Overheard...

Yesterday after church was over, I was trying, on my own, to get the girls organized and into the car. Yeah. That's pretty much like a herding a bunch of cats. They were running around, chasing each other and squealing, and at one point when I turned my head for a nanosecond, Elaine ended up in the pastor's study. (Let me just digress here a moment and say, this is why I have only two kids. That way there's one hand to grab each back of the collar.) I finally got them into their coats and I said to Lucy, "We need to find Dad. Do you know where he is?"

She gave a big, patient sigh and said, "I don't know, Mom. I'm sure he'll turn up."

Weekly wrap-up

Last Thursday was Darren's birthday. He took the day off and got to take Lucy to swimming class for the first time in months. He hasn't seen her in this new class before--now she's out in the middle of the pool, getting real coaching. No more sitting on the shallow side of the pool, playing with toys and learning to put her face in the water. He had a class at night, so we ended up celebrating on Saturday. That could have been more fun than it was, honestly. We went to his favorite pizza place and had cake at our house afterward. But in order to accommodate everyone's schedules, we had to do it at noon instead of evening. That didn't really accommodate Elaine's schedule, so I spent most of the time at the restaurant, keeping her away from the table and letting her climb on the benches outside. He did enjoy his cake--Lucy picked out the design and decorated it.

If you can't already tell, it's a camping cake. The center is a pretzel campfire, there are some marshmallow/cereal trees, and frosted graham cracker sleeping bags (Daddy in the middle, Lucy and Elaine on either side. Lucy said, "But where are you, Mom?" and I said, "Upstairs--sleeping in my own bed.")

This week at school was community helper week. I basically consider these almost-weekly dress-up days as a thrown-down gauntlet to my creativity. I put Lucy in some cotton pants and a pajama top, with a stethoscope around her neck.

I think she looks very professional. She told everyone at school she was a nurse, just like Aunt Kimmie. (However to be honest, she did drag her feet on the way out the door and say, "I just don't like my costume very much." Seriously? I dream of being able to wear scrubs to work.)


Also this week was Elaine's first trip to the salon. As you can see, it was more than necessary.
[Note the wallpaper behind her head. She currently sleeps in our guestroom--when she is ready for a big girl bed, she and Lucy will share a room. We decided to redo the guestroom as soon as she's out of her crib. It was done by the previous owners; it was their teenage son's room. It's nice for a teenage boy but kind of dark for our taste. About a week or so again, Elaine began an independent project of stripping the wallpaper. Always trying to help her parents, that one.]

Here she is at the salon, reading a magazine. She instinctively knew to do that, I'm proud to say. She was particularly interested in an article featuring Queen Latifah called "Black Biker Chicks." She wasn't sure what to make of the haircut, but I let her sit on my lap throughout and she did a great job. Afterward, she said good-bye and blew kisses to the girls at the salon.
A blurry pic of girls with twin haircuts...A better shot, while eating a strawberry...

Those are the highlights of this week at the Daniels' house. Tuesday night I had dinner with Judy and Michele, Thursday night I had dinner with Sarah, and Friday I had lunch with Becky and Kathi. Consequently, I'll be eating cereal each meal for the next several days. And currently, it's Saturday morning, and I'm letting the girls watch The Muppet Show while I sit in my robe and write in my blog. That's a sentence I know my mother has never said!

I'm sure she is....

I recently ordered the unabridged version of "Betsy-Tacy" on CD for Lucy. She's been listening and enjoying, and today she showed me the cover and asked me "Who's that?"

I told her, "That's the lady who is reading the story to you."

"What's her name?"

"Let's see...her name is Sutton Foster." [I'm envious]

"Sutton FLOSS-ter? I don't like that name at all, Mom. But I'm sure she's a very nice person anyway."

