Counting

Yesterday morning, Natebug was munching on a slice of bread. When he'd had enough, he started tearing off bits of bread and throwing them up onto the table, one at a time. "Fun... Foo... Free... Foe..."

I have no idea what to make of this.

Meanwhile, in the afternoon, while Natebug was helping Dadders pick up some groceries at Vons, Isaiah helped me bundle our loose change into rolls. He was enthralled as I counted out the pennies into stacks of ten. It was enormously exciting.

"Gum-gum-gum-TEN!!!"

A sober reminder...

Last night we took the boys to the park to feed the ducks, and on the way home we saw a huge commotion in the Bank of the West parking lot about a block from our apartment. Traffic backed up, police cars everywhere, the middle lane blocked off with orange cones... very strange indeed. It seemed that they were doing a random sobriety check. But they didn't stop us, since we were going the other direction.

As we pulled into our parking spot, Andy turned to me and said sheepishly, "I'm half tempted to go back and drive through it, just for the fun of it." I was half tempted, too... so, given that two halves make a whole, we followed our irrational impulse.

The officer took one look at Andy's license, and sternly informed him that it had expired. Gulp. No, wait... it expires on the 30th. He has a week to take care of it. With everything else going on in our lives, we never would have remembered on our own!

As we breathed a sigh of relief, the officer glanced over to the passenger side and saw my bulging belly. It was his turn for a scare. "You aren't on your way to have that baby, are you?" We reassured him that no, I was still weeks away from my due date... but he sent us swiftly on our way nevertheless! He looked a bit shook up at the possibility (however minute) of a woman giving birth while waiting at a random sobriety checkpoint.

Straw Men

Straws are lots of fun. Not only are they good for drinking, and often handier for parents than sippy cups, but they're super for blowing bubbles.

But there's an art to drinking out of a straw, and the pickles haven't quite worked out all the nuances. This afternoon I gave Isaiah a lid-less cup with a little bit of water and a straw. Straw in mouth, he carefully tipped the cup so that he could drink the water. Of course, he just kept tipping it further and further, and never got any of it anywhere but down his shirt...

It never occurred to me how counter-intuitive the method for straw-drinking is. Nor how exceedingly different it is from the method for sippy-cup drinking.

Salty

I oversalted the deviled eggs tonight. The wuggies wouldn't touch them.

I take that back. They would touch them, smoosh them, smear them, scatter them... just not eat them.

I just caught Isaiah taking measures to make sure that such a mistake never happens again.

I'm glad salt vaccuums up easily.

I wish that were the case for deviled eggs.

Drill Bits

My wonderful husband spent Saturday altering the bookshelves so as to make them even more pickle-proof. This was a lot of fun for the boys, who are utterly fascinated with Dadders' tool box. (Please-please-please can't I play with your hack-saw?) The boys were entirely fearless in their fascination with these truly dangerous objects. However, there was one tool which aroused in Meepo the proper degree of fear... and then some. And then quite a bit, actually. He was absolutely petrified of the drill. Once he heard the dreadful noise it could make, the mere sight of the thing would send him into hysterics.

But then Wuggidy taught him how to make that noise right back, and suddenly the drill was okay. Not as much fun nearly as the hack-saw, and certainly something requiring a safe distance... but okay.

And this morning, as we got ready for church, Wuggidy continued to perfect his drill impression. It's getting quite realistic. Andy tried to make the drill sounds back at him, but it didn't sound nearly so drill-like. What a talented son we have!

The Numerous Personages of Our Household

Last night, as I was sifting through the mail, throwing out credit card offers addressed to Andrew Da Johnston, the phone was ringing off the hook for Andrewdarre. Andrewdarre has been getting a lot of phone calls lately. Whenever I hear a telemarketer ask "May I speak with Andrew, dear?" I'm tempted to respond "Why of course, pumpkin."

I was busily examining a voter registration notice for Mr. Elena Johnston, when the phone rang for the fifth time. This time it was for Mrs. Elena AndyJ.

All this is rather harmless and amusing, but last month our auto insurance policy was cancelled because the underwriters discovered that in addition to me, there was also another Elena Johnston in our household. She was apparently a few years older than me.

I just hope that Schroder Management Company never finds out just how many people are living in this apartment!

Lemming Pickles!

The other day, I left the boys' mattress at the foot of our bed for a bit, and the wuggies found a new game. They would clamber up at the head of the bed, run down the bed as fast as their little legs would go, and leap onto the mattress, one right after the other, screaming gleefully all the while.

Then they went out to the living room, and discovered that they can also play this game on the couch, by standing on the back of the couch and jumping down onto the cushions.

