Sunday Morning Theology

A conversation overheard this morning:

Mia: Do birds poop?
Grace: Yes.
Mia: Do they pee?
Grace: I think so. Do cows poop?
Mia: That's disgusting! Cows make milk in their butts--they cannot poop in their butts! Ewwww!
Grace: Does Jesus poop?
Mia: Yes.
Grace: Does Jesus have a potty?
Mia: Of course. Does Satan poop?
Grace: No way! Satan doesn't have a body. He can't poop.
Mia: Hehe. Satan can't poop. Nyeh-nyeh, nyeh-nyeh, Satan can't poop. Only Jesus.

I promise, we actually do have genuinely spiritual conversations at times in our house.

The Joys of Family Scripture Study

Okay, here are the REAL reasons I have daily scripture study with the kids:

Waking up to Grace and Mia playing in their room as Grace trills, "Ladies and gentlemen, announcing....the Promised Land!"

Walking down the stairs to hear Grace shrieking at the top of her lungs, "John the Baptist! John the Baptist! Oh yeah! Oh yeah! I LOVE John the Baptist! It's the John-the-Baptist booty dance, mom! Oh yeah!"

Reading Joshua 24:15 with the kids and watching them create their own cheerleading shout, hands together in stack. "Ready, guys? One, two, three--IN OUR HOUSE, WE FOLLOW JESUS!!!"

"Eric, what's your favorite scripture story?" (This is a daily question. The answer is always the same). "Jesus' house! And he throwed the tables!" (Matthew 21: 12-14). It is SO appropriate that this would be Eric's favorite.

Watching Mia gyrate around the front room--"What are you doing, Mia?" "I'm being Jesus." "Um, what is Jesus doing?" "I'm Jesus shaking his booty." I figured, hey--she's seen Him more recently than I have. They probably had a rocking time up there.

Kids + doctrine= never a dull moment for Mommy.

If Only...

Last week I put detachable shoulder pads under a dress I was wearing. Late in the day I got tired of reattaching them so I reached up and slipped them out. Mia's eyes grew huge.

"Mommy! You took your breasts off!"

Yep. Every now and again I just need a break.

The Purpose of Relief Society According to Mia

The other day Mia kept trying to get my attention, complaining that she didn't feel well. It was a hectic day, and I must have been listening with only half an ear because she finally decided it was time to pull in the big guns.

Taking my hands in hers, she said, "Mommy! I've been trying to tell you all day that I don't feel good and you aren't listening! I just really want you to visit teach me!"

I couldn't resist. "What do you want me to do to visit teach you, Mia?" As far as I knew Mia's only exposure to visiting teaching had been the few times she'd gone with me to visit teach her friend Jackson's mommy, so I expected her definition of visiting teaching to involve playing with toys, eating snacks, or some other preschool age pleasure.

With total earnestness she said, "Visit teach means take care of me, say prayers for me, and tell me stories."

Mia was surprised when I picked her up and danced her around the room, singing, "You get it! You really, really get it! Mia, you are a true little Relief Society sister at heart!"

Who'd have thought that a three-year old could distill it down to perfect purity? I love, love, love the visiting teaching program because we get to take care of each other, pray for and with each other, and tell the happy news of the gospel to each other while we share the stories of our lives.

Mia is going to be one heck of an awesome visiting teacher.

The...Nativity Story...or something like that

As the Christmas season approaches, I've been taking advantage of quiet evenings to tell my kids the original Christmas story. They've known bits and pieces of it all along, but I realized this year that they probably weren't too familiar with the actual chronological chain of events.

After several nights of telling and retelling I assumed they were familiar with the gist of the story...

Last night the kids were oohing and aahing at Christmas lights as we drove through town. Mia saw a particularly notable creche scene. She shrieked, "Oh WOW! Oh awesome! Mommy, look! It's some shepherds and some angels having a baby together!"

Yeah, something like that.

A Tale of Two Mommies

Today we got a phone call that turned our household up end in a very exciting way. Could we take a little baby through foster care for a couple of weeks? Since Grace has been bugging me lately about having another baby, I said yes, thinking the reality of a baby will cure her of those quasi-maternal urges. I knew it would cure me :).

We ran through the house and did a checklist of which baby things were stored in the garage, what needed to be replaced (bottles, diapers, formula), and what small changes would need to be made in our household to accomodate one more (surprisingly little).

Then we had great fun heading to Babies-R-Us and jointly choosing new baby bottles, binkies, and a couple safety things that our *big* kids don't need anymore.

The girls' enthusiasm was contagious, and even though I knew this was a very temporary foster care placement--and I was glad it was!--I found myself getting excited about having a baby around the house again. Lately Mercie has taken to pointing at herself and then at me, nodding her head and saying wisely, "Mercie, Momma, grownups." She and Eric are still so much my babies that I sometimes have to force myself to step back and realize they are, in fact, quite grownup. We were an enthusiastic group preparing to welcome this little one to his temporary home.

As we loaded bags and kids into the car, I listened to Grace singing, "a wonderful, wonderful thing--we're going to have a baby today!" And suddenly the other side of the story hit me smack in the figurative face.

While we were waiting anxiously, excitedly for the call telling us that a baby was on his way to our house, another mom was saying a heartbreaking goodbye to him. While we danced and sang for sheer joy of sharing him for a little while, another mom was surrendering custody in the company of law enforcement officers and social workers. As we cleared our calendar and adjusted our schedule to accomodate a busy baby, another mom faced a lonely night, waking up to a lonely day, and an uncertain road back to her baby.