Whatever

Monday I had kind of a low day. I think I possibly read too many blogs--that might be what started it. I've always liked to take walks in the early evening when you can catch a glimpse into people's houses--they're getting supper ready or watching the news...It's fascinating to get a little look into other's people's lives. Blogs let you do that. I read some great ones. However, it seems that in addition to being great and funny writers, these women I read somehow homeschool all their children, sew all their clothes from vintage fabrics, knit, set up elaborate home organization and cooking systems to follow, take fabulous photos, dispense fashion advice, grow organic vegetables...it's so overwhelming. Then I tell myself, "But...Self! You work!" Yeah, I do. So do some of them. They're lawyers and professors and people obtaining their PhDs while I'm sitting at my desk sifting through 10th-grade science rubrics for hours on end, making sure the grammar and punctuation is correct. Then I go home and am so tired I give my kids Chex mix for dinner and let them watch Madeline.

Lately too Elaine has been waking up at night. I think she's napping too long and too late during the day (oh good. I get to shorten her naps!), and then by 2:30 a.m. she's ready to be up. It also could be the approximately 72 ounces of bathwater she ingests right before bedtime, so she's waterlogged and wants a change. Plus another drink so she can be waterlogged again by the true time to get up. So I'm dragging myself out of bed, changing her, then she commands, "Blanket. Rock." We get her blanket and settle ourselves in the rocking chair. I sit there in the dark, holding her dead weight on my lap. Then she'll bring her little face right up to me, push her nose against mine, smile her huge smile, and say "HI!" in her loud, raspy, chain-smoker's voice. Then she'll fling her arms around me, bury her face in my neck, and whisper to herself, "Mommy!"as she snuggles up to me as tight as she can.

Then as I sniff the little dandelion fluff that is her hair and rock her in the peaceful dark, I think, "I get this. I get her." And I think about those other women and go, so what? Whatever.

Garden Celebrity

I remember when Darren and I brought Lucy home from the hospital. I said to him, "Can you imagine that someday she'll have her own little personality? Someday she'll tell us what kind of ice cream she likes." It completely blew both our minds; we couldn't even imagine that.

Now, every two weeks in Mrs. Hogan's class, there is a new "garden celebrity." She sends a poster board home with the would-be celebrity and they (read: their mother) are supposed to make a collage of themself, which will then be posted in the classroom.



This is a project I can get behind. I stayed up late both Friday and Saturday night working on "our" poster. (I let Lucy help me color the fence.) Here's what we wrote:

"This is my house. I live there with my dad, my mom, my sister, Elaine, and Rabbie. I was born on June 7, 2003.
I love my sister. We like to read together, play dolls, and try on shoes."

"My favorite color is yellow."

"I love music! I love Selah, Keith Green, and Meredith Andrews. Elaine and I sing along to Strawberry Shortcake and Winnie-the-Pooh."

"I like to play dress-up."

"I love to swim."

"I like to drink tea every day. I have tea parties with my Manga."

"I like to play outside with Elaine. Best of all, I love to read! I have lots of favorites. I love 'Lyle, Lyle Crocodile.' I listen to books on CD, too."

"My dad and I go to baseball and football games. We like to take bike rides and stop for ice cream. We like to eat at Happy Joe's. My mom and I like to read and cook and sing hymns together. We take walks together, too."

"My favorite food is scones."

"This is me with Rabbie and Bittie as a flower girl at my Tia and Tio's wedding."

"I like to do art projects."

"I go to First Baptist Church. I go to Sunday School, Children's Church, and Kids4Truth. I like hearing Bible stories and singing best!"

"I'd like to be a cook. I can make poppyseed bread, banana bread, apple bread, cookies, and potato casserole. Rabbie likes to cook with me."

So...that's our little garden celebrity. I couldn't have imagined it...

Why, Si, si it is...

[last night before bedtime]

"Mom, do you want to know how to say 'I'm sorry' in Spanish?"

"Sure, how do you say 'I'm sorry' in Spanish?"

"It's 'Ioweyouanapology.'"

