Always Another Windmill

It’s time we had a talk. (more…)

Home today taking care of a sick boy, trying to do some low-demand work on the laptop at the dining table while Zag works on art projects and plays. He just got down a couple of the nice round beach rocks we got in Maine this summer (which are arranged on a high shelf that he’s not supposed to be able to reach–he’s discovered how to use chairs and such to help him reach). I was starting to prepare for a redirection, afraid that he might try to throw them (another exciting new toddler skill we’re working on the appropriate uses of), explaining that these rocks aren’t really to play with. Zag took them over to the living room rug, sat down with them, and said, “NO! Tell story with them.” (Weirdbird has a very part time gig telling Godly Play stories in a church school program, and sometimes practices telling her stories at home, on the same rug, and the stories often involve some kind of objects–like the rocks).

Then he began his story:

Z: One day, Jesus fell down in my hole. (more…)

Some day, I’m gonna have to build me something like this.  I’m a sucker for that art deco styling.  I just I hope I can  do it to a Mac.

Via a complicated chain of posts, I came upon this: Rules for listening to your spouse’s sermon. I think this is supposed to be tongue in cheek,  but the earnestness of the comments scares me. This is what my nightmares about my future as the priest’s spouse look like.  With any luck I’ll be spared this role for a few years by being too occupied with toddler and baby wrangling to be expected to sit listening in rapt attention to Weirdbird’s sermons.  It’s not that I mind listening, but performing while listening?

and that’s good enough for me! Weirdbird had to go in for her shift at the hospital after an early dinner this evening, leaving Zag and I to finish up our dinners. Zag didn’t eat much of his Veggie burger and he uncharacteristically refused to even look at a potato, let alone eat any. But the bowl of steamed broccoli–he started eating straight of it, cramming it in. I said he looked like maybe he was the Broccoli monster, and he didn’t miss a beat–he kept kept cramming in the broccoli, and start in with his low growly monster voice “Bollicki, Bollicki, Bollicki!! Aaarm um yum yum!!!”

I can only hope that this lasts . . .