I’ve been going through this devotional book with Savannah and we both really love it.

Tonight we discussed the story of Mary and Martha. Two sisters who invited Jesus into their home. Martha handled all the preparations herself while Mary sat at the feet of Jesus. Finally, completely frustrated, Martha asks Jesus to speak up on her behalf and is suprised when she hears Jesus say that Mary has chosen what is best.

I was curious about Savannah’s take on the story because she is enough like me to always be concerned with what has to be done. So much so, that we lose focus on what’s really important. When I asked her what that story meant to her and how could she apply what she learned in her life, she replied:

“I think it means that the next time you ask me to do homework in the afternoon I can tell you that I’m choosing to go and be with Jesus and you can’t say anything because that’s the better choice.”

“Yes, actually I have noticed.”

“Do you know why???”

“Well, I thought you were just being obedient. Is there another reason?”

“Yes. It’s your bangs.”

“My bangs?”

“Uh-huh. Ever since you cut your hair and Ms Courtney gave you bangs, I think you look like a teenager. Like a babysitter. I’m always a better listener for a babysitter.”

(Where was this in the parenting handbook? If I’d had known it was that simple, I’d have asked Courtney to cut me some bangs a long time ago!)

Pretty soon I had gathered them both up in my arms and pretended to body slam them on the ground beneath us. Then I yelled, “DOG PILE!”

Emery immediately jumped up in a panic, looked around and asked, “Where?”
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Savannah and I were shopping for a few things we needed for our vacation. If a store we went in had clothes, I would go and look for a khaki skirt. I lost the most awesomest khaki skirt in the fire. I loved, loved, loved it! Would wear it all summer with everything from T-shirts to tank tops. I could dress it up or dress it down. Man, I loved that skirt!!!

So each time we detoured toward the clothing, I would tell Savannah, “Let’s just look real quick and see if they have a cute khaki skirt.”

At the last store we went in, she said, “Mom, do we haaaaaave to look here for another tacky skirt too?”
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At Eden’s wedding Saturday, the pastor said, “We are gathered here today to join this couple in holy matrimony…”

Savannah leans over to me and whispers, “Holy Macaroni? What in the world is THAT???”
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The first night Jeremy was in the hospital I was trying to decide whether or not to stay in the room with him. I was telling Emery that he was going to stay overnight with Nanny. “Why Mommy?”

“Well, I’m thinking about staying here with Daddy tonight.”

“Where will you sleep?”

“I will sleep in the bed with Daddy. Just like I do at home.”

“NO! You can’t do that! You might hit on Daddy!!!”

“Don’t worry, son. I won’t be hitting on your Daddy tonight!”

Emery was quiet and I could tell his wheels were spinning.

Finally he says, “I don’t want to be a mummy.”

“Why?”

“Because”, he says. “I want to be the Daddy!”
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Last night we were coming home from church and I was lost in a song on the radio. Suddenly I became very aware of the conversation taking place in the back seat.

Savannah: “…my best friend has a pecker.”

Emery: “Well, then I am your best friend. I have a pecker too.”

I was trying to wrap my head around what they were talking about when Savannah tells Emery, “Hey, let’s switch birds. I want the one with the pretty feathers now.”

It was the last thing on my planner and I thought about moving it to the next day, except that it was really simple so I decided to just finish up quickly.

Savannah (7 y.o.) already knows my cell phone number, but she doesn’t know our home telephone number. I told her we were going to write and say that number, and try to get it in her memory too.

“Why? I already knooooowwww your number.”

“Because, it’s important that you know both of them. What if you are spending the night with a friend and get sick? You call my cell phone and I don’t answer because I’m at home and it’s charging in the other room. You know I’m at home and you want me to come and get you, but you can’t call our house if you don’t know the number, right?”

“Um…I guess so. But I have a question.”

“What is it?”

“What kind of sick am I?”

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Emery (4 y.o.) was learning about the 4 types of volcanos in school last week. The kids were repeating the names after the teacher and when she got to the word “extinct”, Emery spins around, looks at me and exclaims, “It STINKS????”

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Savannah: “Mom, do you think we could talk to the government about getting a ‘Little Brother Day’ and a ‘Big Sister Day’? I mean, you and dad already have your own days. I want a day too.”

