paper she was using, Rose said, “Provo! Does that mean this is from Provo? Provo. Provo.”
“Well, the company is Provo Craft.”
“So it comes from Provo?”
“Well, yes, Provo Craft started in Provo. So I guess it comes from there.”
“Provo Craft! I like the sound of that.”
Rain was pattering against the window. In a grating voice, Hazel screeched, “I’m scared of the rain!”
I said, “You’re scared of the rain? It’s okay, you don’t need to be scared.”
In the same screechy voice, she answered, “I WANT to be scared!”