One was in my belly for 300 days.
November 3, 2011 § 1 Comment
This is Beatrice June. Her name means Bringer of Joy. She’s three and a half.
She loves the color yellow, shoes, older kids with clear direction, imagination stories, books, dancing, painting, seeing the moon in the day time, planting seeds and watering, whole milk, female vocalists, and sparkly, pink, fancy clothes. Most days she goes by Fairy Tale Name (Cinderella, etc.) + Mary (mother of Jesus). Today she is Thumbelina Mary.
Thumbelina Mary has a large collection of notebooks that she fills with lists and stories and amazing illustrations. Some mothers spend too much money on cute clothes for their kids, living vicariously through their amazing wardrobes. I have this same problem, but with pens and paper.
Bea desperately loves her friends, real and imaginary. Every day she wonders aloud, “What do you think Wren and Jane are doing today? Is Henry eating breakfast? Will you put my hair in braids? I think Landry and Everett would think braids are so cool. I just love Everett.
When we get to the gym, I’m going to put on a hat and play kitties with Lyrica because it’s her favorite thing to play in the whole world.” And when we get in the car, “Oh Mama, you can’t put your bag there, my imagination friends Jesus and the Steadfast Tin Soldier are getting buckled in over there. It’s not kind to squish them!”
She is compassionate, gentle, inquisitive, resilient, joyful, and sensitive to the Gospel. She sits with her Bible every day, just turning the crinkling pages, running her hands over the letters. She likes to find Jonah and tell the story to her baby sister. It’s the one habit of mine I’m happy to see in her.
This is Leona Agnes. Her name means Lion and Lamb. She is almost 15 months old. She loves animals, doing anything for herself, water faucets, ripping out her sister’s hair in chunks, kissing goodnight, and, surprise, writing in notebooks. She likes to dance, stack stuff, and eat sand. Leona loves books. She studies.
Leona is aggressive, demonstrative, violent, and yet profoundly sweet. She never gets hurt, always gets right back up, eyes on the prize. She is deeply wounded by the word “No”, which is unfortunate because she hears it a lot. She is learning gentle touch, and goes out of her way to hug tightly, stroke softly, and give real kisses.
These are my kids. These are the people that keep me out of my head, and miraculously sane. Aren’t they wonderful?