Conversations with Lucas: Brains, Bathroom Talk & Big Words, Predators & Prayers

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Our Cutie Comedian

L: Daddy, let’s play the chasing game! But we should take our socks off so we don’t slip.

J: I’m going to leave my socks on, my feet are cold.

L: But Daddy, I really, really want you to take your socks off!

J: I’m too cold! But if I slip I’ll take them off.

L:  [Thinks for a moment…] Okay Daddy.

[Game commences]

L: Daddy, pretend you slipped!

[Jaime purposely slips and falls]

L: Okay, now take off your socks.

J: Hey!

L: You said if you slipped you’d take off your socks!!

B: I think someone outsmarted you…

J: You tricked me! But I tell you what, if you catch me, I’ll take them off.

[Frantic chasing ensues]

L: Daddy, pretend you let me get close to you…

*

[Lucas and Jaime are doing a puzzle of the United States]

L: Um, Daddy, that’s not where Nebraska goes!

J: Oh man, you’re right!

L: Yeah. I guess you’re not the smartest human in the world.

*

L: Mommy!

B: What up?

L: I just went potty.

B: OK.

L: But Mommy?

B: Yes?

L: You might want to go clean the wall.

*

L: Mommy, upstairs is Daddy’s bathroom, downstairs is your bathroom, and this is my bathroom.

B: Really.

L: Yeah. It’s special. Try your hardest to keep that in mind.

*

L: Guess what I know about science?

B: What?

L: Chicken poop helps flowers to grow! But not human poop.

*

L: Mommy, I’m all done with my lunch!

B: That’s great!

L: See! Look at my plate. It’s barren!

B: Barren?!

L: Yup! There’s nothing there!

*

L: Mommy, at my farm Henny is smart. King doesn’t know anything yet.

B: Oh?

L: Yeah, King’s igernant. Wait, what’s that word again?

B: Ignorant?

L: Yeah igernant.

*

L: Mommy, what does endemic mean?

B: Endemic? Where did you hear that?

L: On Wild Kratts, the one called Lemur Legs. It means an animal that only lives in that place like the lemurs in Madagascar.

B: Oh. Hey wait, if you knew what it meant, why did you ask me?

L: I just forgot for a moment and then I remembered.

[Lucky break…I was going to have to look it up]

*

L: Mommy, come look! The mouse is living with the owl in my barn!

B: Really? Won’t the owl eat the mouse?

L: No, this owl eats different kinds of mice. It eats technology mice.

*

L: Maybe we can get Madagascar from the library again.

J: Sure, we can do that.

B: Really? There were some scary parts. If we do we might have to fast forward through the scary parts like where the crocodile swallows the…

L: OR WE COULD JUST STAY CALM.

L: I do like Inside Out better than Madagascar. Inside Out is kind of lovely. Madagascar is kind of scary.

*

[Bedtime prayer]

L: Dear God, please help Mommy’s fingers to feel all better.  And please God, send us a new glass bowl.

*

L: Mommy, why are you just standing there?

B: I’m a little nervous to get on the treadmill.

L: Why, Mommy?

B: It’s just hard for me.

L: Don’t worry, I’ll pray for you! Dear Jesus, please help Mommy be brave to run on the treadmill so she can get all better. We love you, thanks, in Jesus Name, Amen. There. Do you feel much braver now?

B: So much braver Little One. ❤

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Conversations with Lucas, Part Five

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It’s time for another installment of Conversations with Lucas! I hope they bring a smile to your face 🙂

L: Mommy, am I holding my pencil right?

B: Yes Baby, that’s right.

L: Oh thank you! That fills my heart with joy!

[Mine too.]

*

L: Mommy, no one is allowed to touch the cell phone tower. No parents and no kids. But I am.

B: Oh, do you have special privileges?

L: No, I have gloves.

*

L: Daddy, I want you to read this book! [Points to The Three Little Javelinas by Susan Lowell]

J: Oh, the Three Little Javelinas.

L: Dad?

J: Yes?

L: Would you please stop speaking Spanish and read it the way Mommy does?

*

[Lucas, singing a song from church]

J: Lucas, if you know the songs we’re singing during church you can always sing along!

L: I know, but do you know why I wasn’t singing at church, Dad?

J: No, why?

L: I was waiting for the part where we eat the bread and dip it into that cup.

