No*ah: "Look, Ollie! A cemetery! People who died!"
Oli*ver: "That's where they compost the dead people."
Noa*h: "Yeah."
But even I have trouble being amused at times. For instance, one of the benefits of 4-year-old twinhood seems to be a "right" to know what the other twin is doing in the restroom, a "right" neither boys ever questions. That's not a terribly big deal at home, but it means that in public restrooms, the other women in there get to hear some variation on this:
"Hey Ollie: what're you doin" in there?"
"Jus" a peepee. What're you doing? Are ya doin' a poopy?"
"No. I did a poopy this morning when Daddy was in the shower. But I flushed it, and I wiped."
"I always wipe, but I'm just doin' a peepee. Sometimes I forget to wash my hands."
"Yeah, me too. I'm doing a biiiiig peepee. I'm gonna fill the whole toilet, I think."
Giggle, giggle. "Yeah! Me too! I'm gonna make a flood!"
And so on, while I'm standing there red-faced, hissing "Boys! Stop right now, please - that's not a polite conversation!"
Later, I remind a boy to wash his hands, and (No*ah) says, "Mama! That's not a polite conversation!" Sigh.
This afternoon, I was really tired, and took a short rest during "Quiet Time". When I got up, both boys were still in their rooms, but someone must've gotten up, because I found this on the counter:
My mother will probably appreciate this, and who can blame her? When I was about the same age, I once spread a pound of butter over the entire top of the kitchen table. Actually, she probably thinks I got off easy. Noah later asked me if I liked his "sculpture". What, is sculpting with butter just something that happens to you when you live here?
Among other places (more pics to come soon), we went to a Whi*sle Pigs concert at the bandshell last weekend. One of the blue-grass fiddlers and singers is "Mr. Chris", the Pied Piper of our church. He leads the little kids in praise songs and hymns before Sunday School. As you can see, No*ah is quite enamored with Mr.. Chris and his many talents.
Ollie was more into the dancing.
Is that boy not the wildest dancer? I love watching their sheer joy in movement.
The boys and I did some jam-making and canning the other day.
We have 20 jars of jam prepared from the strawberries we picked on a church outing, as well as some of our own raspberries.
We took a school bus out to a lovely farm and picked 10 gallons of berries on a perfect evening.
We are, of course, enjoying the many delights of the garden. The boys have their own beans, zinneas and squash going this year, as well as their own patch of raspberries. The cukes and tomatoes have fruit, we're saying goodbye to the peas and lettuce right now, and the potatoes are almost ready. This weekend, Joel is taking the boys to a church camp with some other families, and I will have the house to myself for a couple of days. I'm not sure what I'll do with myself besides missing my family every minute and sitting around bored out of my skull.
And if you believed that last sentence, you don't know me very well!
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