JULIE•PERRAULT

Posts Tagged ‘Kids’

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Toothless Wonder

In Family, Kids, Parenting on September 20, 2011 at 8:41 PM

The toothless wonder and his x-ray

It seems like every family has its signature injury. Some families always need stitches, others always need casts. We, on the other hand, need dentists.

It started when Claire was about 18 months and I was dressing her in her pajamas. She fell forward straight on her mouth and chipped her baby tooth. I was amazed that she would fall straight on her mouth and never brace herself with her hand. I thought it was instinctual to brace for a fall — apparently not.  Since then we have rushed her to the dentist several times.

The most recent was last year when she was six and ran into a metal rack in the paint store with her mouth wide open. Her two front teeth had been in her mouth less than a month and they were already under attack. Luckily, the bloody mouth was the worst of it and there was no permanent damage.

David and Cate both have several baby teeth that are chipped too. And now, there’s Edwin who could fit a faucet through the gaping hole in his mouth.

He lost his first two teeth this summer and his permanent teeth are just barely erupting through the bottom of his gums. Just this week, he told me that one of his top front teeth was loose. Although I could barely feel it budge, I gasped with excitement and said, “Just a few more months and you’ll be singing, ‘All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth…”

Little did I know that two days later he would knock them out.

With one ill-fated leap onto the sofa, his chompers met David’s forehead and the rest is bloody history. An immediate but brief silence was followed by intense wailing. Unnamed husband leapt into action as I was paralyzed with my hand over my mouth, my own teeth reverberating because I knew what had just happened.

I finally gather myself and comfort Edwin while Unnamed Husband calls our dentist friend. I assess the damage and see the teeth still attached to his gums but dangling like a couple of hanging chads.

Our friend agrees to see Edwin on a Sunday – did I mention that everyone needs to be friends with a dentist?

Pre-pull photo from Unnamed Husband's antiquated cell phone

After a quick assessment, Unnamed Husband and our dentist friend decide that Edwin’s two front teeth should be removed. A little topical anesthetic and a lot of fussing and the teeth came right out.

Post-pull photo. My apologies for terrible photo.

As you can see from Unnamed Husband’s photos, Edwin was not a happy camper. He came back to life later after realizing that he would get a doubly profitable visit from the tooth fairy.

A tiny message from the Tooth Fairy

The tooth fairy visited us that night and left Edwin a tiny note telling him to take care of his new teeth. She found the idea on Pinterest — her latest time-sucking obsession!

Hopefully he’ll heed her advice and this will be the end of our dental anguish.

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Party Like It’s 1991

In Family, Getting older, Kids, Life on July 18, 2011 at 8:17 AM

And just like that, 20 years flew by. Our high school reunion snuck up like a pimple on prom night. A wonderful weekend with old friends who look young-as-ever included a “Girls’ Night” on Friday and a couples’ celebration the following evening.

Friday night went off with a bang and almost instantly the years between us dissolved as the decibel level skyrocketed.   Trying not to be the control freak that I am, I rode with a friend who doesn’t necessarily share in my thought that anyone 20-years out of high school should not be out past midnight. So my sound judgement gave way to her possession of the keys and we rolled in at 2am.

Saturday night was the highlight of the weekend and Unnamed Husband (who also graduated in the same class) and I were both excited. Not wanting to repeat the mischief of the night before, I vowed that I would not be over-served or home past midnight. Apparently my commitment was quickly drowned by drinks, 80s music and a homecoming-esque photo backdrop.

After tearing up the dance floor and my feet (in four-inch heels), we arrive safely at home a little after 1am. I walk my sitter to the car and get a brief recap on the kids while Unnamed Husband checks on them in their rooms. Moments later he comes out of Edwin’s room laughing at how he was sleeping. I go into to see and he is upside down with his head hanging of the foot of the bed. Unnamed Husband adjusts him just as Claire - sleeping in the trundle below – wakes up. Bleary-eyed and disoriented, she begins to tell us that Edwin lost a tooth.

What?!, I ask wondering why my sitter failed to mention this.

Yep, it’s under his pillow. she says.

Just then, Edwin lifts his head and in a drunken smile shows the gaping hole from losing his second bottom tooth. We settle them both back into bed and panic sets in wondering how the tooth fairy is going to pull this off on such short notice.