B: Oh, communion!

L: Yeah, I love that part.

B: Me too. Does it make you feel close to God?

L: Yeah, well, it’s just that being at church makes me really hungry.

*

L: Mom, do you know what?

B: What?

L: You and I have belly buttons.

B: True…

L: But Daddy doesn’t have a belly button.  Daddy has a belly hole.

*

L: Daddy and I are your husbands!

B: Well, Daddy is my husband and you are my son.

L: But we both take care of you and that’s what husbands do!

B: Yes, you’re right, but sons can help take care of their moms too.

L: Okay, I’m your five-year-old son and husband helper!

*

L: Mommy, Henny’s not playing in today’s soccer game.

B: Oh, that’s too bad.

L: Yeah, she has an attitude.

B: Uh oh!

L: Mommy, what’s an attitude?

*

L: Mommy, you feel warm.

B: I do?

L: Yeah.  Your skin is so warm it feels like the fur of a fox.

[He knows this because of all those foxes he’s touched?]

*

[Riding the bus to the hospital]

B: We’re going to pass your old preschool in a minute! And then we’ll pass by Aunt Ede’s work.

L: Then where, Mommy?

B: Then we’ll be on our way to the hospital.

L: Wow! You know almost everything!

*

B: Honey, can you please sit at the table while you’re eating? You’re making a big mess.

L: But Mommy, I can’t just sit still! I need a lot of exercise!

*

J: Did you have fun even though you didn’t want to go?

L: Yes! It was so fun!

J: I had fun too even though I didn’t want to go either.

L: But Mommy did.

J: Yeah, she was right. We should probably just listen to Mommy.

L: Yeah, girls know the right thing to do. They have better ideas than boys.

*

B: I have something to tell you. You and I are going to get a flu shot today.

L: NOOOO!!!

B: But wait, I didn’t tell you the good part yet. Daddy got the movie Inside Out for you from the library and we can watch it when we get home as a “thank you” for being brave and getting the shot.

L: Okay, I guess I’ll go.

[After surviving the shot and both watching and loving the movie…]

L: Mommy I really appreciate this.  Thanks so much for getting me that shot!

B: Um, you’re welcome?!

L: Next time I get a shot, I’ll say to the doctor, “Thank you for the shot.”

[We’ll see about that :)]

*

L: Mommy, I’m going to tell you a story.

B: Okay!

L: Once there was…[story continues for a good, long while].

B: Wow, that was quite a story!

L: Did you like it?

B: Yes…

L: Good! Because I’m going to do it again, but this time I’m gonna sing it.

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Thanks for all the smiles, funny boy.

A Health and Exercise Update

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Friday, September 9th was clinic day for me. It had been three months since I’d been in to see my CF doctor. That means that for the past three months, I’ve felt good enough that I didn’t need any visits outside of my routine check ups. I really like my doctor and I’m pretty sure he likes me too, but we were seeing way too much of each other over the winter months.

I didn’t feel too nervous leading up to the appointment, not until right before my breathing test. Then sure enough, I felt my heart rate start to rise. There are just so many nerves when it comes to that test. I have felt healthy and strong all summer which is the most important thing, but you just never know what that FEV1 number will be. It’s hard not to be anxious.

In the end I scored a 39%. It would have been great to see a big jump since I’m feeling far stronger and healthier than I did three months ago when I scored 38%, but I’ve been through this enough times to moderate my expectations. It didn’t go down so we’ll call it a success!

Everything else checked out great–my heart rate returned to normal after the test, my oxygen saturation was good, my lungs sounded clear, and my blood pressure was normal. All good signs of health. My doctor was very pleased with how I was doing and was especially happy to hear about my exercise tolerance which he reminded me (again) was just as if not more important than what my FEV1 says. He also brought to my attention that in spite of several illnesses over the winter, my FEV1 stayed stable during and after the illness and didn’t dip like it did with my struggles in the winter of 2015. Stability is a wonderful, wonderful thing when you struggle with a chronic and progressive disease like CF. I am so grateful.

