Merry Christmas!
In the spirit of holiday cheer, we are listing
our kids in random order and including whatever sentences are left about them
after they edited this.
Mia, 7, is in dance and is our little socialite. She practically
lives at her friend Becca’s house (where chocolate chips are served—I can’t
compete with that). She had a banana-monkey birthday party and loves to talk
like a baby. She is very creative and always has fun with everything.
Cora, 9, is our artist who is terribly unhappy when she doesn’t
get enough sleep, so she naps sometimes, even without me making her. She’s a
committed soccer player, busy learning the mental part of the game, and still
loves to write stories. She is really good in school and loves math. She likes
to play with her siblings. She even wrote some of these sentences by herself!
Graham, 3, is a mini adult who loves preschool, but has turned
out to be shy when his older brother isn’t there. His specialty is making faces
and doing sound effects—car crashing, beeping, exclamations. He’s a walking
comic book.
Graham quote #2: (Making a happy face after Carter is nice to
him) Oh? Now I am Carter's brother? I love Carter. That's not Mia's Carter.
That's my Carter.
Lina, 11, dances and talks, talks, talks. Okay, technically some
of the talking is actually typing, when she’s texting and emailing her 90,000
friends. Her iPod is half her life. (She’s dictating this, okay? I’m not making
this stuff up.) Her 6th grade homework is the other half, and
that drags her down sometimes. Good thing she has her sisters. The girls have
cut me out of their negotiations with each other, so I only get to overhear
tidbits. Cora was yelling at Mia when Lina interrupted, annoyed. “You don't
have to reach over me. Just punch her later.” Direct and funny!
Last year, Mike made these minion costumes and this year we wore them to The Minion Movie. He's too busy for costumes this year, though. Mike is now the owner of the Brickwall Crossfit South gym and
with friends has founded a new company, Homie, which produces technologies to help people buy and sell homes, even from their phones. He works downtown and takes the train daily. We miss him,
but love visiting the gym, especially when the kids play on the bar, rings, and
rowing machines.
And me? Well, in September I was trying to get a bigger butt
(this is backstory—get it?) I did dead lifts before Mike and I went to my
former roommate’s wedding in Seattle, and my back was hurting, but I thought,
when am I ever going to dance with my roomies again? So I went all out. Then I
fell down in the parking lot and couldn’t get up. Totally worth it.
Vacation updates: After Legoland in the spring, our family camped at Arches with my family, filling up with popsicles and slushy chocolate milk, thanks to the miracle of dry ice. Later, Mike and I went to Hawaii without the kids for a volcano-biking, snorkeling, hiking, swimming adventure that was so action-packed, I almost longed for a vacation!
And finally, Carter, 5. Aw, Carter. The best for last. We signed
him up for soccer alongside his best friend and he’s so much less spacy this
year that when Micah scored in the first play, Carter hit him. It’s
great. He understands finally that he wants to score. He adds
numbers, reads, buttons his Sunday shirts, and hasn't peed inside the house for
sport in three whole months!
Me: Carter, how do we be reverent?
Carter: (Long pause to think hard) Because I put my seatbelt on
in the car
Me: No, in church. What do we do to be reverent in church?
Carter: (Longer pause, harder thinking) Because I be nice.
Me: Be nice and don't hit anyone.
Carter: Yes. And keep my pants on the line. (Points to permanent
marker drawn below his belly button.) The line is it where my pants stay on.
Me: That's right. If your pants fall off, remember, you’re
banned from those pants, and have to go home and get new pants. So if you want
those ones, keep them at the line. (That's an empty threat, of course. There
are no pants that stay on.)
To end with holiday
cheer, I’ll give you a taste of a typical Carter-argument.
First he flatters . .
.
Carter: Dad, can you record me on the phone?
Dad: Not now.
Carter: But you're a big man who can record stuff.
Dad: I said no.
Then he bargains
. . .
Carter: But if you record me, I'll get the
chicken eggs for you.
Mike: Sorry.
Then he bears solemn
testimony to the realness of his threats . . .
Carter: Well, the truth is . . . the truth is that
if you don't record me I'll hit you.
Mike: All right, that's a time-out.
And that’s a wrap! Have a
wonderful Christmas!
