Last year, Evan regarded soccer much like you might regard a bee hive.  Tip toe.  Don't upset.  What, I'm too close to the ball?  Here you go.  You have it.  No problem.  Glad I could help. 

I thought maybe it was his age.  His friend,Ethan, (also 4 years old at the time,) thought the purpose of the game was to bump into other kids.  Evan got out of the way, Ethan got in the way... they both picked at the grass and stared at the clouds. They were too young.    

I was surprised this past summer when Evan asked why we don't go to soccer anymore.  (It was off-season.)  I asked if he missed it and he said he did.  So another year of picking grass it would be, gosh darnit!

No. I knew it would be interesting to observe the difference a year made.  SURELY, a year would make a difference?  Some difference?

Tonight he had his second soccer practice.  Just after he drew two permanent pink lines on his forehead because he thought he was born without eyebrows.  (Look, when you're as pale and tow-headed as he is, it's enough to cause quite a panic, you can imagine.)

Anyway, after tonight, I can proudly announce that the boy can dribble!  So that's progress.  (He often looks at me to see if I'm watching, and is then chasing his ball off course, as result- but that's too sweet to blame.)  He can run and stay with the ball, too... take it to the goal during practice... but- he's too sweet to steal it.  He was born without that thing, that characteristic... what's it called?  Aggression. 

(He is NOT my child.) 

He's coordinated enough for the game.  He's old enough, now, too. The problem is that he's just too nice for soccer. 

He needs a sport where he only competes with himself.  Where he can work out some of those perfectionist tendencies, work that self-torment in a... "healthy" way?  Something like surfing or golf or- let's be honest- Chess.

No, no, I'm going too far.  He might surprise us yet.  I don't want to label him at age 5, for Pete's sake.  He has a lot of toughening growing up to do, and that might make all the difference.  (Or perhaps when kids actually start playing their positions and stop following the ball in a swarm, it will make the difference for him.)  I totally respect him for that!  I could see him getting comfortable with the strategy of the game, and holding his position, I could. 

But for now, he prefers to wander onto the practice field next to us, watch the older team play, and work up some mental algebraic configurations for the trends he notices in their formations and strategies.

MADALYN, on the other (and very far away) hand, is counting down the days till she turns four so that she can play soccer, too.  She gets into trouble at practice constantly for trying to warm up with the team, sneak into their lines, run onto a field in the middle of another game somewhere to join in. 

She steals the ball from ME. Like for real.  Dribbles, kicks, throws, catches- from far too far away for a 3 year old.  It actually has taken me by surprise.  She's always been coordinated, but she'll catch something so high or far, and I almost do a double-take. 

Aggressive would be a mild adjective to describe her mannerisms on an athletic field.  Tonight, for example, she bossed around an 8 year old, completely unaware of that whole- you know- seniority thing.  (Insert eye roll.)

So, these are the extreme phrases I am hearing out of the mouths of my children at the same time:

Madalyn, from behind me, with older girl: "Okay, girl!  Now run this way.  RUN!  The ball is winning- the BALL IS WIN-NING!  DON'T LET IT BEAT YOU, YOU LOSER!!!  LOOOOO-SSS-EEEERRRRRR!" 

Evan, coming off of the field in front of me for water break, and VERY loudly: "I scored two goals, did you see, mommy?  Am I GOOD at this?"

(Like we make him do 100 push-ups every night and beat him with his shin guards!)

I wanted to say, "Evan, you don't have to be good at everything," but that wasn't right.  Then I wanted to say, "Evan, even if you weren't good at this, I still think you're the best kid ever," but that wasn't the right answer, either, so I just said, "Yes.  Yes, you are!"

Another child then asked his parent equally as loudly, "am I good at this, too?"

And then ALL parents glare at me like 'quit beating your kid with his shin guards, it's just a game, already!' and I wait for every five year old within a mile radius to start crying like on a movie.

Then there's Jack... 

Jack should enter the world of athletics on a dandy note.  He, apparently, has a lot of aggressions to take out on the field.  Tonight, for example, he put a gun to my head on the way to the field until I pulled over the car and got the soccer ball off the floor for him to hold.  (Don't even THINK about judging me for that until you've heard his lungs- it was a safety precaution!)  I ran the length of MANY soccer fields tonight trying to keep tabs.  At one point (and this is a prime example of why the third born has so many issues, as they say,) I decided I would just let him go.  He wasn't headed for the parking lot and had three field lengths to run if he had to get it out, but Evan wanted me watching, Madalyn was trying to go to the bathroom by herself, and he would just have to roam.  I thought, 'maybe if I take away the thrill of the chase, he'll come back to me' and then I started singing a Toni Braxton song.