Wardrobe Malfunctions

For anyone seeing those Wednesday pictures, one might think those weren't all taken on the same day since there was a wide variety of outfits. But...one would be wrong. The first outfits were morning playclothes. Then Lucy had to wear different clothes to school in the afternoon. She was, for some reason, supposed to dress in cowgirl costume again, but I had exhausted all our options with the bandana the day before. So she wore a jean skirt and flowered shirt, which looked country to me, but Darren said was decidedly more Groovy Girl. Then she didn't want to wear the bandana around her neck but rather around her hair like Cinderella (giving her an actual odd combination between hip-hop and Aunt Jemima before she got her new PC hairdo). Then Elaine had to change her dress because she spilled milk on it, and everyone knows spilled milk is possibly one of the worst smells in the world.

That's usually how our days go. The day before, Lucy forgot to go to the bathroom before she went to the park with my mom and ended up having to go behind a tree. Another wardrobe change, including wet shoes.

These changes extend to me as well. They're well past the formula/nursing stage, yet I still regularly sport dried food, tears, and other bodily fluids on my clothes. The other day at the park, I suddenly realized that, though it was only 9 a.m., I already had dried blood all over the shoulder of my new white t-shirt.

In other news, Darren, in one of his several calls to me at work this morning, said that he was trying to come up with a way to keep Elaine from eating during the 10 seconds or so it takes to say a blessing for the food. (She likes to hold one of your hands and eat with the other.) This morning he decided to outwit her and hold both her hands. He said, "The problem was that I had a little bit of banana smushed on my hand. So while I was praying, she leaned down and licked my thumb."

Perfect Fall Day: A Pictorial

Welcoming Mr. FiberOptic Pumpkin.....

A funeral and sand burial for a dearly-departed, just-met ladybug....

One of the mourners....

"...and you can be my cowgirl"

When I was little, my mom signed me up for ballet lessons. It was in order to strengthen my left leg, plus I was interested in ballet and not interested in sports. I remember going to the ballet supply store on the ground floor of a ballet studio...seeing would-be ballerinas running around in their leotards and tights. My mom bought me the shoes (which I still have). The first day of lessons, she showed me my leotard. It was a hand-me-down from someone, and I think it was for gymnastics. It was two-tone green--lime and forest--and had a zipper. Also, there were no tights. But I knew better than to say anything because the money was there for the appropriate shoes and the lessons, and that was it. A perfectly serviceable leotard was there for me to wear, too.

So, I did, every week. No one ever said anything to me either, even though I was the only one not in a black leotard (with no zipper) and pink tights. But you know what? It was completely fine. Sure, I felt a little out of place and self-concious. But there was no permanent damage.

Today at Lucy's school, it was cowboy/cowgirl day. Now, I've lived in northern Illinois my whole life. And I only rarely listen to country music. So, the whole western look is kind of baffling to me. There's really not a lot of call for cowboy boots (are they called "ropers"?) and hats. So, here was my solution to dress-up day. Lucy wore her jeans and a white shirt. I bought a red bandana and tied it around her neck. She wore white gym shoes. She was so thrilled with herself. She kept running and looking in the mirror and saying, "I look like a real cowgirl, don't I, Mom? What's a cowgirl? Why do they wear these bandanas?"

Then when I got her to school....oh my. These kids were fully kitted out. Boots and hats and chaps and leather dusters and vests...you name it. Immediately I was transported back to the ballet studio, circa 1978. And there was my Lucy, waiting expectantly in her carseat, wearing a $.94 bandana from Wal-Mart.

It's walking a fine line, being a mom. I have to nurture that little coccoon and keep it warm and dry and safe from bad weather and predators. But I can't smother it, and I can't force it to come out, and I can't decide exactly what the butterfly will look like when it appears.

I think it'll be just fine. No permanent damage. Maybe even no damage at all--she didn't seem to realize there was any difference between her and anyone else.

But I still feel just a little bit self-conscious.

"That is such a scam! She just wants to go surfing!"