The little guy and his missing teeth

Once I confirm that the fairy was equipped with cash, I make a plate of nachos that could not have tasted nearly as good in daylight hours. Convinced that slumbering was now in full effect, I creep into the room to make the transaction. Navigating the trundle and an additional child proves to be as difficult as maintaining my balance while containing my giggles. Minutes later, success ensues and I greet my bed with open arms (and limp legs.)

I wake to chaos just a few short hour later. After about 10 minutes, I realize that the clanging in my head is actually Hungy Hungry Hippos and I threaten Unnamed Husband with my wrath. This goes on for hours and finally I concede that nothing productive will take place on this gloomy Sunday.

Mid-afternoon I sneak in my first nap in years. While fabulous, it was way too brief as I had to peel myself up for a birthday party. I wash my face and get dressed as Unnamed Husband showers also preparing for the birthday party torture.

Claire comes into the bathroom with her disheveled hair and lavender unicorn pajamas that only a grandmother would buy. She proceeds to tell us that our neighbors came over to drop something off.

Did you open the door?, I ask.

Yes, Me and Edwin (who is also still in his pjs!) both did.

Did they ask for us?, I ask cringing.

Yes, I told them y’all were in the bathroom.

A tad horrified, I remind myself that it’s a once-in-20-years experience.

See ya in 2021!

Senior Trip 1991

20th Reunion 2011

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Potty Training Stress Disorder

In Family, Kids, Life, Parenting on February 5, 2011 at 11:47 AM

The bane of my existence

Potty Training twins is a torture that no human should have to endure. I have been dreading potty training Cate and David since they were newborns and I was going through Hell training Edwin. If only there was a potty training boot camp, the Perrault twins would be first in line.

This week has been one chaotic event after another. So after being stranded in the storm that hit Dallas, it only made sense to create a little more chaos as the bad weather approached us. As news stories swirled of the in-climate weather and school closings, I prepared  for our own storm – potty training:

Big girl underwear - Check

Big boy underwear - Check

Dora Pull-ups – Check

Diego Pull-ups – Check

Jelly beans – Check

Ice-cold Bud Light – Check

A great thing about having a large family is that you get another chance at things that you didn’t do well with your first or second child — a “do over” of Bad Mom moments.  I told myself that this time potty training was going to be different. The third time was going to be a charm. Or so I believed.

By mid-morning on Potty Training Day, I had lost all control. I wanted to get back in bed and pretend this day never happened. Unnamed Husband came home for lunch and confirmed what I already knew:

I was suffering from Potty Training Stress Disorder.

Potty Training Stress Disorder (PTSD) is an anxiety disorder that occurs as you experience the traumatic event of weaning a two-year old from diapers.

Symptoms of PTSD:

1. Lack of concern for your appearance or that of your home.

2. Difficulty getting up from the bathroom floor.

3. Irrationally beating small children for peeing on the floor.

4. Overwhelming sense that you are smelling urine all over the house.

5. Excessively eating jelly beans to numb your feelings of failure.

6. Avoidance of your (Facebook) friends for fear they will tell you how easy it was for them.

7. Sense that your child(ren) will be the first to go to Kindergarten in diapers.

That night, after putting the kids to sleep and self medicating with nachos and beer, I realized that despite the harrowing experience, we had made some progress.

If you know someone suffering from PTSD, offer support in the form of fattening food and alcoholic beverages and avoid saying anything that can trigger additional symptoms – like how your child potty trained himself.

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Keeping Up With The Binswangers

In Family, Life on December 28, 2010 at 10:35 AM

The Binswanger grandchildren ca. 2008

Our house was built in 1949 and despite the fact that it is over 60 years old, we are only the second owners. Even though we’ve lived here over seven years now, our neighbors still refer to our home as “the Schudmak’s house.”  The Schudmak’s built and loved this house and lived here until they died, so apparently naming rights still belong to them.

Living in “the Schudmak’s house” comes with many perks like the large storage room, the greenhouse and the camellias. But my all-time favorite benefit of living here is receiving the Binswanger’s annual holiday card. While we probably never should have opened that envelope addressed to the Schudmaks back in 2003, committing a federal offense was worth it.

The Binswangers 2007 holiday card, Independence Hall, Philidelphia

The professionally designed card comes from an extended, Northeastern family consisting of three brothers and their children, grandchildren, a few horses and several well-bred canines. Each year, we are greeted by a fabulously orchestrated photograph of 30+ well-wishing Binswangers in matching outfits. We dissect the professionally designed card, noting additions and (sadly) losses to the family. We admire how much the kids have grown and wonder what happened to the horses.