Do you know what that little booger did?  Hold onto your seat-  HE.  CAME.  BACK.  Sure, it took a few spills on the concrete and a stranger asking him where his mommy was, but the prodigal returned. 

And he said hi to every person on his way back like he was being paid very good money to greet parents.

Can you tell Shaun couldn't make practice tonight?  I'm taking it out on the blog.  And you.  And the children...  Dandy.

Well, I might as well tell you how it ended, which was with a car-ride of arguing.  Madalyn said she played with a girl named Ree-tada.  I said that was probably incorrect, (as I figured no one would name their kid something that close to what sounds like "retarded.")  Evan wanted to know if she asked the girl her name (good question)... and so on the conversation went until it got ugly between them, which was when Jack started to pull it under wraps with an authoritative, "Guys!  GUYS!"

(Thanks, Jack, I really needed that break.  It's so nice when you fill in for me.  I love you more each day, Wild One, so don't be too offended if I purchase a leash for you sometime before next practice.)

This was a shoot for "Face the Day" Aveda Spa in Ocala; a fun change to not sweat like a pig doing face-dives trying to catch a 2 year old laugh. :) (But I do enjoy that, too, believe it or not.)

More at: www.howiwonderphotography.com/blog

Advertising Couples Pedicures :) ....

Labels: business

Mommy, what starts with glass slipper?

G.

Then what?

L.

Then what?

A.

Mommy! WHAT- starts with glass slipper?

I'm trying to tell you! G-l-a-s-s-s-l-i-p-p-

Pee pee?

Yes... p-p-e-r.

What does pee-pee start with?

P.

What does pea start with?

P.

No, the letter 'p.'

P!! I roar with fire, desperate to get my mind back to where it was before the conversation commenced...

And then, right after the smoke settles- that is the moment when I start to wonder when I became this person. This person who loses her temper in 3 seconds flat. Over the letter p.

I'm like Cookie Monster. On crack.

Labels: conversation, dumbhead parenting, Madalyn

It is all too familiar, watching this movie, and yet! We were just enough removed to be able to laugh instead of cry.

Steve, Steve. Tsk, tsk. He thought if only he could be a better parent, his kid might be more well-adjusted. (So easy to leave that whole "born under a curse to sin and be sinned against" thing out of it when you come up with your parenting philosophies, isn't it?) Poor Steve kept forgetting. He kept thinking if only he tried harder, parented better his kid would be wholly confident and complete, not lacking anything... wait, why does that sound familiar? Oh right, that's what JESUS can give them. Not me? Not me, not me? Pretty please??? Let me help??

I have NO idea what that sort of anxiety is like as a parent. NONE whatsoever. (I'm telling a bold-faced lie, OF COURSE.) But it's funny how someone else being crazy in the same way you are crazy makes you somehow feel more normal. (You know, a normal kind of crazy.)

Anyway. This blog title came to mind when I was browsing friends' blog sites and found a consistent theme throughout- a particular child repeatedly unsupervised on various blog-sites, left to poke at babies, climb on machinery, and rub candy in chairs just like the third-born Justin on Parenthood:

Example One

Example Two

Example Two B

Example Two C

Example Three

Labels: dumbhead parenting, Jack

Many of you sweet friends have emailed and asked about my rash, or asked me in person... more than once...

Look, I know. I know you're SICK TO DEATH of the whole thing. I am, too! More than you! I promise. I appreciate your caring and your empathy, I really do. But for future reference, you don't have to ask anymore. It's really not worth losing friends over, so if you're bored with it, just talk to me about the weather. You can just check rash updates here. Or not. Makes no difference to me, except that I am so over this rash dominating my conversation... my face... my LIFE!

So here you have it, the latest update:

This is our dishwasher caddy. How many droppers do you see? Go ahead. Count....

There are 15. When you give three kids doses from three bottles of antibiotics twice a day, it adds up. But we just gave them their last doses, so hallelujah, Strep Throat is now behind us!

But the rash, with me, remains.

I have had 4 pills for 5 days, 3 pills for 5 days, and just dropped to two, only not with much visible improvement.

A couple weeks ago we learned that Shaun would be at a business conference over his upcoming birthday weekend while I'm in Gainesville shooting my cousin's wedding. I felt so bad about it I decided to plan a special night for him in advance, to celebrate his turning the ripe old age of 28.