Remember that so-bad-it-was-good movie with Mark Harmon and Kirstie Alley (before she went all cuckoo) called "Summer School"? It was about a bunch of slacker high school students and their even moreso slacker teacher (Mark Harmon) in summer school? Oh, you don't? Well, that's it. That's the basic plot. But anyway, there's one student (Courtney Thorne-Smith before she got famous) who says she has to leave class because she's sick, but she really just wants to go outside. (This is quality writing, people, nothing but the classics watched here!)

Well, that's Elaine today. I think it's the last day of summer (despite the fact that it's late September). It's supposed to be in the 90s, and it's sunny. Now, she does have a fever that's fluctuating between 100 and 102 and she does have some light hives, but I think they've all been spectacularly produced in order to stay home from daycare today.

She woke up at 5:45, which of course is far too early, so I brought her in bed with us. She laid back on my pillow and flipped through the book on my bedside table. She petted Darren's face and whispered, "Daddy." She giggled while he snored. She wiggled a lot. Then she leaned close so her nose was touching mine and whispered loudly, "Blocks!" Oh-kay. Guess it was time to get up.

So far this morning she has played with blocks, played with her dollhouse, played out in the backyard, eaten a large breakfast and part of mine, got up in the wing chair in the living room and said, "Moo-ee. Peas." So I put in a Strawberry Shortcake (or "Buh-buh cake" as she calls her) movie for her. Then she indicated that she would like the footrest up on the chair, regardless of the fact that her feet don't even reach to the edge, let alone the footrest. Then she decided she wanted to take a walk. She came upstairs and riffled through the books on Lucy's shelf. Now she's gotten out the Strawberry Shortcake dolls and is playing with them while singing along to the soundtrack to Piglet's Big Movie. Pretty soon I can see her snapping her fingers a la Snoopy and asking me for a pepperoni pizza and a root beer.

All this by 11:15. Isn't she about ready to take a nap yet? I am.

Hey, I still live here too!

Don't think Elaine has just gotten pushed to the side lately (and if you knew her? You'd realize that that is virtually impossible). It's just that school has opened up a lot of venues of conversation and is a source of new quotes. Rest assured that ol' Tootlebug, as she is also known, is still going strong.

Yesterday she was going down the basement stairs, and I said, "Scoot over so you're near the wall, not near the railing."

She looked at me and said, "No."

I said, "Excuse me? I'm sorry, I didn't quite hear that--what did you just say to me?"

Then she put her hands on her hips and said, somewhat garbled, but in an exact imitation, "You don't say 'No' to Mommy!"

Then she scooted over.

Yeah, she's a lot like me...

[In the car, on the way to school]

"Mom, do you know what Gabby said to me?"

"What?"

"She said, 'Why didn't you say hi to my big sister?' Wasn't that rude? It hurt my feelings."

"You should just tell her, 'I don't know your sister. Why don't you introduce me?'"

"She's not very nice to me. She doesn't really play with me. I like Paige better."

"Well, honey, let's just do what Jesus would want us to do. Just let it roll off you. Forgive her; it's no big deal. Start fresh again today and try to be friends with her."


[pause]


"Actually, Mom? I just want to complain about it some more."

Maybe she has a sister named Chakra...

Today was "B" day at school, and everyone had to bring something in their backpack that begins with the letter B. In a Burst of Brilliance, I let Lucy bring the little metal bell from the kitchen windowsill that is shaped like a bird.

When she came home I asked her how it went and she said, "Mrs. Hogan put my bird with all the other things that begin with B. Paige brought a B...B...B...Barbie doll. Gabby brought her B...B...B...baby. A.J. brought a B....B....B...banana. Brendan brought a B...B...B...ball. Michael brought a box of B...B...B... blocks. And Rachel came with her daddy because he was the mystery guest today an' you know what they brought?"

"What?"

"A real live B...B...B...bunny. We all got to pet it. You know what the bunny's name is?"

"No, what's her name?"

"Crystal Harmony."

Monday Wrap-up

"How was your day today, Lucy; did you have fun?"

