I've been a blog bum lately. I've kind of been a life bum, too. You should see the laundry piled up in my bedroom (clean and folded). And in my closet (dirty, in a heap). And in my office (because I don't have a laundry room, that's where my drying rack resides -- clean, not yet folded). And in Henry's room (not sure what's clean and what's dirty; never folded). I've basically been excelling at lowering the bar and procrastination.
Henry is excelling at being darling. And sometimes lowering the housework bar and procrastinating the to-do's allows for more time to revel in the darlingness.
Anyhow, here are a few samples of recent conversations:
(While reading a scripture story) H: Mom, was Laban a good buy or a bad guy?
Me: He was a bad guy.
H: Oh. Like, he wasn't kind to his friends?
Me: Probably not.
H: And he didn't listen to his mommy and daddy? (Love the way he projects his paradigm onto everyone/thing else).
Me: Nope, he probably didn't listen to them.
H: (After a thoughtful pause) Well, somebody should tell him to be good 'cause Santa doesn't bring presents to naughty people.
While helping him get his shoes and socks on:
Me: Henry, you really need to start putting your own shoes and socks on.
H: Well, maybe you should cheach (teach) me.
Me: Okay, I will.
We proceed with the teaching and I get impatient that he cannot even get one sock on right.
H: Mom, don't get mad. Don't get mad at cheaching boys; they don't like that.
He is so sensitive about me getting mad -- today while we were cleaning up toys I got impatient at his snail's pace and he said, "Okay mom, but just don't get mad about it. It hurts me when you get mad."
After a chat about how we're going to watch less shows:
H: Okay, but mom, when you take a nap, then can I watch a show?
Me: (knowing that I almost never take naps) Sure. If I take a nap, you can watch a show.
H: Are you getting sleepy, mom?
As we were walking out the door to go to Lily's well-check, which would include a couple of shots:
H: Mom, maybe we should say a little prayer for Lily so she won't get sad when she gets her pokes.
Yesterday, while reading a Christmas story:
Me: These are the wise men who followed the star. Frankincense, gold and myrrh brought from afar...
H: Which one is Franken?
H: Whose name is Franken?
Me: (Laughing) Who do you think should be Franken?
H: (Pointing) Him. And this one is Myrh. And the other one is Ellis.
We've a bit of a fascination with naming things these days. The big white horse in front of P.F. Chang's? His name is Gus.
The other night after I came home from a church youth activity, I went into his room to say goodnight:
H: Mom, do you think I'm handsome 'cause I washed my hair tonight?
Me: I sure do.
H: And are you pretty?
Me: What do you think? Am I pretty?
H: Um...(pause) I think you're...not pretty.
Me: (a little surprised) Oh, really?
H: just not in that brown shirt. I like it when you wear a different shirt.
I regularly hear him having imaginary conversations -- ninety nine times out of a hundred his imaginary pal is named Ezra. I overheard this the other day after Henry took a nasty spill and landed nose-first on a sharp, wooden toy.
H (to imaginary Ezra): yea, I got a really bad owie on my nose. But it's good to hurt your nose or your mouth 'cause it gets better really, really, really, really, really fast. Yea, but you need'a bless my heart, Ez 'cause I got that owie.
He is saying funny/sweet things so frequently that I am inclined to keep a notepad on my person at all times so I won't forget these priceless little soundbytes.
I love him.