Which brings me to my next update–Operation Lace Up! A few months ago I wrote that I had achieved my goal of running two miles without stopping but I intended to work on diminishing the amount of time it takes me to get through those two miles. At the time I was running them in about 26.5 minutes.  Well…I’m still running them in about 26.5 minutes. I did start working on reducing my speed as planned, but I found that when I pushed myself even a little bit harder, I was getting over tired and not having energy for the other things I wanted to do. I took a step back and reevaluated my goal. I decided to continue to run two miles three times per week at the slower pace and to shoot for increasing my overall level of activity by getting 10,000 steps or more every day (which my Fitbit measures), workout days included. The summer is a great time to be active, and specifically this summer, I had a lot of work I wanted to do on the exterior of the house after being bitten by the Clean Window Perspective bug. I had areas in the yard I wanted to spruce up and Jaime and I decided this was the summer to paint our house.

I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that yard work and painting are physically challenging to someone with reduced lung function, but I love doing these types of jobs! The sides of our house and the perimeter in the back were overgrown with weeds, so I set out to clear the weeds and move rocks from the back to the sides where they could be more useful for weed management. I’m not done yet, but things are shaping up nicely.  Here are a few photos…

 

You maybe wondering what Lucas was up to while I was doing all this work. As you can see, he helped us paint (for a few minutes) but it took some creativity to keep him occupied most of the time. I put up a tent which I filled with books for him, turned on the sprinkler, even filled a snow sled with water. (Think portable bathtub).

Working outdoors (and going back indoors a hundred times to get the other book or bath toy that Lucas wanted) really racked up those steps! So far I have been successful with my goal and am on a 75-day streak of getting 10,000 steps or more. I feel like this increased level of daily activity has improved my energy and stamina which I’m very happy about. Fall is here now and winter is coming, so I’m sure it will be more difficult to keep it up from here on out. But I’m up for the challenge 🙂

Young Fives

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The day after Labor Day was Lucas’s first day of school for this year. He is attending a half day Young Fives program at an elementary school in our district. A few weeks before school started he told me he was so excited for school to start! I wasn’t sure I believed him. Up until now, he has been very reluctant to embrace any changes in his life. However, the first day of school dawned, and he really was ready to go!

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Our sweet, eager boy on his first day of school!

Jaime drops Lucas off at school each morning, and after they were packed up and on their way that first day, I headed back downstairs to start my morning treatments and therapy. I was anxiously awaiting a phone call or text from Jaime to hear how it went.  About 20 minutes later I got this photo:

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First-day-of-school pasta necklace.

Lucas had walked right in, sat down, and got right to work on a pasta necklace. No tears, no clinging, no nervousness. Just a cheerful, “Bye, Dad!”

When I picked him up three hours later, he was all smiles and excitement. And he is still all smiles and excitement three weeks later. He is eager to go each morning, and he’s been on time every day. Well, almost every day. His morning chauffeur overslept once and they were a few minutes late. Lucas tells me all the time he loves school. We couldn’t be more pleased!

Being five, Lucas doesn’t give me a detailed report after school, but he will tell me one or two things about his day on the way home, and a few more details surface as the afternoon wears on.  Here’s what I’ve gleaned so far:

  • He adores his teacher. Apparently all the kids think she is the “awesomest.”
  • It took his teacher less than a week to figure out his favorite color. It is tradition for her to locate the orange in his outfit each day.
  • His favorite special is gym because of all the running around. No surprise there. It seems they play freeze tag a lot.
  • His best friend in the class is a boy named Beckett. They play chasing games at recess together every day. I’ve noticed that Lucas and Beckett are the only two kids dripping with sweat when I come for pick up.
  • He has never once used the bathroom at school. He disapproves of public restrooms and the classroom bathroom is no exception. Thankfully he can get through three hours without going.
  • Lucas loves playing with his own classmates but doesn’t like it when additional classes are on the playground. Apparently there are some loud girls in the other Young Fives class. He doesn’t approve.
  • The students have to sit “criss cross applesauce, pepperoni pizza sauce” during circle time. Some things never change (although we had a much more boring and politically incorrect name for it).
  • The class did a unit with Jan Brett’s book The Gingerbread Baby which Lucas loved. Being a teacher myself, I happened to have a copy in my office. I brought it up and it found its way into our bedtime story lineup. It’s a very long book.  Jaime is still mad at me.
  • I heard Lucas quoting a line from Froggy’s First Day of School by Jonathan London after his teacher read it the other day. I have that one in my office too. I plan to bring it up after I’m sure Jaime has forgiven me for The Gingerbread Baby. 
  • Lucas hopes to be in Young Fives for a very long time. Jaime told him one morning that it was his last day of school (meaning for the week) and Lucas got teary. He was relieved to hear there were still approximately 175 school days left.
  • So far there haven’t been any traditional worksheets from class, but he did bring this home from his math center:
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Lucas’s very first worksheet.

