I know. I know. I blogged pictures of Jesse sleeping just the other day.
It’s just . . . today, as he sat at the counter “fixing” some stuff, he very calmly said this to me:
“Mom. I told you to get me those screwdrivers. Either get me them, or I scream as loud as I can. You choose.”
In his defense, I should say that, of all my children, he is possibly the very most willing to alter his ways. Very often he will slump his shoulders – after a reprimand for some behavior -- and forlornly say, “OK, Mom. But it makes me sad.” He will then go about giving the newly recommended behavior (such as “not threatening to scream at your mother when you want something”) his best shot.
And today, when attempting to tell me I was being grumpy (for not giving him something or other), he angrily told me I was being “scrumptious”. I’ll take scrumptious.
Here he is – as the coolest kid in church – with the cowboy shirt his grandpa gave him and the cowboy bolo tie his great aunt Sarah gave him. He has turned into a saint at church rather suddenly. He sits there. Quiet as can be. Looking for all the world like he has lost the very will to live. But reverent. It is because, he tells me, he is now four. I suppose, like Paul speaking to the Corinthians, Jesse is saying, “. . . when I became a man, I put away childish things”. Dear boy.
I must run now. Someone is asking me to explain how exactly magnets stick to metal, and, also, just what exactly “scrumptious” means.