I made reservations at Manuel's on the 28th, (fitting, is it not,) and reserved tickets at the SAK theatre and told my rash it had two weeks to disappear. Period. No arguments.

It obeyed me about as well as my children:

Okay, so you can't really see it here, but it's a funny picture. Can you tell that I was physically making Shaun smile while he was madly changing out of work clothes and into formal clothes?

How about this one:

(And I've blown it up nice and big here so you're sure not to miss my elbow there in the bottom right corner... and my neck... and the dried up creases around my face that have me looking 50 years old.)

Yes. It's still very much with me. Don't make me take a picture of my legs! And I'm hoping that when it does finally go it will leave me with brand new skin underneath. Kind of like having a professional face peel. That might make it worth it.

Also especially wonderful for this night, I had the lovely accent of a black eye, courtesy of Jack, who, while having his diaper changed first thing the other morning was holding his janitor kit broom and thought it hilarious to slam the frame of it down on my face while I was half-asleep. Yes, that woke me up alright, if you were wondering:

Now, I tried to do some heavy eye make-up on the other eye to make them kind of even, so I think that really worked it, but you can see the extensive damage this kid is capable of. (I circled it and starred it in case you were to miss it, and then I decided the star looked like a horn and couldn't help but add another one. I'm all crazy and wild like that on this Prednisone. LOOK OUT!)

Soooo, what can I say? I mean, I'm not sick. Not really. I'm not throwing up. For that, I've tried to be a good sport, but it's getting old. I've so over it. I'm tired of Shaun humming Sleigh Ride whenever I scratch my forehead. I'm tired of having to dust the snowy skin off my keyboard and my desk chair and my glasses frames... as it dries, and peels, and STAYS right where it is.

Despite the skin, we had a good night. (I'll admit, I chose the long sleeves and black tights to prevent people from gagging up their gourmet meals.) Who can enjoy food when staring at skin disorders? And I'm still not sure what, exactly, the waiter was using his little metal crumb scraper to scrape off the table- the fresh bread crumbs or my skin. But either way, the city lights were all people seemed to notice out the all-glass slanted walls of the 28th floor. It was a peaceful night. So peaceful we decided to forgo the theatre so we could sit longer with our butterscotch coffee and hot lava cake and do nothing.

We went home relaxed, every muscle limp. In a good way. And only until we awoke the next morning to a toddler's room smeared floor to ceiling with poop the next morning. Well, I should say until SHAUN awoke. (My Benadryl was still in full force and I've cleaned up poop 4 times this week, so I let his birthday bash come to a dead screeching, halting end.) Back to the real world. How quickly it comes at you.

Labels: funnyman, sick days

Madalyn finds a snail on the way out the door this morning as she has a habit of doing. She brings it into the car with her, which is fine, so long as she promises not to leave him IN the car... to rot and die and SMELL:

"Look! Look at my snail... he's eating a worm. No. No, I think that's poop. I think my snail is pooping."

"I think he's eating the poop," says Evan.

"Eeeew," says Madalyn.

"Eeeew," says Jack.

"What does it taste like?" asks Madalyn.

"I tasted pee pee once," Evan says all too proudly.

"What! When?" I ask.

"I pee-pee'ed into a bucket of water in the shower once, and I drank it. I spit it out. It was gross!"

"Well, YEAH!" I said, beginning to question his intelligence level for the first time. "Why on EARTH would you want to drink pee pee, that's SO gross, Evan!"

"Because I wanted to know what it would taste like."

"Look at my snail!" squeals Madalyn.

(Snail is stretching it's neck high and having a look around the car.)

"It's trying to bite you," says Evan.

"No he's not. He's trying to kiss me," says Madalyn, smiling.

(We are arriving at school now- Madalyn announces she wants ME to hold her snail.)

"Mommy doesn't want to hold your snail, I'll get you out and you can go put him in the grass over there by the building... in the flowers... he'll like that."

"But he might get lost!" Evan says.

"Oh, well I think he IS lost. He's a LONG way from home now," I point out.

"Well he might be sad," says Evan.

"Yeah, he might be sad," says Madalyn.

"He'll make new friends," I say, while she runs over to the wet white flowers in her teal Ariel nightgown, barefoot.

She gets back in the car and fusses at Jack about something.

"You're not his mommy," I say.

"Yes I am!"

"You are, are you? Was he in your belly?"

"Yes. I'm meeried."