Okay, so he had seven stickers for the number six and his name could use some work, but we’re still pretty convinced he’s a genius 😉

We are so pleased with how this year has gone so far, and proud of our big boy for making such a smooth transition to five school days a week. Jaime was exhausted after the first few days of getting the two of them out the door on time, but they’ve settled into a routine and it’s gotten easier. And for me, the schedule is heavenly. I can sleep until 8:00 most mornings. I then have three hours after they leave before I need to head out. I can get through my treatments and therapy in peace. By the time I’m through those and I’ve eaten breakfast and gotten ready for the day, I usually have 45 minutes to play with. It’s great to get a load of laundry folded, some tutoring preparations done, make some phone calls, or run a quick errand solo before I’m reunited with my bundle of energy. And once he’s back home, we still have plenty of afternoon hours for our adventures. It’s great. Young Fives. We all love it.

A Look of Love

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This time of year always stirs up my emotions. As the summer draws to an end and Labor Day weekend approaches, my mind wanders back to that summer of 2004, the summer when Sheri was dying. I saw her several times then, as much as her energy would allow. In the earlier months I would bring food for her and we would play games or work on crafts to pass the time. As the summer drew to the end, the visits were short and she wasn’t able to do much more than lay on the couch.

Time softens the pain of losing a loved one in some ways. I have gotten used to not seeing her regularly. I don’t expect to see her name pop up on my email or see her neat, cursive writing on a card in my mailbox. But each year at this time, when I reflect on her life and her death, the wound reopens and feels as raw and fresh as it did that first day when I knew I wouldn’t see her again on this side of eternity. There are always torrents of tears as that longing surges up–the longing to see her, hold her, touch her, talk to her and share life with her once again.

Last night I was looking through a box of memories–photos of Sheri, emails and letters she wrote, her book of poetry. I found a few pages I had written the month after she died. I wrote:

I remember when Sheri had a bad lung infection, a blocked bowel, and the tobramycin in her system got to toxic levels. She lost part of her hearing. She lost kidney function and had to go on dialysis for a while. She was in Ann Arbor, away from home for weeks. I remember I drove her and Mom to the hospital. She had a towel and a bucket with her in case she threw up. That was the weakest I’d ever seen her. She turned and gave me a look of total love and compassion before she stepped out of the car. It was the same look she gave me the second to last time I saw her alive. I hope I never forget that look. So much was wrapped up in it. She felt so much compassion for me, watching her go through her pain and how much it hurt me to see her like that, and compassion for the fear I felt in wondering if I’d ever go through similar things, and the love she had for me and how much she wanted to protect me from all the pain she’d been through. All that was in her gaze.

I remember that moment clear as day. I can still see her with her towel and bucket and more importantly, I can see that look of love. In the midst of one of the most trying and painful times in her life, she was reaching out to me with her eyes–extending comfort, love, and understanding.  She was not so overcome by her own struggle to miss the grief of her little sister who was sad and more than a little bit scared.

That look of love brought me comfort then and it brings me comfort now. I remember Sheri’s strength, her courage, her poise, her compassion, and especially the feeling of her love. She fought for life and brought so much joy, laughter and grace into our lives. She refused to be defeated by pain. Her life may have been short by today’s standards, but she used her life for good and for God’s glory. And now in heaven, she’s experiencing only joy and peace–no need for tobra or towels or buckets or tears. Her example gives me courage and strength.

I see Sheri’s gaze only in my memory now, but I know God looks on me with those same eyes of love. His love is an everlasting, steadfast love. His mercies never come to an end. The sadness is there. The fear is there. But God is also there. And someday, we’ll be together again. When God’s purposes for my life are complete, I’ll join Sheri in heaven. It’s fun to imagine what we might do. Run a marathon just because we can? Have French fries without the side order of pancreatic enzymes? Have a fit of laughter that doesn’t end with coughing? Those things are just silly fantasies and chances are, none of that will matter. But I’m pretty certain, when I see Sheri, I’ll get to see that look of love again.