This can be a bit startling for anyone who happens to be sitting on the couch at the time.

Irony

This school year, my husband will be commuting all over SoCal in a gas-guzzling Ford Explorer.

And I will be attempting to cram three carseats into the back of a tiny little Tercel.

Looking on the bright side, we'll get great gas milage on our little trips around town. And we aren't the ones paying for the gas that goes in the SUV.

Nevertheless, the green in me is indignant at the flagrant waste of non-renewable resources... and the rest of me is green with envy.

I'm grateful, I really am. It will be so nice to have a car while Andy is at work. But I'm having a hard time getting over the absurdity of the situation.

32 weeks and 2 days!

Hurrah for viability!

Thank you, Jesus!

If I were...

Emily tagged me, so here goes....

If I could be a gardener...

...I would have lots of fruit trees. And I would have a big herb garden, so I could cook with fresh herbs all the time. And I'd plant so many flowers that there would be plenty left over to make the garden pretty even after I'd filled every corner of the house with cut flowers and given lots to my friends. I recently sat on someone's porch swing who had lots of big, fragrant mint plants by the porch... it was sublime. I would definitely plant tomatoes, but I'm not so sure about carrots. Carrots just sound like a lot of work---and the freshness of carrots just isn't nearly as exciting.

If I could be a chef...

...then I guess my husband would just have to be a gardener. Actually, we'd both be gardeners and chefs together. Cooking together is so much fun. Besides, I'd need somebody to keep me from getting too adventurous. (That cucumber smoothie surely would have been spectacular if I'd just put in a little less salt...)

If I could be a musician...

...I would be every bit as adventurous as if I were a chef! I would write lots of avant-garde music that pushed the envelope. But don't worry. It would still be pretty and joyous and hopeful and poignant and innocent. It would also be heartbreaking and tragic and bittersweet.... but things can only be really heartbreaking and tragic against the backdrop of our glorious hope. Basically I would write music for the 21st century that was firmly rooted in a Christian aesthetic.

If I could be an athlete...

...I wouldn't be constantly bumping into things, for one thing, and my apartment would be a lot cleaner. My sport would never be more than a hobby, but I think that the discipline would stand me in good stead in all areas of my life, making me a better citizen of the physical universe.

If I could be an architect...

...I would first have invested heavily in South American hardwood, because I despise both carpeting and the destruction of rainforests. By investing in South American tree farms, I would be providing good employment for local laborers and gorgeous floors for my homes... all in an environmentally friendly sort of way.

Okay... now I think I shall tag Sharon, and Becka, and Snugbug Snell.

Here are the "questions." Answer five of them, and tag three more friends. =) If I could be a scientist...If I could be a farmer...If I could be a musician...If I could be a doctor...If I could be a painter...If I could be a gardener...If I could be a missionary...If I could be a chef...If I could be an architect...If I could be a linguist...If I could be a psychologist...If I could be a librarian...If I could be an athlete...If I could be a lawyer...If I could be an inn-keeper...If I could be a professor...If I could be a writer...If I could be a llama-rider...If I could be a bonnie pirate...If I could be an astronaut...If I could be a world famous blogger...If I could be a justice on any one court in the world...If I could be married to any current famous political figure...

Centrifugal Force

Wheels are always good for spinning, and the stroller, lying folded up on its side, has been a source of great fun for some time. But the wuggies have found a new game, now, that is positively thrilling. They place a small object on the wheel, maybe a baby wipe, or one of their Little People, and spin the wheel. The object, of course, goes flying off, sending the boys into paroxysms of laughter.

I must say, the physical universe is a very exciting place!

Attack of the Rabid Giraffe

It's lots of fun to splish and splash in the bathtub, but getting lathered up is, for some reason, a bit intimidating. So a few weeks ago, I had a brilliant idea. They love the Baby Einstein giraffe puppet that Aunt Karen got them last Christmas, and the label does say it's a "bath puppet".... Perhaps being lathered up by a friendly giraffe would be so much fun they would forget to be intimidated.

Alas, it did not occur to mommy that perhaps the giraffe might not seem quite so friendly if he was foaming at the mouth.

We still play with the giraffe at bathtime. But he is strictly for rinsing, now.

Spam

This morning I was a bit taken aback by the shocking subject line of a bit of spam. No, it wasn't that kind of shocking subject line... quite repeatable...

"Elena, electric chair at little or no cost!"

Gulp.

Took me a second to figure out that they were selling motorized wheelchairs.

Soggy

Yesterday was a very wet day. This was most decisively confirmed around 10:30 pm, when I spilled a bottle of cold water all over my peacefully sleeping son. But really, it all started when Natebug spilled a big glass of instant breakfast all over himself and the clean laundry.

