Oh no, allow me.

Ingrid is so pleased that Daddy rearranged the pantry for her so she can now reach the canned goods. I mean, how seriously thoughtful of him. Sometimes parents just surprise you with their thoughtfulness.

So appreciative she is that she even decides to lend her own input from time to time on where these cans should be placed. Its just her way of showing appreciation.

Ingrid, realizing that this discovery could go either way,

quickly pulls out the smile that ensures it will go "her way".

(When I caught Ingrid in this activity, she shot me the "deer in the headlights look" you see above, then she broke out into her adorable smile, and began industriously piling the scattered cans back onto the pantry shelves, telling herself "good girl" all the while. I love her.)

Family Night

"Beautiful"

(I actually composed this post about 6 months ago, but got side-tracked and never finished it. I just came across it among my drafts and decided to finish and post it, even though its old.)

I have a 30-second rule about running water in our hall bathroom. If I hear it for any longer than that amount of time, I have to drag myself over to investigate. Handwashing is not a simple activity, you understand. It is so easy to become side-tracked. I'm sure we've all experienced the urge to fill the sink with suds to make squishy hand noises with, or give our plastic fruit a bath, or draw dirty soap-circles on the mirror with our fingers.

But Theia is obviously beginning to understand that the bathroom sink is mainly for hygenic purposes. This was demonstrated on my most recent trip to the bathroom when the 30-second rule was broken. I rounded the corner to be greeted with, "I'm just makin' my hair beautiful, Mom".

And isn't it... ...beautiful?

Its beginning to look a lot like Christmas...

...everywhere you go.

Theia on Theology

I was cleaning up our back yard when Theia came out and stood on the back patio with a thoughtful expression on her face. I was placing the sand buckets on the girl's picnic table when she asked me, "Mama, are we gonna go to God's house soon?". I answered something to the effect of, I didn't know exactly when we would go, but that it would be wonderful, much better even than where we live now, and, best of all, we would be able to be with God all the time and see Him, instead of just knowing He is with us. She pondered this for a moment, then cocked her head to one side and said seriously, "I think I might be a little bit shy of God."

I love moments like that.

I told her we don't have to be shy of God. He wants us to know Him really, really well.

Froggimus Optimus

I have a new task master in my kitchen. Well, not IN my kitchen, but on the windowsill above my kitchen sink. This solemn fellow joins me just about every night while I wash the dinner dishes. He fixes me with his unblinking gaze and I just know what he'll think of me if I don't load the dishwasher before going to bed.

I'm pretty sure he has strong opinions about the condition of my screens and window tracks too.

Last night, after withering under his reproachful gaze for long enough, I pulled out the camera to see if it would faze him. He pretended not to notice at first, but after being flashed one time too many, he shot me a look of utter contempt, and hopped disdainfully back into the bushes.

The Sounds of Sickness

Theia: "My frope hurts." "I need to frop." "I'm gonna go frop in the toilet because I don't want any frop to get in my bed." "{wailing, completely mortified} I wetted in my b-e-e-e-e-d!" (we heard that two nights in a row before reverting back to nighttime diapers until she's completely over this) "That toast won't help my frope. I need some candy for my frope." And, most recently, since jealousy is setting in because her younger sisters are now sicker than she is: "My fever hurts." and, "I think I have a sore frope, I need some mestidin too."

Eliza: "I want a drink of water!" "No, I don't WANT a drink of water!" "I want my covers on!" "{kicking} No, I don't WANT my covers on!" "Can I have some juice?" "No, I don't WANT my juice!" "Daddy, can you come hold me in my bed?" "Get out of my bed now, Daddy." "Mommy, I want you to hold me." "No, I don't want you to hold me!" "I want you to stand up and hold me." "Don't talk to me, Theia!" "Ingrid's looking at me!" "{tearfully} I'm too sick to eat that."

Theia is very analytical, and into self-diagnosis when she's sick. You can tell when she really doesn't feel well because she becomes painfully polite. Its kind of funny, but pathetic too, how she suddenly remembers her manners when she's sick. She LOVES taking medicine (a little too much), and frequently tells me when she thinks its needed.

Eliza, on the other hand, is equally pathetic, but definitely NOT polite about it. Its kind of good, actually, because I always know how she's feeling. If I give her Motrin for her fever, her behaviour and disposition does a complete 180 so I know its working. Getting the Motrin in is the difficulty though. That girl is a fighter.

And Ingrid is just the most pathetically patient, long-suffering martyr of a sick baby you'll ever see. During her two worst days she just burrowed her little face in mine or Jessie's shoulder most of the day while we went about our business while holding her in one arm. She kept Jessie in bed late yesterday morning because she was sleeping so soundly on his chest for several hours, and she pulled away from me every time I tried to move her.

Thankfully they are all improving, although not completely over it yet. My days have been filled with sprinting across the room at top speed, trying to get to the twin streams trickling down the upper lips of my daughters before they take care of it themselves with the back-of-hand-across-the-cheek (and sometimes all the way up to the eyebrows) method.