Where we are.
I slept late this morning. Because Andrew went right back to sleep after his 6 am feeding. And because I have The Best Husband In The Whole World who shooed the other minions out of our room at 7 and then fixed them breakfast. And because I'm very, very, very tired.
Andrew is army crawling, which turns out to be just as effective as - and maybe faster than - regular crawling. Our toys are too small and our house is too dirty for an infant with moves. We have already pulled from his mouth a Lego, a (blessedly large) magnet, and several pieces of mulch (brought in from the school playground on Luke's shoes). I'm thinking that the small slivers of wood must be just right for sore gums. I'm trying NOT to think about how many places those wood chips have been. I'm also frequently reminding myself that I once dug a LIVE bug out of Luke's toddler mouth - and he seems to have survived. Although he never takes risks with food anymore...
So when I finally dragged myself out of bed (it was only 8:30; I consider that a victory), the kids were nothing more than a faint sound of chatter and giggles. I took that as my cue to take a much-needed (and well-deserved) shower. All was still peaceful on the upstairs front when I finished getting dressed, and this, of course, is not normal. And now that I had no showering needs to excuse my negligence, I felt compelled to go check on things.
You might be wondering why peace was such a bad thing? After all, didn't the kids get to be best friends over the last summer? Wasn't I beaming about that in a post way back? Why yes, I was. And then, as so often happens, the Phase changed. And here we are, in the midst of the Sibling Wars once again. The most frequent conflicts involve a kindergarten-aged toddler suddenly thinking he has the right to grab toys from his younger sister (especially if said sister is just starting to play with said toys), and his younger sister retaliating with a scream shrill enough to bring the most hardened troops to surrender. Meaning: me. I surrender!! I'll give you anything you want!! More toys for everyone! Ice cream! Puppies! Whatever! Just stop the screaming!!!
Anyway, back to this morning. With no sounds coming from the upstairs bedrooms, I scooped Andrew out of hiscage pack-n-play and went up to investigate. At first, I saw no one. The room, still reasonably clean after last night's slave-driving, seemed entirely empty. As I turned to look towards the door that leads to the upstairs porch, though, I spied a small girl-monkey hanging precariously from the middle shelves of her closet - staring wide-eyed and guilty but staying impressively still for a three-year-old. Charging towards her, I scanned the room for Luke and would've sworn he wasn't there. But I followed Sarah's gaze up to the top shelf of the closet, and sure enough, I could see bits of clothing and legs smooshed up in the 18 inches of space between that shelf and the ceiling.
They were headed to Narnia.
Because apparently, Narnia exists just through that small attic access hole in the top of their closet.
And to think, they've been sleeping there for months when all along, there were talking animals living just feet away!! ("For real!" Luke says.)
Anyway, no one was harmed, and everyone was made to abandon the closet, sans Narnia adventure. I'm happy to say that our IKEA shelves are much sturdier than I expected - but I myself may have lost a few years off my life.
On the other hand, it's just the sort of enterprise my own siblings and I used to enjoy. I can't help but think of our exploits escaping Bad Captain, our survival treks through our wooded backyard, and the mess we must've made tramping through our own walk-in attic as children.
That sense of adventure, that fearlessness, that fierce commitment to vanquishing the Bad Guys... it's some of the best parts of childhood. Perhaps it's exactly what Jesus cautions us not to abandon as we grow older, and I must admit that I'm now imagining Heaven as one big playtime adventure.
That wouldn't be so bad.
And there wouldn't be ER visits to worry about, either. :)
So when I finally dragged myself out of bed (it was only 8:30; I consider that a victory), the kids were nothing more than a faint sound of chatter and giggles. I took that as my cue to take a much-needed (and well-deserved) shower. All was still peaceful on the upstairs front when I finished getting dressed, and this, of course, is not normal. And now that I had no showering needs to excuse my negligence, I felt compelled to go check on things.
You might be wondering why peace was such a bad thing? After all, didn't the kids get to be best friends over the last summer? Wasn't I beaming about that in a post way back? Why yes, I was. And then, as so often happens, the Phase changed. And here we are, in the midst of the Sibling Wars once again. The most frequent conflicts involve a kindergarten-aged toddler suddenly thinking he has the right to grab toys from his younger sister (especially if said sister is just starting to play with said toys), and his younger sister retaliating with a scream shrill enough to bring the most hardened troops to surrender. Meaning: me. I surrender!! I'll give you anything you want!! More toys for everyone! Ice cream! Puppies! Whatever! Just stop the screaming!!!
Anyway, back to this morning. With no sounds coming from the upstairs bedrooms, I scooped Andrew out of his
They were headed to Narnia.
Because apparently, Narnia exists just through that small attic access hole in the top of their closet.
And to think, they've been sleeping there for months when all along, there were talking animals living just feet away!! ("For real!" Luke says.)
Anyway, no one was harmed, and everyone was made to abandon the closet, sans Narnia adventure. I'm happy to say that our IKEA shelves are much sturdier than I expected - but I myself may have lost a few years off my life.
On the other hand, it's just the sort of enterprise my own siblings and I used to enjoy. I can't help but think of our exploits escaping Bad Captain, our survival treks through our wooded backyard, and the mess we must've made tramping through our own walk-in attic as children.
That sense of adventure, that fearlessness, that fierce commitment to vanquishing the Bad Guys... it's some of the best parts of childhood. Perhaps it's exactly what Jesus cautions us not to abandon as we grow older, and I must admit that I'm now imagining Heaven as one big playtime adventure.
That wouldn't be so bad.
And there wouldn't be ER visits to worry about, either. :)
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