"You are? Who are you married to?"

"Evan's my husbin."

"Oh, he is?"

"Mommy, before you meeried daddy he was lost from you," she notes.

"Yes. I was a lost soul before I met your daddy... so let me ask you another question... are you ticklish?"

"No! No, m'am! Give me some space, mommy! I'm going to count. One... two..."

"TICKLE!!!" I yell.

Labels: conversation, Madalyn

Evan-

Your hair and your clothes are always disheveled. You can't seem to ever put them on the right way- your mind isn't there. You run with your feet turned out. You sometimes sound like you have an English accent when you talk, the way you annunciate your words. You are always making maps or charts or games. (The day I took these pictures you were holding a map you made to get to the nearest DQ for some ice cream and took off on your red bike up the hill.) You were very disappointed to be made to turn around and come home again.

Your favorite activities are using your imagination and using your imagination. The other day you asked for green and yellow paint to "paint lemons." I knew we didn't have any lemon trees but I also knew the paint was washable and that boys should be boys, so off you ran with paint. I had no idea you were trying to paint balls of dirt, which proved kind of difficult, what with the dirt sticking to the brush and all... you resorted to dumping the entire thing over the lemons. Jack joined you and you both returned looking like Larry and Junior.

You're a good brother. You make your siblings happy and secure. You are humored by them. They tickle you. Your humor is precious to us. The other day daddy was driving the car and following someone- you said, "we have to catch up with them." Daddy said, "No, Evan. That's not right. We have to mustard them." He said you were quiet for many minutes and the rest of the car-full had moved on to something else, then he heard you start belly-laughing like when you were a baby- "We have to applesauce them!" you yelled with glee, catching on to daddy's humor.

You are sensitive. You tell me a thousand times a day, "mommy, I love you soooo much! I love you more than anything." You also ask me daily, "have I been good today," which makes me sad that you are so hard on yourself. It's tough to discipline you because you are your own worst critic, and at the same time some things require my correction. I hope this is a phase. I hope you are able to stop this self-torment now. I hope you are able to see that I'm not perfect, because I keep telling you it's true and it will be a rude awakening if you don't realize it till the teen years! It's emotionally exhausting... it's harder than temper tantrums or spankings. How many times must I tell you I love you and that you can never do anything to make me stop? Well, however many, rest assured that I- will- tell- you!

I just ordered a sign for your room that says, "I love you to the moon and back," but I want you to know that's not entirely true. I love you to the moon, back, and then some...

You are UNIQUE. You are a JOY. You make my life worthwhile.

Mommy xoxoxoxoxo

Labels: Evan, letter

 I went to Elementary School with his mama, isn't he beautiful...  more of him at www.howiwonderphotography.com/blog. 

"Why are you writing a blog at 6AM, Katie, have you lost any shred of sanity you had left?"

"Why, because I've been wide awake on Steroids since 5."

"Why are you talking to yourself, Katie?"

"Because I lost every last shred of sanity I had."

Okay, I'm creeping myself out, and that sounds too much like church liturgy for being about a crazy person, but here is the thing:

Yesterday morning I went to the clinic again and was told we would be bringing out "the big guns" and I was to soon start a 20 day pack of Prednizone (sp?) along with daily doses of Zantac and Zyrtec- while this is not something out of a Dr. Seuss book, I still very much LOOK like something out of a Dr. Seuss book. One of the polka dotted Zats, perhaps? But what's more, the Steroids are keeping me from sleeping, and so I'm starting to ACT like something out of a Dr. Seuss book.

Madalyn before school, yesterday:

I picked Evan up from his Valentine's Party to find he had a fever, and Jack, at that point, did, too. Luckily, they had well visits scheduled for yesterday afternoon and were found to have Strep Throat. All three children are now on anti-biotics,\ (two days ago Madalyn told me her throat hurt and so we're not even waiting to go there- "just drug 'em up!")

Now when they go to a birthday party at Monkey Joe's this Monday they'll be good and sterile, I won't care if they lick the carpet and suck on the door handles. If I get any weird looks it'll be: "they're on antibiotics, it doesn't matter." And- 'I'm all drugged, so I don't think it would matter much to me either way.' (This part I would not share with said look-shooter.)

When we got home from going to the doctor and dragging our prescriptions and germs all through Publix, we hit a few bright spots in the road. The first was that we found two boxes on our front porch, one for me and one for Madalyn:

I think it's pretty clear Shaun is lying THROUGH HIS TEETH in my note. (See previous post pics if you are about to flatter me, YOU LIAR!)

