Tag / family

"Do you know what that sound is, Daddy?"

This probably won’t translate very well into this arena, but I had to try. Here’s the scene:

I’m sitting at the kitchen table last night about 10:30p. Abby was having trouble sleeping after taking a late afternoon nap. So she’s lying in bed, humming a recognizable tune:

“Dun dun du-dun, dun du-dun, dun du-dun…”

“Abby,” says I, “go to sleep, honey.”

“Did you hear that sound?” she asks.

“Yes, honey, I heard it. Now go to sleep.”

“Do you know what that sound is, Daddy? That’s the sound Darth Vader makes! Dun dun du-dun, dun du-dun, dun du-dun…”

I laughed for four minutes.

Is This Really Necessary?

A school committee in Portland Maine approved a plan this week to begin distributing birth control to students… in sixth grade. And not only is parental consent or notification not required, it’s actually against the law. In fact, once a parent has signed the waiver to allow their child to be treated by the school nurse (you know, for things like paper cuts, skinned knees, etc.) the schools is then able to dispense birth control pills and patches.

Beautiful. How out of touch can a governmental school system be? This would be a great time to start a Catholic or charter school in Portland Maine.

If you can stand it, read more.

When I grow up, I want to be…

Lily turns seven tomorrow. On the way to school recently we were discussing what she and Jack want to be when they grow up. Not surprisingly, Jack wants to be a spy, like his Dad. Lily, on the other hand, had a different idea.

“I want to be a Vet, Dad. Like Megan’s Mom,” she said.

“That’s a good idea,” I responded. “You’re really going to have to study and get good grades for that.” Thinking about her bossy side, I added, “You know what you should be, Lil? A dictator.”

She got a funny look on her face and asked what a dictator was.

“That’s someone who runs country and tells everyone what to do,” I answered.

She got a far away look on her face for a moment, smiled, and then said, “I could be good at that.”

What I want for Christmas

Char has been asking me what I want for Christmas (in fact, since the name draw, so has Marjie) so I’ve been putting some thought into the issue. Unfortunately, I’ve been having trouble coming up with ideas. In fact, I’ve been having trouble getting into the whole Christmas spirit. This is odd, because I love presents. I love Christmas morning and watching people open stuff and the reactions of the kids and even sitting up until 3am putting together bikes and tables and kitchen toys with instructions written in Chinese.

So I’ve been trying to put my finger on what’s going on in my head. This morning, I think I figured it out. I was going through old posts on the blog (cleaning up the occasional ‘promotional comment’) and I came across several posts that set me thinking.

Things like Anna Quindlen’s take on parenting, and about baby Zach and his Angel wings, and Jack’s many unusual questions, and Lily’s wishes.

And then I followed a link to the photo album and found the pictures of Abby and Grace in the hospital and the day we brought them home. And the answer was immediately obvious to me. How could I possibly want anything else? When I look at the photos of these two darlings in their incubators, all those wires trailing out, and remember how impossibly tiny they were… When I think about the other babies that were there with them, some for more than a year, some who will never be healthy… When I think about Zach’s death, how quickly it happened and how little control we have over the things that really matter in life. In short, when I think of all our blessings, I realize that I couldn’t possibly be wanting for anything more.

I’m looking forward to Christmas. I can’t wait to see the kids open their presents and be delighted by the wonders. (You should see them all now, lying on their bellies watching the train go ’round the Christmas tree, clapping and saying “Yay!”) And honestly, having the family there, seeing everyone, will be enough for me.

Well, that maybe and another batch of crybaby cookies.