"Yes, Mrs. Pope (babysitter) and I colored and read and we went and took care of Miss Ruth's cat. I stepped on her paw and she went "Rowr!" but Mrs. Pope said that's OK, it was an accident. And Mrs. Pope and I went to Wal-Mart."

"You and Mrs. Pope are good friends, aren't you?"

"Yes, I made her my best friend. She's just so sweet, isn't she, Mom? Mom, I'm going to marry Michael."

"Who's Michael?"

"He's a boy at my school. He's nice, so I'm going to get married to him. Mom, Mrs. Pope believes in the untrue god. I'm just teasing, she believes in the one true God!"

"I know, she does."

"I got 'Cat in the Hat' as my library book today. I don't have 'Cat in the Hat' at home, only at Manga's house. Will you read it to me? Mrs. Pope read to me; she read 'The Snow Party' and 'Make Way for Ducklings.' I saw where you taped the pages that were falling out. I ate that lunch you gave me too, thank you, Mom! I liked it and also the stickers you put in there. I gave one to Mrs. Pope."

"That's nice. What did you say at Buzzy Time today?"

"I forgot. Oh, actually I said that Mrs. Pope and I colored together."

"Mom, do you know who doesn't believe in the one true God? Nero. [The Roman emperor in A.D. 54 in case you were wondering.] He doesn't believe in God, he said that HE is God. Mom, that's not 'cceptable to me and it makes me tired. I don't like that Nero. You know who does believe in the true God? Michael. That's why I'm going to marry him."

A snapshot

Whew. Summer flew by in some ways, and in other ways it was almost endless. Apparently a common metaphysical dichotomy of living with little people.

Lucy is in pre-school now. All summer long her anxiety heightened. She told me, "Mom, I don't want to go to school. I just want to stay home with you and Elaine." One morning when she woke up, she brushed the hair out of her face and said immediately, "Is today the day I go to that new school?" Me: "No." Lucy: "Oh good. Because I'm a little nervous about that new school."

But of course when the time came, she was all ready with her big kid backpack, and she totally loves it. She can't wait to go see Mrs. Hogan and Mrs. Gottfred and all her little friends. Every day when they sit in a circle, they pass around a stuffed bee, and whoever is holding the bee gets to talk. This is called "Buzzy Time." (My friend Ann and I have instituted Buzzy Time now for ourselves, via email.) The whole pre-school room is decorated in a garden theme. She came home the other day after having made applesauce, wearing a paper Johnny Appleseed hat. It's all a great success.

And let's not leave old Smoochie out. She's begun being 2 several months before she actually will be. People need only to see a picture of her to say, "That one's got someplace to go, doesn't she?" Last night after devotions and story time, I told Lucy to get in bed. Then I said to Elaine, "It's night-night time." She said, "Nope" and headed downstairs (she doesn't say "yes" and "no." She says, "yup" and "nope." It's defiance--in slang form!) I found her in the kitchen, pushing a chair around, and pointing out the patio window at Daddy.

My girls are both always on the move. My goal for this blog was to write thoughtful entries, a la Catherine Newman. But it all slips by me too fast, I forget to write in the blog, then the guilt sets in (really? I need more guilt in my life, especially over something I've imposed on myself?) So, now I'm going to try and write twice a month. It may be long, it may be short--however, the spirit moves. The ultimate goal is not to flex my dubious writing skills but to have an enjoyable record to read over at a later time.

That being said: fall's here, the girls are more energetic than ever, and I'm still writing, albeit intermittently and abbreviated.

Personalitites in a Nutshell

Last night the girls were taking their bath, and I gave Lucy her toothbrush and toothpaste and told her I wanted her to brush her teeth really well. Then the phone rang (it was Darren) and I asked them both to be really quiet. Of course they were completely loud and wild, and I had to abruptly hang up. Then when I was getting them out, I found the toothbrush just floating idly in the water. I asked Lucy if she brushed her teeth at all and she said, "No, Mama, I'm sorry." So, I was sort of mad and was like, "OK, I asked you to brush your teeth and you didn't. I asked you to be quiet while I was on the phone with Daddy, and instead you were really noisy. I'm really disappointed in you! Now just go in your room and put your clean underwear and pajamas on right now."

