Father's Day

I should have written this post yesterday, but I was too busy orchestrating a happy father's day for my very dear and very deserving husband.

In the morning, Miss Bee was so excited to help prepare coffee and breakfast in bed for her father. After a round of Sesame street, breakfast for the rest of the family, quick jogs through the neighborhood, we all headed off to church.

By that time we arrived at church, Ms. Cheeks was feeling her fiesty side, which meant for an eventful service. In the span of an hour she did the following: demanded to be held upside down, and yes it is possible for a barely verbal child to demand that; ran wildly toward the font of holy water, probably for a swim; made strange noises during the songs, the kind where you take your pointer finger and flick it across your lips, which caused the entire row in front of us to turn around and laugh; and raised such a ruckus that she had to be carried out to the narthex on not one but four separate occasions.

At the end of the mass, the priest asked all the fathers to stand for a special blessing. Dear Husband was not among the honored group, as he was outside wrangling Ms. Cheeks.

We were all exhausted after church and fed the kiddies lunch and they all went to nap. Later on we gardened, and barbequed and simply enjoyed playing with the little ones and spending a nice quiet evening with family.

Oh man

So, where did those past two weeks go?

**crickets**

We put the kiddies to bed tonight right after dinner. I came down stairs and my mother said, "You know it's only 6:55 pm right?"

Whoops.

(An extra early bedtime once in a while won't hurt them, but I think Dear Husband and I were the ones in the need of a break.)

When will I stop dreaming about answering work emails? The problem with catching up on work while sleeping is that you have to do the same darn ones over again when you're awake. They just don't transmit so well.

Thank goodness for weekends:

hangi

We were invited to a hangi today and it was a really neat experience.

If you think the Texans are adventurous with pit cooked barbeque brisket, well, they have nothing on the Maori.

A New Zealand tradition, a hangi involves digging a very large pit, lighting a fire and heating stones and then using those hot stones and steam to cook a whole lotta food underground. Pork, lamb, chicken, cabbage, potatoes, the whole bit.

After quite a few hours underground, the hangi is dug up and out comes deliciously tender and flavorful meat and vegetables.

Miss Bee's eyes were the size of saucers as she watched the men dig up her lunch. She dug in happily to her plate a short while later, though.

Today made me realize just how much I love picnics and that we need to have more of them this summer.

it really does take a village

It's going to be really hard to move overseas again in a few years. As in, really, really hard.

Just today--

--Seeing my parents in the morning when we park in front of their house to walk to the metro. Cheeks McGoo poured water all over herself in the car, so we run inside my parents' house for a quick change. Cause my Mom has an extra outfit at the ready for just that contingency.

--Exchanging emails with my dear mother in law over my lunch break. She sends me interesting articles to read; I comment.

--My Father-in-law picking up Miss Bee for their Thursday afternoon adventure, spent with Bee's cousin and uncle. This week's activity--baking brownies (with chocolate frosting and walnuts) and then sending a plate of them home to me.

--Eating Carolina barbeque for dinner, brought up from that wonderful southern state by Miss Bee's godparents (who live next door to my parents).

--After dinner, watching my Mom push Miss Cheeks on the swing where I spent many a happy summer evening as a child.

--Coming home to find a bag of bread flour in my front door from my grandmother. (I had been complaining that my local store had stopped carrying any kind of bread flour.)

Watching my girls grow close to their relatives is one of the sweetest gifts I have ever received.

There, but for the grace of God

My hands have finally stopped trembling enough to type.

Miss Cheeks fell down the stairs this morning. She pushed on the baby gate at the top of the stairs and it gave way. Riding the gate like a surfboard, Cheeks fell, head first, down six steps, skittering to a stop at the first landing.

When I heard the crash, I ran from the kitchen and Dear Husband ran from the other end of the playroom (he had been steps away when this happened). Cheeks screamed and screamed, but it quickly became apparent that she was crying from fear more than any injury. By the grace of God, she was fine, with the exception of a big bruise on her forehead.

By a strange coincidence, the fall took place 20 minutes before we were supposed to take Bee to the pediatrician, so we loaded both of them up in the wagon and rolled them down the street to their doctor's office (which is only two blocks away). The doctor checked Cheeks over and reassured us that she is fine.

She's napping now, but I cannot help but check on her every few minutes, in order to be reassured by her quiet breathing.

It is truly gut wrenching to think just how easily our little ones can be hurt, whether it's from a fall, or mischief in the medicine cabinet, or a car accident. Despite our best efforts, we cannot hold on to our children every minute. Accidents happen.

This is why I pray.

tuesday bluesday

It's after 9 pm and I'm still in my work clothes. I'm wrung out from a long day at work and two little girls who did not go quietly to bed tonight.

There are gardening gloves on the floor of my living room. I'm not quite sure why, but think that Cheeks deposited them there earlier in the evening. The washing machine is full of wet clothes that need to be switched to the dryer.

The gloves can stay where they are. The laundry will wait.

I have been hiding out on my little balcony, watching the very last rays of sun slip below the horizon. Swatting away the first mosquitoes of the season. Watching the cars drive down my street, their headlights ribbons of light on the pavement. Just doing nothing for a little while. A little nothing is some of the best medicine.

Appalled. . .with two Ps

My mother experienced quite a shock when she picked up Miss Bee from daycare last Friday. As they were about to leave, Bee said, "Wait, Mimi, wait! I forgot my billy club."

"Billy club?"

And indeed it was.

Miss Bee's special project of the week was to make a police baton/night stick/people whacker. And she had learned, as part of her unit just what police officers do with those batons.

"They hit people!"

I'm all for learning about community helpers, but hand painting carefully cut and glued paper towel rolls with multiple layers of black paint to make an authentic looking billy club, well, that's just going a bit too far. What's next, paper mache handguns?

And plus, if you're a four and a half year old with a little sister who gets on your nerves periodically, what would you do with a pretend billy club? Whack your sister, of course.

I know that as my children grow up, the world will rush in the the force of an ocean wave, washing away the sandcastles and fairy lands of childhood. But for a little while yet, I will be standing in front of that wave, diverting the water as best I can with my hands and feet and buckets. These early years are supposed to be the magical ones. Billy clubs have no place in my kingdom.