And you wouldn't expect a three year old to get very excited about flowers, UNLESS you know Madalyn, who would rather get a spanking than obey directions not to run across the street and pick a flower. She was delighted and suppressed a very pleased smile while she tried to tear them from the box, along with the Teddy Bear. "It's my fav-o-rite bear in the whooole whird!"

Not only did we drive up to two boxes of flowers, BUT... drum roll....

NEW SOD!! (See behind girl holding flowers.)

And it's not even so bad that I'm up early this morning because: A)I haven't even had coffee and I feel like I've had 5 cups. B) I have already run the dishwasher and one load of laundry. C)I have now written a blog, very important and D) what will happen, I wonder, when I DO have a cup of coffee?

PS- If your children were in school with my children Thursday, I AM SO SORRY.

PPS- If your children were within the vicinity of my children anytime in the last 48 hours, you might want to see a doctor.

Labels: Madalyn, pics, sick days

So, I said I'd save the rash story for another time... you will be THRILLED to know that day has come.

Two weeks ago I went to the ER because the clinic turned me away. I was diagnosed with Strep Throat, Laryngitis, an ear infection and a UTI. I was given an antibiotic shot in the butt and a steroid shot in the arm, along with a bag of IV fluids which seemed to help more than anything after all the throwing up I did the night before. Then I went home with a bottle of Percocet (sp?) and Cipro (sp?). One week after that, right about the time I finished the Cipro, I broke out in what looked like acne from head to toe... it has stayed with me a week, spreading and going through various stages. Right now it looks like the chicken pox and is drying out, I suppose... who can really tell anything except that it's gross. I have been told frightening stories of Scabies and Psoriasis, but am still hoping it was an allergic reaction, as originally told... however, I just took my last Prednizone, and still look like this:

Right, so not the most flattering self-portraits I've ever taken. I hear you... but I'm looking for any empathy I can get... or suggestions as to WHY this is still with me!!

Last night, when I got home from Bible study, Shaun had cleaned our entire bathtub and polished all faucets. He had a glowing candle going, a towel, bath robe, book, and Aveeno Oatmeal soothing bath mixture sitting out for me. I fell in love all over again right then.

I am not the only one falling apart, however. Evan has a black eye:

Madalyn woke up with a sick stomach and has thrown up on two different occasions already today.

Our yard looks like this:

Because we got a letter from our Homeowner's Association insisting that we re-sod. We have been planning on it since we moved in, but who ever wants to set the money aside to actually do it? Well, the decision has been made for us. I have to admit, it will be very nice to no longer say things like, "I'm going out to mow the weeds," or "Kids! Stay off the Tundra!"

The reason the chicken didn't cross the road.

Also, we have been having a baby roach problem in our shower. We got rid of Massey and hired Heron for the inside and out. Our bug men are both as dedicated to giving us a green lawn and ridding us of roaches as I am. One even wrote me a thank you note for hiring them that read, and I quote: "We look forward to the imminent demise of your dreadful roaches."

It's slowly getting better. The bathroom is actually arriving, I think... but I will not rest until I go for a straight week without seeing a roach anywhere in our house, or even garage for that matter. And the Heron boys say those are reasonable expectations. They haven't once told me to better seal my garage or that they "don't do drains." They rock my rashy world.

Shaun's bath surprise was awfully sweet, it really, truly was... but in all honesty, I'm thinking about leaving him for the Heron men. If they'll have me, that is. (And they probably won't: see above.)

I probably don't even have to explain HOW or WHY I got drunk for the first time IN my life the other night when Shaun and I had a date at Chili's, just after the hostess and waitress smiled at him like, 'isn't he an amazing man to still love this poor burn victim?' (For those of you who think that sounds vain, it only took one drink on a very hungry stomach and I had trouble not falling off my chair, no exaggeration.) A special thank you to the hubby for taking a picture of me and texting it to my brother. Niiice.

In other news, Shaun joined a band...

These are old. (Obviously.) Just silly shots in their

Christmas pjs that make me laugh...

Jack makes me laugh in this one above. :)

I love Evan's protective hand around Jack in these shots...

and Jack's hand resting on both of their legs.