I went and got Elaine ready for bed and came into Lucy's room and she threw her arms around me and said (kind of teary), "Mama, I'm SO sorry I did all those bad things. Will you please have mercy on me?"

Then this morning when I was leaving for work (at 5:30 a.m.), I walked past Elaine's room. She was lying in her crib, singing a little song. Here's how it went, "Mommy, mommy, moooommmeee. No way no way no way."

At the breakfast table

On Tuesdays, my mom comes to watch the girls while I work. The dear woman gets here at 7:10 in the morning and plays exhaustively with them until after lunch, so she knows exactly how hard this job can be sometimes. Of course, they mutually adore each other though. And I freely admit that she does this far better than I do. On the days when Manga comes, you might get to do anything from making molasses cookies to going on a nature walk (and she lets you a) get out of the stroller as much as you want to pick as many clover and dandelions as you want, or even better b) doesn't make you get in the stroller at all, but lets you take your dolly stroller with and walk along beside her, going as slowly and/or stopping as many times as you want). She'll let you finger paint and will teach you how to turn somersaults. She'll play tag and hide-and-seek. She'll even help you make an exact replica of Thumbelina--the size of a child's thumb--including her little walnut shell bed and tiny bedding (I'm so not kidding).

But today I heard Elaine screaming at the top of her lungs all during breakfast, and when Lucy came upstairs I asked her what was wrong. Here's what she said: "Smoochie's being a brat. She won't eat any of your nice food. She won't eat your yogurt or your toast or your fruit or your nice waffles. She's bawling her head off. She just wants you, Mom."

But...that was over in a few minutes, and now I hear them all preparing to get the various dolls and strollers out.

Another year

This weekend was my birthday. I'm officially 38. I can't even say I'm in my mid-thirties anymore. It's definitely late 30s. I figure the birthdays are gonna come no matter what, and I can be depressed and sad or happy and eat cake. I'm always up for cake, so I go with happy every single time.

Also, this year my birthday fell on Sunday, so in my book, the celebrating really starts at least on Saturday, if not Friday night. Saturday morning my big present was that I got to sleep until 8:00 a.m. Sort of. I didn't get to bed until 1:00 a.m. anyway, and Lucy wandered in at her usual early hour and blew into my face. I pretended I didn't know that happened and rolled over, and wonder of wonders, she climbed in next to me and was actually quiet for about 17 whole minutes. Then she started talking and I moaned to Darren, "You've got to get those girls out of here, it's my birthday and I need quiet for a present." So he took them downstairs and gave them breakfast.

Then in the afternoon, we went over to my parents' house because no matter how old you are, nothing beats having your mom bake you a birthday cake. Last year Darren bought me a Baskin Robbins ice cream pie, and while I loved it and it was great, it was all WRONG if you know what I mean. On the way into their house, Lucy whispered up to me, "Mom, I have a special surprise for your birthday! But it's a secret! It's a pin cushion. I made it for you all by myself with Manga! It has pins and needles in it so if you rip your shirt you can put one of my pins in it. But you can't tell anyone about it, OK?"

Later in the day, I took her back to the bathroom off of Mom and Dad's bedroom and she said, "Oh! You can't go in Manga's closet there, because that's where I hided your present. It's wrapped in paper that's Dad's favorite color, but I can't tell you what it is!"

