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    Tuesday, October 28, 2008

    Chunky in Love

    At the blissful age of four, my son has found true love. Our first hint at his infatuation came one afternoon after preschool when he confessed, “I love CeCe’s hair, but she does not want me to touch it.” We knew there was more to this story, but simply applauded him for exercising restraint.

    Soon Chunky was insisting that we stay late after school so he could play extra with CeCe, who also stays late. As I observed them, I had to wonder if CeCe’s method of entrapping my son wasn’t somewhat similar to how I landed my hubby. Basically, follow him around, do everything he does, chatter a lot, and occasionally attack-hug him out of nowhere. Hey, you don’t mess with a tried and true method.

    Chunky’s crush permeates our lives now. He’s always making plans about what he and CeCe will do when they grow up. These include sharing cupcakes, painting the house green (our house that is, since he intends to live with us even after he weds.) One day, out of the blue, he furrowed his barely-there blond brows and said, “My brother better not ever touch my girlfriend because she DOES NOT LIKE to be touched.” Good words to live by.

    While the adults in the house are constantly hiding giggles at Chunky’s dedication, I must confess I’m a little proud of his kind spirit. He is so selfless in his admiration, even denying his favorite habit—playing with hair. But there’s more. Those of you who know me, know that I avoid the cheese factor at all costs. I’m not overly sentimental, but when your kids do something that causes Heaven to spill into your everyday life, I figure it ought to be shared.

    One day, Chunky and I were sitting together, and he asked me why God made big people. Thinking he was confused about how adults come about, I explained that everybody is born a baby and then grows up.

    “No, no, Mommy. Why did God make people?” he asked.

    I was blown away by his question, but I tried to make my answer coherent for a four-year-old. I told him God made people to bring glory to Him, and that it’s our job to tell other people how great God is.

    Chunky grinned. “I want to tell CeCe how great God is.” He paused and frowned, “But I don’t know where she lives.”

    Oh! Heart squeezing! Eyes misting! Mommy pride soaring off the charts! I know, it’s sappy, but how could I not brag about my extaordinary little guy who will one day make a fantastic husband—even if he does move back in with mom and dad and paint the house green.

    Monday, October 20, 2008

    And Now it's Time...

    ...for another Mild-Mannered Missionary Moment with Mary. For those of you who are just joining us, this post is one of a series on my friend Mary, who suffered a judgment lapse one day and agreed to let me tell snippets of her adventurous life. So, here we go:

    I’ve had some good suggestions about my pajama predicament, but I have to hand the Golden Toothbrush of Originality to Mild-Mannered Missionary Mary. When she heard about the sad state of my non-sexy winter nightwear, MMM Mary recommended a cozy sweat suit with tantalizing lingerie sewn onto the appropriate areas. I thought this was a great idea since those undergarments are bound to look better on a sweat shirt and pants than they ever would on my actual person.

    Perhaps a few of you out there are surprised that Mild-Mannered Missionary Mary was the one to suggest this alluring pajama compromise. Maybe now is a good time to make it clear that Mary’s title is meant to be ironic. Think Clark Kent to Superman.

    But now that family life has Mary wearing her meek disguise more often, she’s discovered an interesting way to keep things spicy with Bill, the other half of the dynamic missionary duo.

    When Bill heads off on a dangerous mission, Mary likes to pack a little something in his hero gear so that he knows she’s thinking of him. Now this sentiment has backfired once or twice. Like the time Bill set off the metal detector in the airport and had to empty his pockets. Imagine his surprise when he discovered Mary’s underwire in his trench coat pocket. Or the time a mishap sent luggage tumbling from the overhead compartment. Out fell a leopard print item of clothing that had other passengers raising their brows.

    I guess it’s the thought that counts. And MMM Mary certainly is thoughtful. In fact, after this post, I bet she’ll be putting a lot of thought into whether or not she should revoke my exclusive reporter privileges. I hope she doesn’t because I think it’s important that the world know the truth behind the fa├žade. Mary may look like an ordinary housewife, but underneath it all is . . . leopard skin tights?

    This Just In! Apparently MMM Mary and her globe-traveling husband (whom we call Bill) were once caught in a clinch at Tom Sawyer's Island in Disneyland. Never fear. Your intrepid reporter will get the scoop. Tune in next time for "Romantic Trysts: Superhero Style."

