Archive for the ‘Wholesome Humor’ Category
We sat for a long while together, my arms wrapped around her chubby body, her small head resting against my chest. She gazed up at me with her big blue eyes and smiled the smile she got from me. I smiled back at the little two-year-old wonder snuggled in my lap. It was one of those moments I knew we both cherished.
“I like snuggling with you,” I told her, “and I like you.”
She gazed back at me, thoughtful.
Then she replied, “I like tic tacs. I wonder if I have any left. I’ll go check.”
And she was gone.
Moment over, spell broken, Mama deserted.
Daddy: Marissa will help you with your jam, Elijah.
Marissa: I think this time he should do it himself so he can learn how.
Emily: I think so, too. Nobody’s going to spread his jam for him when he’s a grown-up?
Elijah: When I’m a grown-up I’m going to marry Mommy, and she can help me.
Daddy: But I’m already married to Mommy. What am I going to do?
Elijah: You can come live with us.
Elijah: And guess what? We’re going to have red floors so when we spill smoothie on the floor, nobody has to clean it up.
At four he has all the answers.
Time spent around the dinner table chatting with family is always time well spent. Savor the moment.
A few of the gems I collect when I really pay attention to the unintentional comedians in my midst, God’s little gifts of laughter:
From a then four-year-old Hannah paging through our now-worn story Bible:
“Look Mommy! It’s a picture of Adam and Evil.”
From Elijah, apparently quite fed up with beans lately:
“There’s nothing that I hate in this food. Cool!”
From my then three-year-old Marissa trying to call her aunt in Wisconsin and getting the phone answerer:
“Mommy, the washing machine is talking to me.”
From my nine-year-old Elisabeth, the philosophical one:
Me: What is discord?
Elisabeth: Unplugging cords.
A conversation among many after a trail ride in Bryce Canyon:
“I’m glad we got to ride horses instead of the plodding mules.”
“Plotting mules? What were they plotting?”
“I doubt mules would really want to take over the world.”
“It could happen.”
“Nah. They’re too slow.”
Elijah: Are there any bad guys here?
Elijah: Good, ’cause I don’t want to have to fight anyone.
Emily watching the luge:
“If I were in the Olympics, I would throw up.”
Children with goals:
Elisabeth (9 years): “When I grow up I’m going to go through all the corn mazes I can find.”
Hannah: (13 years): I wanna be an old lady when I grow up, ‘cuz old ladies rock!
Elisabeth: Oooo, I want to be an old lady, too, so I can sit in a rocking chair and knit.
“Mommy, I think you really need to get your OWN pancake.”
“Mommy, there’s chocolate spilled on the table. Should I taste it off?”
Elijah at the chess table for an hour:
“I’m playing chess. The knight is throwing all the bad guys in the lava. I call him Superman.”
I stayed up far too late listening to my then six-year-old Emily read me her entire journal. She ended with a reminder and a warning:
“Remember, Mommy, you’re not supposed to read my journal.”
Whispered by a confused Elijah when visiting a church with a cross hanging behind the altar. The Jesus carving on the cross looked remarkably like the David from his David and Goliath action figures:
“I didn’t know David died on the cross, too.”
And I leave you with these words of encouragement from my husband:
“Just remember, the best is already behind you.”
Me: Boy, do you know what the baby’s real name is?
Boy: Becca Boo’s real name?
Boy: I know Becca Boo’s bear name. Becca Boo’s bear name is Boo Boo Bear.
Me: Yes, but what’s her real name.
Boy: Oh, Becca Boo’s real name is Sweetie Pie.
This same boy, when asked to spell his own name, recites “B-O-Y Boy.” He’ll even sign it. I think perhaps I will write his real name on the inside of his jacket in case he gets lost. Better yet, I’ll keep them all safe at home.
I was listening intently to my eight-year-old narrate the history of Corrie Ten Boom. Unbeknownst to me, a pair of three-year-old ears was also quite caught up in the story. The narrator explained in detail what I shall merely summarize: Corrie Ten Boom was arrested for hiding Jews in her house.
The gasp beside me attracted my attention. I turned and looked into a pair of big brown eyes, wide open. At the conclusion of the narration, the small listener dared not move. He merely whispered with barely audible trepidation, “Mommy…don’t we have juice in our house?”
Someday, when he is nearer to a man, I will tell him about the horrors of mankind and the agony one man can inflict on others. For now, however, I will maintain that childish sweetness just a little bit longer and offer up a prayer of gratitude that, for the moment at least, America is a free country, and we need not worry about harboring Jews–or juice–in our homes.
A strange irony:
After our pseudo-Chinese dinner we indulged in some made-in American fortune cookies. The fortunes, ironically, were written in Spanish.
Only in America.
Next time you indulge in galletas de fortuna , spruce them up a bit. Set a small child to the task of dipping half the cookie in chocolate (dark is a strong favorite of many at our house) and sprinkling with non-pareills, crushed nuts, or white chocolate. This is certainly not authentic, but really…how authentic are fortune cookies at a Chinese meal anyway? According to the secret history of the fortune cookie and this UK version of the history of fortune cookies, not very!