#9 had grown up enough to realize the effectiveness of speech. Like an effective politician, it took little time before he transferred from screaming and pointing, to pointing and demanding. “I aww… miwk!” Of course like some politicians, his oratory skills still have a long way to go.
The time had come. The chains had to be broken. The cycle had to stop. New rules had to be set in motion. For man does not live on bread alone. (Dramatic enough?)
It was time to wean #8 from his bottle. Continue reading
Ever since #10 joined our club, I have had a little trouble with some of our members. Well, really only two, #8 and #9. It is not that they dislike their little sister or resent their mother. It is a problem of space. They cannot occupy the same space at the same time, despite how hard they push each other.
The time had come for #10 to join the Church’s family. Her baptism was Saturday, and my uncle, who is a priest, performed the Mass and baptized our little girl. The celebration at my grandparent’s ranch followed. Wife had the whole thing planned out, appetizers, drinks, buffet, and dessert. This time, she left nothing to chance. But you can never tell just how things will come together. You see… here, just let me show you. Continue reading
With such a large family, we tend to attract a lot of undesired attention in public. Granted, our flock of children crossing the road will stop traffic like a line of yellow ducklings. But unlike the ducklings, we do not usually get the “oh sooo cute” reaction. I would say the majority of opinions range from flabbergasted, to disapproving. Continue reading
#8 appointed himself my honorary second shadow. When I tramp through the house, or out in the yard, he was not far behind. Because of that, I have started walking very quickly to give myself some space. Continue reading
Working with my little boys fills me with pride. The same kind of pride I feel when a job is done, or when I see American soldiers standing at attention. The pride of something of mine going right. Yet, these boys are as frustrating as containing spilled paint. Continue reading
Artists are an odd bunch. Yes, I realized that was a blanket statement made by one who is not an artist. Someone on the outside, who does not understand their thoughts or feelings. Well, if you had been sitting there at my table, you might have felt the same. Follow me down the rabbit hole and I will show you.
From time to time I am surprised at how deep parental instincts go. I am not speaking of maternal instincts, nor feminine insight. I mean that parental discernment that somehow crosses the genders; the ability to know when a child lies, that sense when you know someone is missing, and the judgment to not kick at the small warm lump at the foot of the bed. So, when I shifted in my sleep and my foot touched a warm body, something told me it was not a pile of blankets.
I received a voicemail from Wife. “Do you know what your daughter did?”
Have you ever noticed that when a child does something wrong, the child ceases to belong to the mother?