Wednesday, April 30, 2014

2 Cor 12:9

But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness."  Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me.

So, how quiet is my darling spouse?  He is so quiet that if we have only so many words allotted to us for a lifetime, he has another lifetime left!  I mean, really, it only took ten years to learn his favorite color is blue.  We've been married thirty years and these are some of the very few introspective nuggets that have slipped his lips:  he does not like peanut butter, he does like banana cream pie, and he loves me.  So, what up wid dat?  Please allow me to speculate and stray momentarily off topic.

I may or may not have mentioned that I have two children who are the best children in the whole world.  You maybe thought you had them, but no, I do.  So sorry for you.  Anyway, our first child was a daughter, B.  She was a little surprise.  A bonus, shall we say, from our second visit to J.'s cabin in the Land of 10,000 Lakes.

Her little face lit up at the sight of me.  She made a sound, I made a sound.  We moved on to talking, reading books, pretending to be peacocks and generally reveling in each others' company.  The deceptive little thing deluded me into thinking I had this motherhood thing down.

The three of us, A., B., and me, moved our happy little family Down Under.  A. was a programmer with Unisys.  He told me Unisys had a contract with the Royal Australian Navy and programmers were needed.  I knew A. was very good at what he did and I said, "Put your little hand in the air and WAVE!"  We went to live Down Under for a year and a half.  B. acquired an Australian accent and I acquired a baby bump.  I tell everyone who will listen that he was conceived in Cairns.  Pronounced "cans."  I'm bad.

We arrived back in Minnesota in November 1986.  Our souvenir from Australia, M., arrived April 1987.  He did not turn yellow, like his sister.  He did not require the movie star treatment under the bright lights.  More about the daughter's dramatic delivery later.

We took this uncomplicated baby boy home on a lovely spring day.  He did not want his pacifier for the ride home from the hospital.  His sister worshiped at the alter of Nuk.  I kept putting his in his mouth and later discovered it in my bra.

As you can see, the comparisons of the daughter and son had begun.  She thought I was all that and a bag of chips.  He preferred to snuggle with Dad.  She held a finger in the air, when asked how old she was, and declared "One!"  Actually, she was eleven months.  He seemed to see things in the dreamy distance.  He did not talk until he was two.  Then he up and said, "Daddy's home, get up now."  If she was fussy, she could be put in her crib and soon she would calm down and have a nap.  He would go in fussy, and escalate to wailing without end.  She seemed to enjoy words; talking, listening, and conversing.  "In five minutes we will be leaving to visit a friend," had meaning.  Unfortunately for M., the aforementioned seemed to be noise.  All he knew was:  hey wait, there goes the little cars I just lined up just right, and why the heck are they putting this coat on me, and whoa! this is when we usually eat, and now we are in the car, and I am hungry and I have a cold, and what is this place and who are these people and I AM HAVING NONE OF THIS!

I did learn my children are each precious and comparing does nobody good.  However, the scenario above was repeated whenever our routine was disrupted.  It seemed to me our little one was a titch unreachable.  There was some undefinable something I could not explain.  Looking back, it is possible for me to say that he seemed to be an independent creature living on an alien planet.

Imagine packing up our little family and moving to South America when B. was six and M. was 3.  More to come!

Today's treasure was wearing my white spring/summer jeans even if it was only 45 degrees F.  Tomorrow is May Day, dang it!