Then we had lunch, which I got to request and my parents totally indulge me (because that's how it should always be on your birthday, right?!) My dad made his famous fried chicken (the only time in the entire year I let myself eat fried chicken), and we had potatoes and peas and fruit salad and Mom's homemade cinnamon rolls with it. [Side note about the cinnamon rolls: These appear at everyone's birthday no matter what. One year, Mom forgot to make them for my brother (who is now 40.) The cinnamon roll-less birthday that will never be forgotten might have been for year 27 or something. But he's never let her forget it.] Then she made my favorite poppyseed cake with caramel frosting and toasted walnuts on it. Everyone toasted me and my good health, and Darren gave a special toast for how thankful he was that it's my birthday 'cuz we get to have fried chicken.

I got lots of good presents, such as cheongsams (that fit! a long story for another time) that Mom made, DVDs, great books, and of course, the famous pincushion. It's the cutest thing. It's pink with little green frogs on it. Lucy stuffed it all herself, and it's set up in a little box. On the bottom of the box she wrote a message that my mom translated, "You're the best Mommy" and signed it herself.

One book that I got from Mom I sat and read all yesterday until I finally finished last night. I'll write more about that tomorrow because the book is at home, and I want to write down quotes from it. Darren was going to get me an MP3 player, but then I decided against it, so I'm still deciding what he's going to get me. I like to spin these birthdays out as long as possible, as I've said.

And...what else...nice friends and family members called me and sang and other nice friends sent me cards and e-cards, and really, what more could anyone ask for? How could I be sad to be 38?

Plus, if my shirt rips, I'm all set now.

Ode to Dad

This past Sunday while we were getting ready I said to Darren, "Do you remember your first Father's Day? I do. Because I couldn't walk yet at that point." Lucy was 8 days old. More than that first Father's Day, I remember him being in the LDR, being absolutely silent because that's what I required of him. I remember her delivery and him spooning ice into my mouth and cheering me on. I remember that he was unofficially voted Most Excited Dad ever by the doctor and nurses.

When I came home from the hospital, he bought me a porch swing and a necklace with the baby's birthstone in it. In those first few nights when we were wondering what we'd gotten ourselves into and she was screaming her head off and I couldn't figure out how to nurse her for the life of me and was bawling my head off too, he said, "You lie down and get some good sleep; I'll take her." And he walked up and down the halls and all around the house with her while I slept for at least 4 hours.

When Elaine was born, I can pretty much just say, "Lather, rinse, repeat."

He's been to countless doctor appointments, changed countless diapers, given countless bottles, and been thrown up on with the best of them.

He's the dad who works far more than a 40-hour work week in 4 days so that he can take care of the girls on Friday, rather than have them go to daycare.

He makes pancakes for breakfast and grilled cheese with ham for lunch.

He gives baths, takes temperatures, and runs out late at night to get Pedialyte/Motrin/amoxycillin.

He takes a little girl to ball games, and they eat nachos and drink Dr. Pepper. He goes on bike rides and takes her to band concerts.

He does bedtime devotions and reads untold number of books. He plays all the characters in "Curious George Makes Pancakes" and "Lyle, Lyle Crocodile" and talks in all the different voices.

He teaches and disciplines and gives lots of hugs and a few spankings.

He goes to swimming lessons and Christmas programs and Kids' Club.

Last Friday night, he woke Lucy up and got her out of bed. They got some books, went to the convenience store and got some supplies, then they camped out together in the tent in the backyard. He had set the tent up with a great air mattress, both their pillows, and a little table. They laid out there and drank grape pop and read stories and went to sleep.

He worries, cries, prays, and laughs over his girls.

That's just the kind of dad he is.

Happy Father's Day, Scooby. You're the best! I love you!

Overheard in the bathroom...

"Mom, I'm going to wash my hands with just water, not soap."

"No, you need to use soap."

"OK, I'll put on this honeysuckle soap here. Why is it called honeysuckle soap?"

"Because it smells like honeysuckle."

"Why does it smell like honeysuckle?"

"Because that's what flavor of soap it is."

" Why is there a picture of honeysuckle on the bottle?"

"So people will know what kind it is."

"Why is it what kind it is?"

"Because it just is."

"Why is it just is?"

>long pause< >sniff<

"Here Mom, smell my hands. They smell like dead honeysuckle."