Sheri Leigh VanBruggen, September 26, 1968 – September 4, 2004

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Our Sheri, in 1985. 

 

 

Another 20-Year Anniversary

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The year 1996 was a big year for me. It was the year Jaime and I started dating. It was the year I graduated from high school. After graduation, I turned 18. In the fall I headed off to college. There were lots of milestones!

There was another big event for me in August of that year. The first weekend, I went to meet the girl who was to be my roommate for my Freshman and Sophomore years of college.  I remember having a stomach ache on Sunday that weekend. Thursday of that week that I wrote in my journal about abdominal pain and fevers. Friday morning I had an allergy appointment and my mom took me even though I was ill, feeling that perhaps the allergist could shed some light on my condition given her medical background and expertise. Once we got there she began examining me and when she touched my abdomen, pain surged through me. I shot up off the table, surprising all three of us. She knew right then it was probably my appendix and rushed me across the hall to where my physician had his offices. Within a few hours I was in surgery.

These days, appendectomies are often done laproscopically, but 20 years ago, we weren’t even presented with that option. We were hopeful, however, that the procedure would be routine and I would be out of the hospital after a few days. That was not meant to be. Once I was in surgery, they found that my appendix was hugely swollen and had perforated. Infection had spilled out into my abdomen and infection and scar tissue were clinging to my large and small intestine. They had to remove portions of both intestines as well as the appendix.

At the time, it was also determined I had a mild case of bronchitis. Out of concern for my lungs, the doctors decided it was best not to put me fully under for the surgery. The exact details are fuzzy in my mind, so I turned to my journal to fill in the details. There I reported that they gave me a spinal injection but I was partially aware during the surgery. Apparently I was lashing out and hitting at the doctors and nurses. They gave me a shot after the surgery to help me to forget. I did forget the surgery itself but had nightmares for months after the procedure as my subconscious tried to wrestle with the horror I had been through. (Side note: if you hit medical personnel during surgery, however justifiably, they will label you “combative” and that term will follow you around for the rest of your life!)

The first memory I have post-surgery is being wheeled from the elevator into my room. I thought I was screaming and writhing in pain, but was told later that I was in fact deathly still and softly moaning. I wanted to die. I had never, ever felt such a degree of pain and misery and it seemed unbearable. My second memory is of my parents and two of my sisters arriving at my room with a big bunch of balloons. I remember the shocked looks on their faces when they saw me. I remember my mom rushing to my side, and the others leaving immediately. The next two weeks were the most difficult of my life up to that point. I was discharged from the hospital after several days only to be readmitted due to uncontrolled pain and swelling. The infection took a long time to get under control. I became undernourished and unable to eat. Weight melted from my frame. The surgeon, skilled but callous, implied that I was anorexic because I wouldn’t (couldn’t!) eat. He also blamed me for the seriousness of my condition, deciding I must have withheld information from my parents about how I was feeling. He didn’t take into consideration that CFers have stomach pain routinely which makes it seem normal and also builds a pain tolerance that is perhaps higher than average. The staff seemed annoyed and threatening when I pulled my NG tube out in my sleep on the second night. Nothing was going right. It was an awful experience.

There were good things that happened too–Jaime came to visit me and brought me a cheerful stuffed Tigger. My sisters and dad came to visit regularly. My aunt and grandfather came. People sent flowers and little gifts to cheer me up. And my long-suffering mother stayed by my side most of the time, fielded phone calls from me in the middle of the night when I was despairing, and read to me to help pass the time. One day she read these verses from 2 Corinthians 1:

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God. For just as we share abundantly in the sufferings of Christ, so also our comfort abounds through Christ. (v. 3-5)

Those verses meant a lot to me during those weeks and the time of recovery that followed. It was the first time in my life that I was in real trouble. I was dealing with an infection serious enough to cost me my life. I was being cared for by a surgeon who was unkind and unfair. I was due to leave for college and didn’t know if I’d be strong enough to go. The future felt uncertain. And yet I felt God’s comfort deeply, perhaps for the first time. I found joy in knowing that this comfort I had received could be used to help someone else. It was the first time I personally grappled with the notion of redemption–that God could take a painful and ugly experience in my life and bring good from it. And He did bring forth many good things. I felt forever marked by God’s love and care for me during those days. I learned that life is indeed uncertain and disaster can strike at any time, but that God is a sure and steady anchor and can see us through any storm. I had a new understanding of what real pain was which made me appreciate all the more Christ’s sacrifice for me on the cross. My faith was deepened. I understood a little more about how much my sister Sheri had suffered with her CF and I felt compassion and respect for her.

