Up Too Late & Being Available

Some people are just so thoroughly enjoyable. But they're bad for you, because you end up laughing and talking until almost one thirty in the morning...

Wait a minute! Since when is laughing til the wee hours of the night bad for you? There are much worse ways to spend an evening, definitely. And so, it's quite late and I've told Melissa everything I had to say- so right now nothing sounds quite fresh enough to blog. And I'm tired.

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The boys were wonderful tonight. I coached the boys ahead of time that they can come to me ANY time they need me. The pre-arranged child-care had me a little anxious, knowing it would be somebody from the church (and the church is big on letting little ones cry it out rather than "disturb" Mommy by coming to get her. I find it more disturbing to think my children were denied access to me, so my children stay with me.) But this was at a private home and they would be within earshot. Plus, I taught them a pre-arranged sentence to utter if anyone tried to stop them from coming to get me. It was based on James' question, "But Mom, what if they say you're busy?" Repeat after me:

"My Mama is never too busy for me. She said I can go to her any time I need her. Please move."

They both had it memorized before we got to the house. We all felt better when we arrived.

Smidge came in and out pretty regularly, as toddlers will do. That's what they do. They wander off to be independent for a while, then come tank up on Mama Lovin's, and they're off again. I don't believe in interfering with that. That's what I'm here for, and that's what the toddler needs: a home base from which to launch his explorations of the world around him. I could tell it really bothered the sitter, who usually came into the room hot on Smidge's heels with an apologetic look on his face. I'd swoop Smidge up onto my lap and he'd nestle in for a minute or two, then give me a beso and trot off to the next adventure. No fussing. No crying. No disturbance of the dialogue among adults. Nobody rolled their eyes. The other toddlers, however, tried a similar route and were turned back by their parents every time. This inevitably disrupted the study, the calm, and the toddlers. Apologies all around by the harried parents, tense smiles from the other participants.

Near the end of the study, I did hear an adamant little voice telling the teenager in charge, "My Mama said she is never too busy for me!" I smiled. And retrieved my sullen, yet determined four-year old. He came and sat quietly while we prayed, then kissed my cheek, signed "I love you" and ran off to play again.

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On the way home after picking up Zorak from the hangar, James asked, "Mom, who is my uncle's uncle's uncle's uncle's uncle's uncle's uncle's uncle's uncle's wife?" So I did the math and added all the great's in there and gave him an answer. "Oh," he said. He was quiet for a minute and then we heard, "What's her name?"

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The two younger boys were unaware of the world by the time we got home. We loaded them in their beds, and hung out with James for a bit, eating in the living room, discussing rocks and other fun six-year old stuff. They were just finishing off the peas when Zorak brought up the peas poem (You know, I eat my peas with honey/ I've done so all my life...) James remembered it and thought it was ok. But then Zorak made up a new poem:

I eat my peas with glue
I've done it since I was four
It makes them hard to chew
But it keeps them on the door

I don't know where he comes up with these things, but it had James in stitches and when he finally caught his breath, he said, "Dad, you really need to write that down." And here it is.

I'll see y'all in the morning!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy