Sugar and Spice

On the drive to school this morning this song came on and I told the girls it reminded me of my Mee Maw, after whom Pumpkin was named. It wasn't that she particularly loved this song or ever sang it - those memories are saved exclusively for Patsy and Conway and the likes. Bug asked why this reminded me of her and I explained that it was because she was with Jesus and the song is about what someone would do if they saw Jesus. So we started talking. Pumpkin quickly and reverently exclaimed that she would bow to Him. I have no doubt. I'm certain that if it were a couple thousand years ago, like Mary, Pumpkin would hang on every word and anoint His feet with the finest oil. They asked me and I said (with tears already welling up) that I would probably cry. Bug didn't miss a beat when she said excitedly, "I would hug Him and then we would go swimming in my pool." From the mouths of babes. She didn't even consider NOT inviting Him to her home, to do her favor...

This post may end up sounding cliche, but I just can't help myself this time. See, we bought a butterfly hatching kit and so, needless to say, I've had the life cycle of a butterfly on my mind. I've always known the story of the butterfly - ugly caterpillar, transformation, beauty, yadda, yadda,  yadda, but I've never actually seen it all first hand. So we got a jar of dirt and caterpillars. You all know I'm not the biggest fan of creepy crawlies, but fortunately they are delivered in such a way that you don't have to touch them until they are safely in their chrysalises (which, in my day, was called a cocoon, but times change I suppose). The whole caterpillar-to-chrysalis part of the project was quick and a little dirty. They trudge around in the dirt and get fat. Within a week there was slimy silk all over the jar and about 1/4 of the fuzzy caterpillar bodies all over the ground (parts they do not need apparently). Then we waited. And waited. Anoth...

Pumpkin asked me the other day, as I reminded her of the time for the fifth time that morning, why “grownups always lie about the time.” I stopped dead in my nagging tracks. “What do you mean?” “Well,” she started slowly explaining, “you said it was already 7:15 and it’s only 7:11. And you always do that. It’s like when you told me I had to start doing things for myself because I was 7 before I even turned 7.” Talk about an early morning gut-check. Why do grownups do that? Why do I do that? She, of course, in her complete innocence, didn’t realize the profound questions she was making me ask myself. Billy Joel’s “Vienna” starts playing in my head – a song that I often here in my states of over-stressed melancholy - reminding me to "slow down, you crazy child." Here I am still reeling from the fact that she did actually turn 7 just two weeks ago and I spend so much time and energy hurrying her – hurrying them both – worried about the next appointment, the next eve...