Labels: Christmas, pictures, siblings

Which one do you lean towards? I'm not sure which one I will order for his album... he's growing so fast. He's the worst toddler I've raised, into ev-e-ry-thing. He doesn't play with toys- Evan's matchbox cars while making soft 'voom' sounds, that's it. He much prefers his daddy's drawer of electronics, or my drawer of make-up to the piles of toys we have lying around here. He prefers countertops to floors, toilet water to his sippy cup. Says 'nah' for yes. Whines when you turn off the bath water. Whines when you say 'no'. Whines when the music's not on in the car, when the window's not down, when the d.j. changes the song on the radio. Rubs mascara into our carpets and peanut butter onto our couch. Takes his diaper off five times a day...

but look at that face. I love him. xoxoxo

Labels: Jack, photography

Labels: funnyman

Maybe I should take back what I said about posting here, but I am just so excited about this shoot! The setting was amazing! This was shot at one of the oldest homes in Maitland. It was beautiful! All white porches and walls and totally "shabby chic." Dream children- all so different looking for coming from the same two people! maybe I was partial to them because they were exact ages of my own children? But so opposite in coloring, which was a really fun change for me- the dark hair and features, just gorgeous children!

More at www.howiwonderphotography.com/blog

Can this one turn on a pout or what? She is the "Madalyn" in their family... actually, she's in Madalyn's class at church. :)

This is their "Evan," a bit shy and smart and sweet.

This is their Jack. No really, his name is Jack. Another Jack "Mc" actually, and we once were paged to the church nursery for him instead of our own accidentally. :)

Labels: business

Madalyn,

Last week you took a box of chocolates someone gave me for my birthday into your play closet and demolished the entire thing, leaving only a pile of red foil wrappers glittering in the dark like a mound of rubies.

This morning, I found you in your room, sitting on your bed and swinging your legs, your cheeks packed full of vanilla sandwich cookies. A skyscraper of them was stacked completely vertical on your bedside table next to you, where you intended to pop them back one by one. The look on your face when I opened your door: chin down, stuffed smile emerges, eyebrows up.

You got a spanking. Three swats on your bare bottom for being sneaky and deceitful. When I sat you up on your bed again for the pep talk. I expected the crying and sobbing, but not a tear. Only a slightly flinched face, and then a smile as you realized you could pull it off... you had triumphed over "the spanking" and it no longer had any power over you. I think we both must've had the same expression, staring at each other in blank wonder.

THAT was a disturbing moment. Oh Lord, help me! I remember the neighbor boy, Ty O'dell, who used to laugh when his mother chased him around the carport with her broom after his rear. I could've only been three or four at the time, but I remember thinking, 'that- is cool. I must learn how to do that.' I resolved to be tougher the next time I was spanked, but I never was. Ty's mom didn't spank as hard as my dad.

You said you were sorry later on in a very sincere way, and we're straight now. But I am a little worried that this day has come when my spankings are a joke to you. The truth is, I haven't HAD to spank anyone in a while. You guys have hit a calmer phase of life where time outs have been cutting it pretty well. I will now have to reintroduce you to "Mr. Spoon" the next time, when you take a carton of ice cream out to your tree fort without asking. We'll see if he doesn't wipe that smirk off your too-cute little face!

So a few hours have passed now, and we've taken your brother to school, driven through McDonald's for hash browns, and gotten Jack away from the bathtub faucet about three times. And just now, something has happened that was as exciting as your sneakiness is disturbing.

Just now, you brought me an "invitation" you made. Normally, these notes are filled with circles and chicken scratches, maybe a random "A" or "O". (Even those two letters you taught yourself as neither I nor your teacher have worked with you on writing yet. I mean you are only three.) Today, though, the note you handed me had your name on it. I assumed you found something Evan had written, but just in case I asked you, "who wrote this?"

"I did."

"Your name? Your whole name?" And when I really started looking at it I realized the "N" was even better than Evan's usually are.

"Yes."

"Show me!" I exclaimed, and took you in to Evan's desk and shoved a crayon in your hand.

M-A-D-L-Y-N. Almost perfect, and the original one had been perfect. I had no idea. Completely self-taught, I marveled over you.

"We have to call daddy and tell him!" I said.

"And now, I'll write Evan," you said, and proceeded to write Evan's name.

Who are you? I thought you were just a baby (who thought she was older than she was.) You still look like her with your fine hair and thick feet and your baby teeth, but writing letters as well as (if not better than) your brother??

"And now I'll write a criticism on James Dobson's The Strong-Willed Child and why consistency just doesn't work on the modern child's psyche," you said. Which is what you are still doing as I write this. I'll look forward to hearing your perspective.

Love,

Mama

Labels: dumbhead parenting, Madalyn