The back of the card

A glimpse into their adventurous lives, their card has become part of our holiday tradition. Every year, we wait in eager anticipation of our favorite holiday greeting, hoping that they do not learn that the Schudmaks died. When friends and family come over, they sift through our cards looking for the Binswanger’s.

Keeping up with the Binswangers

The themed greeting gets better and better each year. This year’s Facebook themed greeting highlighted the Binswangers with snappy status updates like:

Whitney loves living in San Fran and working for the Old Navy Brand.

Zach is living the dream while a sophomore at Wesleyan.

Elizabeth is traveling in Indonesia.

Ahhh, the fabulous Binswangers. To know one, is to love one.

I hesitated posting this as I know I may be risking my love affair with this clan. So here’s my pathetic attempt to woo the Binswangers:

Dear beloved Binswanger family,

Your family is beautiful and very blessed. We have enjoyed watching you grow over the years and we would be honored to receive your holiday card addressed to us (at the Schudmak’s house).

xoxo,

The Perraults

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The Kids on the Bus…

In Family, Kids, Life, Parenting, school, Twins on December 1, 2010 at 12:07 AM

Here comes the bus!

The school bus is a rite of passage for kids and a breath of fresh air for mammas everywhere. After two years of wasting time in the carpool line, Unnamed Husband and I decided that it was time for kids to ride the bus home from school. Claire and Edwin were super excited when we announced the news and the preparation began.

Verify with school office. Check.

Talk to first grade teacher. Check.

Talk to pre-K teacher. Check.

Find our bus at school and talk to driver. Check.

After a week of coordination, the big day was here. Claire and Edwin could barely contain their excitement.  Armed with signed notes typed with every detail, we head to school. On the way, we go over the rules:

Stick together.

Sit in the front.

Talk quietly.

Obey the bus driver.

At 3:00 p.m., I pick up the twins from Mother’s Day Out and we hurry home to wait for the bus. Cate and David are as excited as I am. We arrive home, grab the camera and head outside to our stop. We wait for several minutes in anticipation. I could hear the bus before we see it and I alert the twins. They start chanting, “BUS! BUS! BUS!” as the yellow wonder turns down our street.  The bus stops at the corner and our neighbors jump off. As the bus heads our way, the twins wave their arms and I raise my camera ready for the perfect shot. I watch through my viewfinder as the bus passes us unnoticed.

For a millisecond, I am stunned immobile. And then like any crazed mother, I start screaming and chasing the bus.

The driver stops 20 yards away and as I reach the door, she recognizes me from the week before.

Ms. Jackson: Are your kids supposed to be on the bus?

Me: YES! Are they?

Ms. Jackson: No, they never got on.

Me: What do I do? {I know. You are probably wondering, why I’m asking the bus driver. But I had NO idea what to do.}

Ms. Jackson: Go check at school, I’m sure they are there.

I grab the twins, race to the car and call Unnamed Husband who excitedly answers the phone in anticipation of the bus report. I frantically spew the scenario and he calls school while I load the twins in the car. Meanwhile I call my friend whose kids ride another bus. No answer.

Luckily, we live close to school and in minutes, I’m there. I run to the after school program and  before I can say anything the teacher says, “They aren’t here.”

I run to the office, where I bump into Claire’s teacher who was retuning from the parking lot. Her face ashen, so I assume she just got called back to school. We go into the office and both administrators are on the phone — one with Unnamed Husband the other with the School Board office. I listen to one side of the conversation.

Administrator: “We think they may have gotten on the wrong bus.”

School Board Office: {insert Charlie Brown noises here: wangh wah wan wangh wan?}

Administrator: “Bus number 2365.”

School Board Office: {wangh, wan wah wangh, wan wangh, wan wangh, wan.}

Administrator: “Oh, it’s a sub. Well, do you have her cell number?”

School Board Office: {wangh wan  wangh wan wangh wan, wangh wan.}

Administrator: “Well, if you don’t have her number…what will happen, if they don’t get off the bus?”

School Board Office: { wangh wan wangh, wan}

Luckily, our school only has two busses so I call my friend again. She answers, I tell her the scenario and she agrees to get my kids off the bus. I tell the office staff that I think all is well and they explain that the kids are on the bus they are assigned to. I attempt to process why they wouldn’t be assigned to the bus that passes in front of our house when I remember that the crossing guard is watching the twins outside in the car.