This meant Bathtime. Bathtime can be quite an... um... adventure with two toddlers, if you know what I mean. One time a few weeks ago, I got the boys all ready to hop in, and as we waited for the tub to fill, naked little Isaiah peed all over the floor, slipped in the resulting puddle, and hit his head. Like I said, it can be an adventure.

But this time I was smart. I filled the tub before undressing the boys. I tidied up the bathroom, cleaned out the tub, adjusted the water temperature, and left to get the boys ready while the tub filled. Like any good, conscientious mother, I of course carefully shut the bathroom door behind me lest a small person sneak in for an unsupervised dip.

Things took a bit longer than I expected --with toddlers they generally do!-- and by the time I went to see if the tub was full...

...let's just say that it was.

The boys had lots of fun wading, while the rubber ducky floated merrily on the floor. One cup at a time, I scooped the water off the floor into the toiled, and the wuggies gleefully joined in, sprinkling tiny fistfulls of water.

And that big pile of dirty laundry in the hallway got a good pre-soak.

Things I learned yesterday

1. Fountains are lots of fun to splash in.

2. So are toilets.

3. Diapers can absorb an astonishing quantity of water.

4. So can little sneakers and corderoy pants.

5. This last can be a bit disturbing to anyone who is unaware of 1.

6. Automatic doors are extremely bizarre, and just a little bit scary.

7. So are swinging gates.

8. On most elevators, there is only one button within wuggy-reach... the alarm button, of course.

9. Likewise, on most bulletin boards, there is only one announcement within reach. The one that will start the largest chain reaction when tugged upon.

10. Dancing on manhole covers is great fun.

12. Trees look like flowers when viewed from below.

Let there be light!

The electrician cometh! After months of extension cords, our working outlet count is finally up from 2 to 7. Let us rejoice and be glad!

Moving from the ridiculous to the sublime, I've been musing about Biblical poetry in general, and Genesis 1 in particular. The other day I read the creation account in the New Living Translation, and was horrified to discover that the refrain "and there was evening, and there was morning, the first day" was replaced with "this all happened the first day." Certainly that's an accurate distillation of the bottom line, clearly and directly expressing the total factual content implied in the phrase. At cost, of course, of the rhythm and poetry.

Until I deeply explored the first few chapters of Genesis, the factual status of the account was deeply important to me. My faith cannot rest on a Book that is demonstrably false at the outset. If the first chapters fall, the rest of Scripture falls with it. "Liberals" may interperet it as mere poetry, but surely that's just an euphamism for nonsense... I saw theistic evolution as something along the same lines as a metaphorical interperetation of the resurrection.

But... then I actually experienced the poetry. Regardless of factual status, to call the Genesis account primarily poetic is most certainly not a euphamism. The deeper I delved into its richness, the less I was concerned with its literal accuracy. Genesis may or may not shed significant light on natural history, but in any case, that makes up a small portion of the meaning packed into those lines. The question of how God actually went about creating life began to seem a relatively trivial distraction from the more significant insights into the relationships between God, man, time, and nature.

It's so easy for people like me to busily distract ourselves with analyzing factual questions as a sort of protection against the life-shaping power of poetry. Ironic that this would be my tendency as a musician... perhaps it is because I'm particularly vulnerable... Discussions of what happened on what day, how long the days were, and how to account for the geologic record are relatively safe. Stimulating and pious, they don't require much change. At the end of the day, the Christian life remains the same no matter how God chose to create the universe. The poetry, on the other hand, is anything but safe. It penetrates deep into the human soul, demands that we conform to its rhythms and cadences... 'tis most uncomfortable to our fallen selves.

And we, too, who are His spiritual creation, remain formless and void until we hear His Word speak to our hearts "Let there be light!"

And there was evening, and there was morning, the first day.

The handwriting is on the wall...

...and the table

...and the chairs

...

Bananas!

Andy and I were sitting on the couch catching up on the day, and I asked him to toss me a banana. Sweet husband that he is, he got up and fetched me said banana. Then he broke the top of the peel for me. That was thoughtful, I suppose, but when he actually started to peel it, I thought that was going a bit too far. Then he broke off a bite-sized piece and handed it to me...

Sigh. I used to make fun of couples who called one another "Ma" and "Pa." Now if I approach Andy while he's busy with bedtime snacks, the moment I open my mouth, I find it full of yogurt.

Sing-alongs

We were just listening to Andy's new Michael Card CD, and very much enjoying it...

But then on one song, there was an entirely superfluous line of backup vocals... entirely superfluous, and rather off-key.

Then I discovered that it was just Isaiah humming along. Come to think of it, it was pretty impressive after all!