You fell out of your bed twice last night. I believe that was a first, and you’ve been sleeping in it all summer! Of course, the first time had nothing to do with the fact that after we tucked you in and closed the door you moved about half of your stuffed animal menagerie into your bed. When I went in to find you crying on the floor, there was a mound of animals in the middle of the bed, covered with all your blankets. You’d obviously decided to squeeze in at the foot, where there was no guard rail.
The second time was this morning when you woke up. Obviously, you’d again migrated to the foot of the bed—your favorite place to sleep (as was your daddy’s when he was little, so I guess you come by it naturally). Normally, though, you manage to stay in bed even when you sleep at the foot of it!
The other day, as I stood in front of the pantry, you informed me: “Pro’ly pencils will make my tummy feel better.”
I was lost. You repeated it over and over until I realized that with the pantry doors open the bag of pretzels was staring you in the face.
Try as I might, I couldn’t get you to pronounce it correctly. But you and your sister adored your “pencil” snack. And as you grabbed a washcloth, you informed me, “My face was a little dirty from the pencils.”
I was sorting clothes yesterday, thankful for the fact I have girls—since girls seem not to mind trying on outfit after outfit, modeling one shirt and then another to see if it fits. You always told me things were too small if they were too big. And you were “so eh-cited” to see all your old clothes. You were sure they fit again. Instead I had to explain they were for sister now!
Your room floor was covered with Rubbermaid bins and lids, which you must needs wend your way through, back and forth, continually. As you tripped over one lid, you said, “Tell me ‘careful’, Mom.” Because, of course, “careful” is something a mother says after her child has nearly her herself!
Please do be careful not to fall out of your bed again, my girl.
Each time we pray, you ask your daddy, “Pray for my babboons!” Nevermind that they are the Piglet and birthday balloon left over from your sister’s birthday party. We must thank God each day, several times a day, for your balloons. I’m glad you’re learning to be thankful.
We’re also trying to remind you “things” don’t last forever, in an effort to lessen the tears at the next “small damp rag” event, or when Mommy has another bouquet of flowers from Daddy that finally must be thrown away (you shed many a tear over the disappearance of the last one). You’ve now taken to commenting frequently that “nothing lasts forever.” Whether it’s the cherry tomatoes we’re picking, or the food we’re eating, you randomly observe “flowers don’t last forever, nothing lasts forever.” Each time I agree, and explain to you that the Bible says in Isaiah 40:8, that “he grass withers, the flowers fade, but the Word of our God stands forever.”
I love you, Ru. I’m proud of you for learning important truths. Even if you can’t pronounce “pretzels.”
P.S. Do you ever again have any plans to wear matching socks, or is mismatched footwear the new fashion? I don’t think you’ve worn a matched pair of socks, except under great duress, for months now. You’re so proud of your “pink and purple flower socks” this morning. And your sandals, of course, rarely match. At least when it comes to rubber boots, you only have the purple option. But that doesn’t mean they are on the right feet!