4, 3, 9

He's four years, three months, and nine days old. He still can't pronounce the word also. Instead he opts for aw-swee and I don't have the courage to correct him. He's perfectly capable of saying it right and as soon as I explain to him that he's pronouncing it incorrectly I know he'll fix it. I just don't have the heart for that. He adds of course to everything. "I was going to go put on my pajamas, of course." Or, "We're going to the grocery store, of course." There is always a slight sarcastic lilt to his words but with The Husband and I as parents--and, well, my brother for an uncle--there's just no way to totally avoid the sarcasm. He's also taken to referring to me as mudder when I want him to do something that he doesn't particularly want to do. "Okay, Mudder, I'll go clean my room!"

But this kid...

This kid is the tenderhearted one. There's more faith wrapped up in that four-year-old body than I had at fourteen. When we're having a difficult moment--which we have, often--I ask, "Do you want to be a righteous man or do you want to disappoint Jesus?" See, disappointing his mudder is hardly cause for concern but disappointing Jesus, well, that's another thing entirely.

"I want to be a righteous man." He sighs.

Lately, he's been asking me a lot of questions about guns. "Why do people have guns?" For protection. "Why do bad guys have guns?" Because they're naughty. "If a gun shoots us are we dead?" Depends. "Depends on what?" Depends on where the bullet gets us. "What if a gun shoots us in the head?" Yeah. Then there's a good chance we're going to die. "How 'bout the leg?" You'd probably survive that. Especially if you got to a doctor really fast. What about in the body? Well, that depends on where the bullet goes in and what vital organs it hits. "What's a vital organ?" Our organs are the really important pieces of our insides. "What about our heart?" Yeah. Our hearts are organs. "No. Mommy, what if our heart gets shooted?" Oh. We'd die. "No. Because Jesus is in my heart!" Oh boy. "What?" Nothing. That was supposed to be under my breath. You weren't supposed to hear that. Um...yes...Jesus is in our hearts. But when we say that we mean it kind of more like He is in our soul or our spirit and we love Him a lot. He doesn't actually live in the organ. "Dad's dad lives in Oregon." Yes, Grandpa Gary and Grandma DeDe live in Oregon. But that's an entirely different kind of Oregon and if you pronounce it like a vital organ people laugh at you. "Oh." Are we done talking about guns, then? "For now."

Usually we spike the front of his hair. Unless he can convince us to let him go out of the house sporting a faux hawk. It doesn't happen very often. Not nearly as often as he'd like.


Dude takes his pumpkin carving very seriously. Last year he asked for a monkey so daddy, who has more artistic talent in his pinky finger than mudder has in her whole body, carved him a monkey. This year...

Well, this year he has Jonah in the big fish. The Little Buddy's tiny pumpkin ball serves as Jonah. The Rock Star often climbs up onto the counter, and let's Jonah have a little post fish experience by removing him from the belly and sending him on his way to Ninevah.

The kid has been seriously excited for Halloween for about ten months. It was like, Christmas was over and so he started asking for Halloween. I usually take the boys trick-or-treating at the outdoor shopping area by our house. It's broad daylight and they get to wear a costume and hit up some local businesses for candy. Then we go to the Harvest Party at our church. Being that I was a theatre major I let them get into the whole dress up part but their costumes have to be fun, non bloody, and generally pastor kid appropriate. No zombies. No vampires. No death row inmate.

Garrett decided to be a Ninjit (his word) Turtle. Much to my brother's--who grew up during the original Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle craze--chagrin they only had Raphael.

I'm having a hard time getting over the mask. It bothers me. I'm like, "Why does he have to be perpetually sneering?" It makes me feel like my first born is in a constant state of borderline angry. Oooh. I've got it. That mask is totally me at the grocery store with both boys, melting ice cream, and a package of meat that refuses to scan. Both boys are starving, Matthew is crying, and I've just dropped all my coupons on the floor. Finally! A mask to go with my inner shopping turmoil.

(The Little Buddy, by the way, is a giraffe. In the event that, you know, you couldn't tell from the picture. He fell in love with the costume and wouldn't stop hugging it. When I put it on him, he's seriously three times his normal size and it's all stuffing and fluff and I want to cuddle him for all eternity.)

Four years, three months, nine days old. And when I am privileged, like I was last night, to watch him fall asleep, I kiss his head and I think that my heart might literally break in two. That's how much I love him.

1 Samuel 1:27 -- I prayed for this child, and the LORD has granted me what I asked of him.