"Of One Mind"

When you talk about being "of the same mind" or being "of one mind", what you mean is that you are in agreement with someone else... unless you know my oldest son and my daughter, cause then you're talking about them.

We have said from day one that my daughter has the nastiest bits of each of her older brothers in her (plus a few of her own). That's not to say that she is evil personified; she obviously has many good qualities, it's just that when it comes to the negatives, she happens to possess a healthy combination of each of my older boys. Needless to say, this makes her a bit more of a challenge in some ways (depending on what kind of spin, if any, she decides to put on the learned behaviour), and in others, a little easier to manage (having gone done that path previously).

Of the three older kids, Faith (the youngest of the 3) and Nathanial (the oldest) are becoming more and more alike as they get older. It's a little frightening just how much alike they are, actually. Physically, they are both going to be tall and slim, and they both have the same little faces, and the same big hair. I have often told them that if we grew Nathanial's hair out or cut Faith's off, they would look like identical twins. Their skintone, mannerisms, facial expressions, and yes, even their attitudes are so similar, again, it's frightening.

The joke around here at times is that they are even functioning off the same brain; not the nicest thing to say, I guess, but our reasons for saying this should soon become clear. Here's a good one, for starters; if I ask Nathanial to do something, both he and Faith respond. For example, today at lunch I told Nathanial to clear his plate from the table and go play, and as though physically attached at the hip, both he and Faith got up--at the same time, nonetheless--cleared their plates and left the room. The other day, I told Faith to go out and get in the car, and once again, they both exited together. I told Faith to change her coat, and Nathanial started to take his off to change it as well, which is interesting, really, as he does not have another coat to wear.

So I'm not really sure what to think of this phenomenon, other than it is a little creepy and somewhat annoying. Here's the kicker: for as much as these two kids are as close to identical in appearance, attitude and behaviour as two kids could be, they can't stand each other. At first I thought it was a combination age and gender thing, but I think there is some truth to the adage that often the things we dislike so much in others are the very things found in our own person.

Water sports

I'm wondering at what point, exactly, the toilet seems to "appear" to a child. It's like the first 18 months of their lives, there is no such thing; then one day, there it is, like they've never seen it before, and with the sudden realization that it exists comes the fascination with putting things in it.

I will never forget my nephew's fascination with putting things in the toilet (thankfully, at almost 13 years of age, he has outgrown that). He loved to put stuff in there, but my two favourites would be the toothbrush belonging to his dad and grandpa's keys, that we thought had taken the plunge (as in their absence and Will's presence, we could only assume the two went hand in hand). Thankfully, the keys were found elsewhere... but not daddy's toothbrush. His dad was not pleased to say the least.

I have managed to thwart a few attempts to dunk stuff in the toilet, but Sam's much loved monkey has bathed in the tush tub a couple of times, and a few other smaller things. I thought we had moved on, but he proved me wrong this week. Apparently a lot of bodies in the house plus too few baby gates equals Sam playing in the toilet. And in a matter of days, we went from throwing bath toys in the toilet, to face cloths, a toy broom, a toilet paper roll, and then, Sam himself, up to the elbow. Actually, his pants, socks and shirt were ALL soaking wet by the time we found him, blissfully oblivious to the fact that he was doing something just terribly, horribly gross. I mean, really, that's got to be at least 10 times worse than nose picking or the "I have to pee" grab.

I am not sure, other than keeping my bathroom doors closed all the time and (consequently) listening to "(knock knock) Is anyone in there?" all day long, how exactly to stop the fun and games associated with the toilet. I guess that's all I can do at this point, because when I try to tell him 'no', and 'yucky', he smiles and hugs me (with his yucky toilet hands), and by the time I have him all bathed (in the actual tub), dried and dressed, all is forgiven and forgotten. Maybe by the time they're 2 the fascination wears off? Here's hoping!

Sammy's prayers

From the day I found out I was actually pregnant, I prayed for Sammy... all day, all night. After having one miscarriage 5 years earlier and not since then, I was terrified that I would lose this baby, too. I mean, we always knew it would have to totally be of God if it was going to happen, as we were having no success in our attempts, and the doctor all but told me I was an idiot for not trying at the right time (which, by the way, is really hard to calculate if things don't happen at the same time every month, if you know what I mean). So you would think that, after the initial, overwhelming shock of finding out I was actually pregnant had worn off, that I would have been able to rest in the peace of knowing that this pregnancy was being overseen by the Great Overseer, that the One Who made this hope a reality would see it through to its end. But Satan is a great one for figuring out our weaknesses and fears, and then working on them like a finely crafted tool until the weaknesses are overpowering, and the fears eat away at all we know to be right and true.

And so I prayed. Constantly. And I swore that I would pray for him/with him everyday after he was born, as well. So far, so good. Every night as I hold my Sammy before bed, we pray for our family and friends, for God's blessings, forgiveness for mistakes made throughout our day, request for a fresh day/new start tomorrow, for full and settled tummies, good dreams, heavy eyes full of sleep, and for God and the angels to sit around the beds of each child in our home. As he's gotten older--he's 19 months old now--he has become quite enamored with the whole bedtime routine, but the prayer time appears to be his favourite part. He likes to pray himself, now.

If we ask Sammy to pray at dinner time, he bows his little blonde curly head, puts his fat little hands up over his eyes, and in his own jibber jabber, says his prayers to God. Very sweet. He enjoys saying grace, and likes to watch us say ours, very fascinated by what we're doing. But it's the bedtime prayers that just give that extra little tug at your heart.

My husband put Sam to bed the other night. Richard told Sam it was time for bed and Sam immediately took off for the stairs--going down, to the living room; wrong direction! We thought he was trying to make a run for it, but a few minutes later he emerged at the top of the stairs with his favourite blue monkey tucked under his arm (he sleeps with this one every day), and ran right to his room, all ready for the next bit. After ensuring that all monkeys and bears were accounted for and tucked in their proper spots in the crib, Richard picked Sam up to pray with him, but asked Sam if he wanted to pray first. And so it began, head bowed, hands over his eyes, the sweet jabbering of a little one too young to say much of anything beyond "oh", "wow" and "down"...anything we understand, anyhow. But something tells me he's saying something.

Richard is not one to be too emotional about anything, but he was very touched by this. We talked about how cute it is, and how we kind of chuckle to ourselves at how pleased he is with himself; but we are both sure (as corny as it may sound) that Sam was praying... and God understood him. I'd love to know the prayers of these little ones, whose hearts speak more deeply to the heart of God than any words we could utter.