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Savannah, looking at the goosebumps on her legs: “It looks like I need Proactive.”

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Find more Tiny Talkers at Not Before 7’s Tiny Talk Tuesday!

Savannah (7) to her 4 yr old brother “Do you know what a slave is? Slaves worked for no money. Their owners bossed them around and didn’t even pay them!!! Like Mommy. We are her slaves.”

Oh good grief!!!

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More Tiny Talkers can be found here.

First there was Savannah. This afternoon we were all sitting in the living room when Stafford the Wonder Dog suddenly ran over to the window, got up on his 2 back legs, and stared into the yard with his ears all perked up. None of us heard anything, much less saw anything, but he continued to stand at attention for several minutes.

After we all took our turn looking out the window trying to figure out what he saw, Savannah said “It’s too bad Stafford doesn’t have opposable thumbs. If he did he could tell us what he is thinking.”

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Emery’s bedtime prayers never cease to crack me up. He thanks God for everything from America’s Funniest Home Videos to his Transformers underwear. Tonight, this is what he said: “God, thank you for Mommy’s hair. It’s really pretty when she combs it.”

One day in her Sight Words book she was learning the words “how”, “old”, and a few others. We began writing sentences using these words and she kept getting hung up on using the word “how” first, making each sentence a question. Like, “how old is Stafford?”

I wanted her to think outside the box. “You don’t have to use the word ‘how’…try writing a sentence that isn’t a question,” I told her.

She stopped and was thinking about it for a minute when Emery shouts, “I’ve got one!!!”

“Okay, what is it?”

“Mommy is old. PERIOD!”

I packed his little backpack to the hilt with Leapster games, racing cars, and Toy Story figurines.

Much to my surprise, Jeremy called me on the 9th green and said that Emery was having a great time. He had taken a pint sized golf club and was letting him tee off on each hole. From what I understand, he was also encouraging the other golfers. “Oooh, nice shot!” “Good ball.” Or “Great drive!”

Excited at the potential of his new golfing buddy, Jeremy asked Emery on the way home, “So what did you think? Did you have fun?”

“No.”

“No? Why not?”

“You wouldn’t let me play in the sand.”

Fast forward to Saturday morning. I could.not.wake.up! At all. It was 8 something according to my blurry, squinted morning vision. Or maybe it was something, something then an 8. Who knows? All I do know is she was up, and perky, and in my face about making muffins.

We just made them the morning before.

In my head I was thinking no, not today. But I couldn’t even open my eyes, much less get any sounds to come out of my mouth. So I laid there. Eyes closed.

She went on. “Mom, come on. Let’s make muffins. Today we’ll do the blueberry ones.”

Silence. Darkness. In my head I’m still thinking no. And also if I lay still enough, maybe she will go away.

But she continued. “Mom, it’s time to get up. I think we should make muffins for breakfast. Let’s go…”

At this point I made some sort of noise that resembled a groan and meant “leave me alone for 15 more minutes pleeeeeese….”

She said, “GREAT! I’ll take that as a YES!” And bounded off towards the kitchen.

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Emery, on the other hand, is not my morning eater. It doesn’t seem to matter if I feed him when he wakes up or if I let him play for a while first. He will not finish whatever I set in front of him at the breakfast table.

Of course, you know what that means. Come 10 or 10:30, he’s hovering around the pantry like a lost puppy looking for his next meal.

Unfortunately for him, his mother is not a short order cook. If he doesn’t eat his breakfast, he can wait until lunch. (I know, you feel sorry for him, right?)

I wasn’t surprised on Monday when I heard him moving the step stool along the hardwood floor in the pantry, digging for something to eat. I went inside with him and asked, “Whatcha doing?”

“Can I haf one of ‘dese strawberry ‘fings?”

Rolling my eyes that I even have to have this conversation yet again, “ummm, you didn’t eat your breakfast, remember?”

“Yeah, but I’m hungry. I want a Nutrigrame Bar.”

“Emery, you know the rule son…”, and with that I began my “mom speech” about throwing food away and all the starving children around the world.

But he interrupted me by saying, “Mommy I ‘fink the answer yer serssing for is YES.”