Saturday, January 28, 2017

Two Weddings and an Apartment

"Hey, Momma," Middle asked as she strode purposefully into the living room this morning, "can Oldest and I use this box, since she emptied it out?"

I tend to greet such requests with suspicion, because they usually result in vague answers of I don't know which almost always spell trouble with a capital T.

"What are you going to use it for?"

"A house for a married couple."

Say what?

"A house for a married couple?"

"Yeah, Oldest's stuffed animals."

"Which stuffed animals are married?"

"They're not married yet. They're getting married today, and they need their own house."

And then I remembered the animated soliloquy Middle had given to me about this, about how Duckie was going to be the best man, and Duckie's alter egos would fill other roles.

Which Middle was explaining. Again. Short-form, this time.

"One of my ducks is going to be the best man, one is going to be the usher, and one is going to be the priest."

How she came up with priest, I'm not entirely sure, as we're Protestant, and the only weddings we've been to have been officiated by pastors. But I digress.

"Then the rest of my ducks"—and they are legion, let me tell you—"are coming, too, because their family is the best man, and the usher, and the priest."

Okay then.

"Well, this still doesn't tell me which of Oldest's stuffed animals are getting married."

"A bear and a turtle, and a rabbit and a rabbit."

"Two weddings?"

"Yeah! And my ducks are going to be at both."


"Yes, you can use the box."

"I'm gonna go tell Oldest."

And she bounced out of the room.

While I was pondering the blog post this story was about to become, and feeling more than a little amused by it, Middle stopped short in the doorway to the living room on her way upstairs.

"Sad, sad," she announced. "Rabbit/Rabbit broke up, so there's only going to be one wedding."

I nodded with appropriate soberness, and she hardly skipped a beat before continuing up the stairs.

At least I can be assured that we now won't have a bunch of little tiny stuffed rabbits bouncing around the house any time soon. *chuckle*

Thursday, January 26, 2017


When we got home from church last night, it was well past the kids' normal bedtime. As we walked into the kitchen, Hubby announced to the girls their time limit for getting ready for bed.

Now, before you freak out about the short amount of time that I'm about to quote Hubby as giving them, you need to understand that, despite threats and hovering and timing and almost everything, getting ready for bed has become a process for them that takes about three times as long as it should. And that's on a good night. So, we've started to get creative...

"All right, you have six minutes to get ready for bed, or I'm going to make you write out the entire book of Hezekiah!" Hubby proclaimed. "And it's a long one!"

Three heads swiveled in my direction, and I nodded as soberly as I could.

The girls dashed upstairs while Hubby and I grinned at each other and muffled snickers.

For my readers who might not be as biblically-savvy as we are, I'll point out that Hezekiah was a king of Judah many, many, many moons ago, not a prophet, and there are no books named after him. But his name sounds impressive enough that it fits right in with Old Testament book names like Jeremiah and Habakkuk and Zechariah.


Middle came downstairs a few minutes later, to get some of her medication that she often takes at bedtime. As she mixed it up, the Inquisitor popped out.

"Mom? Have you read through the whole Bible?"

"Yes, I have."

"Have you read it through twice?"

"I don't know that I've read every book twice. Some I've read more than others. I've read the book of Isaiah a lot. I love Isaiah."

"What about Hezekiah? Have you read that?"

Great. I'm going to have to lie here.

"Yeah, I have." I swallowed my smirk.

Middle reached for her Bible, on the kitchen island. "Maybe I can find it tonight!"

"No! We don't have time for that tonight. You have to go to bed."

Middle looked momentarily crestfallen, and then she brightened up. "I'll look for it tomorrow morning. Maybe I can find a verse to put in my S.O.A.P. journal!"

Now I really had to stop myself from laughing. "Go to bed."

She gave me a hug. "G'night, Momma."

As she scampered up the stairs, I wandered into the den, where Hubby had settled in on the couch and was watching something on Netflix.

"I just had to lie to our daughter."


I related our conversation, and he chuckled.

Middle is our elephant-memory child, so if anyone was going to remember to look for Hezekiah in the Bible the next morning, it would be her.

"So," I said, "you might want to get up in the morning just to see if she remembers."

As it turned out, she didn't say anything about Hezekiah this morning. I'm kind of surprised.

And a little disappointed.

The reaction would have been priceless.