I also had new eyes through which to see the pain and suffering around me, and once I got to college just weeks later, I found that hurt was rampant in people’s lives. I had friends who were scarred by abusive pasts, friends who were struggling with depression, and those simply looking for acceptance and love from a cold, hard world. I found I could relate to them a little better, and I felt deep sadness for the wounds that were ongoing, unable to be fully healed by the passage of time.

Although I thought my wounds were fully healed, years later, we discovered that this surgery was a big player in the infertility I was experiencing. In an exploratory procedure, our reproductive specialist discovered that my abdomen was full of scar tissue from the appendectomy and was it creating a mess of things. And unbeknownst to us, one of my fallopian tubes had been removed and tied off, a detail the surgeon failed to mention back in 1996. While the infertility was painful and difficult, it was another formative time in my life where I learned to trust God and accept His plan for me. In a spectacular show of redemption, Lucas was born on August 9, 2011–the 15th anniversary of that dreadful surgery. His birth on that day reminded me that our hurts do not go unnoticed by God. He sees, He knows, and if we allow Him to, He works all things together for our good, no exceptions. What a miracle.

That experience 20 years ago marked my transition from childhood into adulthood. It was a time of major growth for me. It was also the first of several times where I was in real danger and God preserved and protected my life. After that I knew without a doubt that He had a plan and a purpose for me. I knew that my life wouldn’t be perfect–couldn’t be perfect in a world so marked by pain and suffering. But I also knew that He would be my faithful guide and companion, and that He would provide whatever I needed. And He has. Great is His faithfulness.

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Conversations with Lucas, Part Four

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We love this silly boy and are so thankful for him and for all the joy he brings to our lives. He loves to laugh and he sure makes us laugh! Sometimes he does it on purpose by telling jokes or repeating things he noticed we found funny in the past. Sometimes it’s just the combination of his sweet face, his little voice, and the way his mind works that has us in stitches.  Here are a few of our recent conversations. We hope they make you laugh too!

B: Who is going to go first?

L: I know! “Eenie, meanie, miney, mo, kitchen tiger by its toe.”

B: Kitchen tiger?

L: Yeah. You go first Mommy.

*

L: Mommy, can we have quesadillas for dinner?

B: Well, it’s Father’s Day so we’ll let Daddy pick what he wants for dinner.

L:  Okay.  But when is it Kid’s Day?

*

L: Mommy, when is Daddy going to be home?

B: He’s on his way.

L: I want him to be home now!

B: Okay, well, if you count to 100, then he will be home.

L: Okay!  10, 20, 30…

B: Hey!

*

L: Mommy, will you make my lunch now?

B: Sure, but let me lay down for two minutes, I’m tired.

L: But I’m not tired!

B: That’s because you’re a strong, young boy and I’m an old lady.

L: You’re a mom, not a lady.

*

L: Mommy! Come see my farm! But you have to call first to see if it’s open.

B: Okay…ring ring…

L: Hello?

B: Hi, I was wondering if the farm was open so I could come and see the animals?

L: I’m sorry, you have the wrong number. This is the doctor’s office.

*

[At lunch time…]

B: Hey, there’s a family of lions on my chair, I can’t sit down!

L: It’s okay, Mommy.

B: It’s okay to move them?

L: No, you can eat somewhere else. Or you can stand.

*

L: I don’t want to!

B: I know you don’t, but sometimes you just have to obey Mommy and Daddy. It’s hard when it’s something you don’t like, but Mommy and Daddy have to obey too.  We have to obey God.

L: But who has to obey kids?

*

L: Mommy, soccer players fall a lot.

B: That’s true, sometimes they trip or bonk into each other.

L: Yeah, you fall a lot in soccer but you don’t fall in golf. Only if you’re wearing the wrong pants.

*

L: Daddy, Mommy and I have been talking.

J: Yeah?

L: Yeah. You are really forgetful, but we love you anyway.

*

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Thanks for all the laughs, little one. We love you.