    Wednesday, October 8, 2008

    Discovery Channel Pajamas

    The nights are getting nippy here in Colorado. My husband has an alternative pronunciation of that word. No doubt yours does too, but we’ll leave them to their illusions of suggestive originality, shall we?

    The other day I crawled in bed to watch last year's tragically abbreviated season of Heroes with hubby. Only a moment passed before I was up again, pulling a second pajama shirt over my head and digging around in the sock drawer for some woolies.

    My husband groaned. In typical caring wife fashioned, I grumbled, “What’s your problem?”

    Kory responded with his best Discovery channel narrator voice. “The cold winter months have come at last, and the female of the species begins the laborious task of fashioning her thick winter coat.”

    I warned him immediately that there would be no mention of accumulating an extra layer of blubber for the harsher temperatures, but British voice-over guy continued.

    “The male of the herd finds himself increasingly isolated by the female as she prepares to weather the winter months. In frustration, he seeks other forms of entertainment, smacking his antlers into trees, destroying small woodland creatures, and challenging other males to pointless competitions for superiority.”

    I griped something about the poor female having to corral the young bucks while the dominant male showed off his prowess in senseless masculine pursuits and then we laughed and moved on to our show. (Does anyone else think the Indian professor on Heroes is yummy? Dunk that guy in curry and give me some naan!)

    Anyway, it seems that I now have the challenge before me of finding some, I don’t know, less-than-thermal winter night wear. Here’s the problem, you go to the store and you have two choices—slinky, skimpy, and shivery, or thick, toasty, and hideous. Yes, my winter pajamas could be mistaken for men’s. They’re plaid, shapeless, and, oh, so warm. It’s a dilemma. A real dilemma. But as long as I’m not adding yet another layer of insulating fat, I don’t think DH has any grounds for complaint. And if he does, well, surely there's a rabbit around to serve as a football.

    Wednesday, October 1, 2008

    If the Bowl Fits

    Chunky has always been a creative little soul. Unlike his logical older brother, he views the world with emotional framework, abstract connections, and sometimes downright weird ideas. Yesterday, he chose to bestow his particular genius on his unsuspecting grandmother.

    Kory and I had gone to a parent/teacher conference, leaving the boys with my mom. She was sitting in the living room when she noted Chunky making a little fort between the end of the couch and the wall. As making forts is by no means an unusual activity for a four-year-old, she didn’t think anything of it.

    But when Chunky trudged into the kitchen, rifled through the Tupperware drawer, and returned to his fort with a small plastic bowl, my mom’s interest flared.

    “What are you doing?” she asked my son.

    “Nothing,” he responded quickly and ducked into his fort.

    He emerged shortly thereafter with rumpled clothes and scurried back into the kitchen. Again he passed my mom on the way back to his tent. This time with a slightly bigger plastic container.

    "What are you doing?" she asked again.

    "Nothing."

    He burrowed back into his fort only to reappear within moments, shorts oddly askew. He secured a larger container and traipsed back to his hideout.

    “You need another bowl?” Mom asked.

    "The others were too little."

    "Too little for what?"

    “Nothing.” He disappeared once again.

    Mom couldn’t stand it. She tiptoed across the room and peeked over the edge of the sofa. There was Chunky, britches down, sitting on a Tupperware bowl. Mom bit back a chuckle.

    “What are you doing?”

    Chunky, clearly wondering what there was to question about the situation, merely raised his eyebrows and grinned.

    “Would your mommy want you to do that?” Mom asked, struggling to keep her face straight.

    Chunky shook his head ‘no.’

    “Let’s go to the potty,” Mom suggested.

    Chunky tried to stand up, but his little cheeks were stuck in the container. Mom had to de-Tupperware his backside, get him to the bathroom, and put all his makeshift toities in the sink without howling with laughter. If she’d lost her cool, Monkey would have gleefully joined the debacle.

    Now, if you’re like us, you’re asking “Why?” Well, I’m here to tell you, sometimes there is no why. There’s just a new idea and the fortitude to put it into action and stay the course, even if the first few bowls you get are too small to contain your vision.
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