Should it happen? It's a no-brainer. We're not the most experienced foster parents on the planet, but we have an incredible child protection system here, and I've learned to respect and trust the workers, court officers, and support people. They don't remove kids on a whim, and their top goal is to bring families back together. If they saw reasons to remove this child, or any child, I'd put money on those reasons being valid.

Is it fair? Of course not. Is it the right thing? I'm betting so. Does that make it any easier, for the baby who cried himself to sleep tonight in my lap, or the momma who is probably doing the same in her too-quiet home? Nope.

All I can do is my tiny part in all of this--love this little baby for the time he's mine. And love his momma, from a distance, even if it's nothing more than my prayers that she'll do what it takes to bring momma and baby both back where they belong.

The Most Exciting Job

Yesterday we ended up having an impromptou party on the lawn. Friends down the street brought cookies and joined us for lemonade, much to the delight of my kids.

As we sat under a tree together, three-year old Adalyn announced that her daddy had a very boring job. Wondering what a three-year old classifies as boring, I asked what her daddy does at work. "He makes movies," she said with a sigh. Holy cow, sounds pretty exciting to me!

That made me wonder what on earth she thought classified as an exciting job, if making movies was "very boring." So I asked. Her eyes lit up as she replied without hesitation, "Being a mommy is a VERY exciting job!"

I spent the rest of the day looking quite differently at my "VERY exciting job."

Mia Brain vs. Mommy Brain

A few nights ago the kids were in their typical bedtime madness of running around the living room like screaming banshees. As Grace danced madly through the room she semi-accidentally kicked Mercie in the face.

Mercie wasn't hurt, but since I'd been warning Grace to settle down, I told her she needed to have a timeout on the couch so she could calm down. Mia wasn't very happy about losing her partner in chaos, so she tried to sit down on the couch with Grace. I firmly picked her up and moved her off the sofa, telling her that timeout means sitting ALONE.

Mia glared at me. Then she stood there and thought for a minute. Making sure that I was watching, she walked over to Mercie and kicked her in the face. Luckily Mia is a lousy shot, and the kick glanced off. Mercie looked very confused, but not hurt.

Mia, however, was even more confused as her bright little plan unravelled when Mommy put her in the garage for her timeout. Poor Mia. It's good to be smart--it's better to be good.

Why Children Need a Muzzle in Church

Today during the Sacrament Grace was doing some deep thinking. For those unfamiliar with the LDS faith, the Sacrament is typically the most quiet time of the worship service, as no one is speaking and young men are silently passing bread and water among the congregation.

Grace was studying pictures in her scriptures with great intent. Finally she looked up with a furrowed brow and said, "Mommy, is Jesus a boy?"

Motioning her to whisper, I mouthed back, "Yes."

In a delighted tone that most definitely was not a whisper, Grace applied her newfound knowledge of physiology. "That means Jesus has a penis!"

The people in front of and behind us were immediately seized with some kind of choking, red-faced problem that neccessitated putting their heads down on their knees.

Ahh...the joys of preschool theology.

To My Little Genius

Three years ago today we brought home a teeny little 6 pound 3 ounce baby girl from the hospital. Her hair was bigger than she was. For a tiny one she had a huge appetite, and she didn't stay tiny for long. Her older sister was all of ten months old, and so never really had much of an adjustment or sibling rivalry, because her world was still so young and new that change was a matter of course.

We named her Miriam Valency--lots of syllables for such a little thing--but Gracie couldn't pronounce Miriam. She christened her Miam, which stuck. A few months later Grace shortened it to Mia, which stuck for good. This was my secret delight, as I'd proposed the name Mia earlier only to have it vetoed by Jim. Thanks to Grace, I got my Mia after all.

Now Mia is three years old, and she's amazing. I love this little girl. She was born with a mother's heart. She tenderly takes care of anything smaller or younger or more vulnerable than she is--which is quite a lot, since she's extremely tall and almost freakishly strong. She also mothers her mommy, telling me to "lay your head on my lap, Mom, so I can hold you and snuggle you." She'll pat my head and stroke my hair, and press preschooler kisses on my forehead while she sings me lullabies. Her poor younger siblings are mothered whether they like it or not.

From the time she could talk Mia's claim to fame has been an unbelievable vocabulary for someone so small. Her diction and pronounciation are far beyond any other three-year old I know--in fact, most of the time her speech is more clear and her vocabulary more expansive than that of her older sister. She doesn't just tell me I'm "beautiful;" she tells me that I'm "stunningly beautiful." (See why I love this kid?). She doesn't announce that she's "mad;" she's "exasperated", or "incredibly frustrated."

Today she and her sister poked around in Mommy's room and unearthed some old binkies that had fallen under the bed. Delighted with their finds, Mia proclaimed, "Gracie, you are a total genius!"

That's my little girl. Always quick to give the credit and praise to others, even when her own ability is shining right through. If you ask her what she wants to be when she grows up she responds with complete confidence, "Cinderella." If you ask her what job she wants to have she'll say that she plans to build houses like Bob the Builder.

I have no doubt that she'll succeed admirably in balancing her tiara and her toolbelt.

It's my privilege and gift to be along for the ride. Happy Birthday Princess Mia!