A Few Things About a Few Kids and a Bronco

The other day I heard Mette whining and moaning piteously. When I asked her what was wrong she exclaimed, "EVERYTHING!"

"Everything?" I questioned. "What does that mean?"

"It means everything," she wailed back.

"But I thought you and Summer were playing so nicely together," I said.

"No," Mette bitterly replied. "Summer betrayed me."

It's the betrayals from those we are closest to that sting the most, I suppose. Poor girl.

Not long ago, as we were driving to the cabin, the older three girls were discussing possibly singing something in an upcoming sacrament meeting. 

"As long as I get to be alto," Daisy said.

"I get to be second soprano," Penny chimed in.

And then, from a few rows back in the van we hear Hans resignedly say, "I'll be first soprano. Whatever." 

I'm quite sure he's never heard the term soprano in his life, nor has the faintest inkling what "being first soprano" means; but ever the agreeable fellow, he felt he needed to just willingly take whatever it seemed was left.

(I don't recall what sorrow caused him to crumple into a ball on the hard deck in the above picture.)

Yesterday, first thing in the morning, he made a small "Lost Balloon" sign for some balloon that I have no recollection of having existed any time in recent memory, so I have very little hopes over its being found. I had even littler hopes when, upon completing his drawing of a little lost red balloon, and painstakingly writing out Mike's phone number for anyone to call should they find it, he hung his Lost Balloon sign ... in our bathroom above the toilet paper. 🤷

He's just such a pleasant little fellow with lots of lengthy, rambling things to always be telling each of us about. I am just as fond of him as can be. 

(And I don't know if he really falls asleep constantly? Or if I just can't resist taking a quick snapshot of him when I find him that way.)

(The sad thing in this sleeping picture is that he was actually waiting for me to make his bed. [I don't know why he'd suddenly determined his bed should be made, but he really wanted it done, and I'd promised him I would do it "in just a minute". But the waiting, clearly, turned out to be far more than "just a minute".)

Anders has become quite the jokester of the family. He is always telling jokes. (And often ones he makes up.) Unfortunately, his jokes do not shy away from areas such as this:

"What has a bottom at its top?"

"Your legs."

Here he is a week or two ago asking if we notice anything different about his hair:

Initially I thought it was just a bit messy. But no, he is actually wearing a giant pile of Jesse's freshly cut hair (which you can see had not yet been swept off the bathroom floor). Funny kid.

Speaking of funny things. Abe was asked to be a groomsman at his friend's upcoming wedding. The friend's family got sizes and then ordered matching pants for all the groomsmen. I told Abe he ought to try them on before the wedding. And here they are:

It makes me laugh every time I see the picture again. (Apparently they were wrongly hemmed to 26, rather than 36, inches.)

Our little Summer, for some reason, has an incredibly hard time falling asleep at night. Bedtime is 8:00, but it is rare that she is asleep before 10:00. 

The other night she came upstairs anxious over monsters. I often offer her my special blanket from when I was little, or turn on some quiet hymns for her, but I was perhaps a bit short on patience that night. (I so much wish to finally be done with the day once the kids' bedtime comes, but somehow I rarely am done until long past my own bedtime.) Anyway, I quickly told her something about monsters not being real and sent her back to bed. 

Later, when I came to check on her I found this little safety barricade she'd created outside of her door. (The picture in the middle says: "No monsters 'aloud'". Dear girl. 

I went through a spell at her age of having lots of awful nightmares. At one point I recall my mom bought me some little tapes that played the Children's Book of Mormon (I think it even had little beeping sounds between the words connected to each picture). I would fall asleep listening to those (and often wake up to hear the tape player pulling on the end of the tape.) I still specifically recall listening to the story of Enos praying all day. Anyway, that's a happy memory, and makes me love my mom even more now that I am a mom and recognize those efforts and attempts to help the various troubles of so many children. Because of that memory I've started turning the Children's Book of Mormon on on my phone (connected to a little bluetooth speaker by Summer's bed) for Summer at night now too. 

(Here she is during a 2nd grade fieldtrip this past month.)

Starling is, perhaps, the very most determined-to-do-all-things-with-no-help toddler I've ever had. Just the process of getting from the car to the house requires enormous patience. I (and no one else) am allowed to unhook the bottom buckle of her car seat. But she must do the top alone. Then she must climb out of the van herself from just the door she chooses. (And it isn't a fast process as she cautiously dangles her little legs and slowly lowers herself out.) Then she must walk to the front door. And she must open the door (which is also painful to wait on as it is fumbling and difficult for her). Then she must shut the door and lock it herself. But you have to wait around for that part as well because, just to keep you on your toes, she occasionally determines she wants you to shut it while she watches. And if you've already foolishly wandered into the house when she decides that, there is much sobbing and hysterics. 

That's pretty much how she goes about most of her days--whether it's getting shoes or clothes on, or getting into her highchair or crib, etc., etc. 

Except for when she is playing outside. There, and there alone, she is a transformed creature who appears to be straight from some fairytale wonderland. (In fact, Abe was musing just the other day how wonderful it would be if outdoor Starling could be indoor Starling.) 

She will spend enormous stretches of time out there all by her self. I don't know what she does (well, besides quickly pick every single iris that ever even thinks of blooming). It is as if her soul becomes free--wholly unfettered by the constraints and frustrations of being a child figuring out mortality once she is out there on her own. We will look out and just see her running along singing and then climbing rocks and then digging up Daisy's garden boxes. Often Shasta and Little Gray are keeping her company. (That's right! Little Gray! Our tiny cat who we take care of but who is terrified of us and won't come anywhere near any of us. Little gray cat seems to see Starling as not quite human at all. And thus feels free to play about her. Just last night I looked out and saw Starling perched on a rock playing with some piece of leaf or flower. Little Gray was on the rock next to her, leaning in and criously watching what she was up to. Which, if you know that little cat, is astounding.) Sometimes I half expect to look out and see twinkling lights and fairies flitting about with our little messy-haried, outdoor Starling.

And last, but not least, here I am in the dramatic evening light I sometimes chance upon in our bathroom mirror. AND, here is our new Bronco right when it was first brought home! (We need better pictures of course. This was just a quick snapshot when it arrived.)

When Mike heard they were coming out with these, he decided it was time for him to have one again. As some of you know, around the time Mike and I first started dating he purchased a Bronco that was perfect! A dream car for a kid in his early 20s. And then, after having had it for practically no time at all, he totaled the thing. I'm to blame of course. Or maybe the raccoon. Or maybe just Mike's soft heart. I guess all three of those things. I'd invited him over to carve pumpkins. It was raining. A racoon ran in front of his Bronco. He swerved to spare the poor critter. And the wet roads sent him sliding until he slammed into a tree. It was bad enough that he didn't even know his name when passing cars stopped to help. And bad enough that the Bronco's short time with him had come to an end. (Though we still have his Carhartt Coat that had been sitting on the passenger seat and was mashed badly enough by the door that the batteries he'd had in his coat broke and burned acid holes into the pocket.) 

So, after 20 plus years, he has a Bronco again. Its top comes off. And even the two doors should you want them to! The kids beg for rides in it and it's fun having a stick shift again. (Abe is getting pretty comfortable with it. And Daisy is on her way to mastering it. I still need to let Goldie practice.) I'm happy we have it for Mike. "Don't worry," I should have told him after that car accident long ago. "You just have to get married and have ten kids with me and then you can have one again." 😁