Why?

The boys stayed overninght. In the middle of the night, I heard Nathan calling for me. I moved quickly, before he would wake his brother. When I scooped him up, he told me he needed "Mousie" who sleeps with him. I checked his blankets, under his pillow and finally got on the floor to check under the bed. No Mousie! I repeated a search of all of the above, when I realized that Nathan was holding Mousie.

Nathan has entered the World of Why.  His "why?" has three or four different pitches; like a short tune.  He asks "why?" at the strangest times.  It's difficult to figure out, "Why, what?"  An answer is  usually followed by five or six more "why's?"  My parents used to get exhausted by Becky's and my "why's?"  Their response was "because" or sometimes an exasperated, "Why, why, why?"  I hated that and knew I would never use that with my children.  I don't think I ever did.  When Nathan began his series of "why's" I thought, you have no idea how patient I can be.  No more how many times it came up, I always answered the question with as much information as I could.  After two days, he actually seemed to be wearing out, listening to my long dissertations that served as answers.  I think he was having trouble remembering what the question was by the end of the answer.  It occurred to me that the persistent question might be more problematic coming from two little boys. 

Mousie learns to pluck the strings.

I was trying to get the boys upstairs for their naps.  I was carrying Nathan, the boys' monkeys, books and my ipod.  Andrew finished what he was doing and came running down the hall, yelling, "Wait for me."  When he caught up to us, he said, "Pick me up,"  I explained that my hands were full.  He checked my hands and said, "Yes, you can.  You have two hands."  It's empowering to realize your grandchildren think you have super powers.  I carried Nathan to the top of the steps and then returned for Andrew.

When our new baby comes, he's going to need some training in the swing.  How did I ever fit in here?

A monkey on your back isn't always a bad thing.

The magic happens when I hammer on the couch, while the sun is shining on it.  The fuzzies fly in the sunbeam.

If I swing the hammer at the fuzzies, they move away.  Perhaps we should be dusting with a hammer.

It's time for me to learn how to play Jingle Bells.