poetry

I was thinking today about the fact that I often post only the good things my kids say and do on this blog. I thought I should explain that the reason I started blogging was because I wanted to tell someone all the great things my kids do all the time. My kids are normal. I say the same things to them over and over again. They are just barely now starting to play together and mostly they make each other (and me) scream. But every day they do and say things that blow me away and I LOVE to talk about them. If you think I talk about them a lot, if you're around me, you should consider that I am restraining myself. Scary, isn't it? I have discovered though, that it is obnoxious to go on and on ad nauseum about your kids, and so I blog - because, if you didn't WANT to hear a story about my kids, why did you dial up this here Internet web page?

Eleanor has started to sign at a lightening fast pace. This should not be a surprise, as she does everything else fast. If we show her one sign once, she does it, repeats it back to us, in context, hours or even a day later with no other repetition. It is pretty cool. The other day, in passing, I showed her the sign for "coffee". Not that she was ordering any, just because. Then I was hanging out a day or two later watching her play and I had a travel mug of coffee with me and it had been sitting up on a fence for a half an hour, and she cruises up and starts signing away, and it took me a minute to figure out she was pointing at my mug and signing "coffee"! Must be her Dad's genetic code kicking in.

Sophia's poetic phrases have amazed me again today. We had a little girl's time during Eleanor's nap and I was painting her nails. I was telling her about how Wade and I saw the city at night last night and how much I loved the city and began to talk about how there are people who live in Vancouver who don't believe in God or Jesus and don't even know them. She was pretty stunned.

The conversation wound around to her praying and asking Jesus to come and live in her heart. That was pretty cool. I didn't grow up with that idea, of praying to ask Jesus in, and I don't think it's absolutely a required step on the journey, but it came about and she was so chilled about it, and taking it all in, it was nice. The conversation involved talking abut Jesus dying for our sins, you know, light chatter for manicure time. Later we were telling Wade about our talk and Sophia said,

"When Jesus died on the cross, my heart was broken, like this", she mimed with her fingers something coming apart, "Broken apart, like a baby chick. Then when Jesus died on the cross, He put my heart back together again, like this." And she joined all her fingers together again.
If I had made that comment up, I would have gone the traditional route, of the rising again being the part that put her heart together. But the dying broke it, like a baby chick, and the dying healed it.

She also composed an impromptu song last night about how her privates needed a wash. Poetry, baby, poetry.