I arrive to my friend’s house to find my kids snacking on popcorn and sipping juice, thrilled with their bus ride. They never knew they were lost. I peel them away and we finally make it home an hour after their expected arrival.

The next day, we iron out the confusion and the kids on the bus make it home, safe and sound.

But of course, I forgot to take a picture.

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One Louse-y Day

In Family, Kids, Parenting on September 19, 2010 at 9:53 PM

School picture 2009

Oh, the excitement of school pictures –a sliver of one’s youth immortalized by a mediocre photographer. School pictures made me anxious as a child and still do even though my only role is to cut a check and send my kids to school nicely coiffed. My anxiety culminated when I was flat-ironing Claire’s hair (okay, I’m that mom) and discovered a louse.

WHAT is this? Then it clicks as I remember the letter we received from the school nurse last week.

We received a similar letter a week earlier.

Head Lice. On school picture day. Nice. Not wanting to alert Claire of my panic, I continue to iron her hair as I assess the situation. I excavate three live lice and I hope the heat from the iron destroys any nits. I send her into the kitchen where her dad is preparing breakfast. As she walks ahead of me, I flag him and pull him into the bathroom for an emergency conference.

Me: Claire has lice.

Him: What do you mean Claire has lice?

Me: What do you mean what do I mean? Claire. Has. Lice.

I realize that I am wasting valuable time and I abort the useless discussion. I immediately check Edwin’s head. Clear. I head to the twins’ room. I check Cate’s head. Clear. I check David. Damn. Another man down. This is not our first battle with lice, so luckily I remember the drill. Quickly, I develop a plan and the deployment begins.

Unnamed Husband brings Edwin to school while I feed the twins and dress Cate. I strip all of the beds and begin washing sheets, blankets and comforters. I fire up the dryer filled with about 20 stuffed animals and load all of brushes and combs in Ziploc bags. I then realize that my hair is wet and I have no brush. I quickly scavenge through the house and find an unused American Girl doll brush. I finish getting ready while trying to avoid thinking about the pile of work I was supposed to do today. Unnamed Husband returns from the drugstore with the least toxic of the toxic combat chemicals.

As directed, I wash Claire’s hair. Wait 10 minutes. Rinse. Wash with Dawn dish soap — that wasn’t in the directions but I remember it worked for Lucy’s fleas. Desperate times, desperate measures. I then begin the process with David. Wash. Wait. Wash. All the while, he screams. Then begins the fun part – nit-picking. Hence the colloquial term, nit-picking is so tedious that it took me almost two hours to finish. I call the school nurse and recount our morning. She tells me that once the treatment is complete she can return to school.

Living the dream...

We arrive at school just before lunch and just in time for school pictures.

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A Girl, A Pig And Some Glue

In Family, Kids, Parenting, Twins on August 29, 2010 at 5:30 PM

Remnants of the piggy bank my dad gave me as a child.

Tragedy struck at our home on Wednesday. Friends came over for a late afternoon play date and my five-year-old, Claire and five of her friends were playing outside while the moms were inside with the younger three. The older kids came in from the heat and went to Claire’s room to play. That’s when we heard the screams. Smeared with tears, Claire comes running in the living room to tell me that her pig is broken. Assuming that it was one of the two small piggy banks she received as baby gifts. I tell her that’s its okay. It happens.

No, Momma. It’s the blue pig your Daddy gave you.

Oh no, not my pig. I run with Claire back to her room to survey the damaged pig. There she lay, crumbled in piles of her own dust. Broken? More like annihilated. Claire explains that they found the pig like this when they walked in.  I bend down to pick up the pieces and my throat swells. There are very few things that I am sentimental about and this pig was one of them.

I’m not sure how long I’ve had her. I don’t remember my Dad giving her to me but I’ve always known he did. I imagine that I was probably Claire or Edwin’s age and it was probably after he returned from a trip.

My friends come to aid in the clean up effort. Overwhelmed with grief but suppressing it for my daughter’s sake, I pick up the pieces just like my mom did 25 years ago when my dad died.

I dismiss my friends’ optimism that she can be fixed and I place the 30 plus pieces on the counter. I recognize this destruction all too well. This was clearly the work of a twin. In their brief two-years, the twins have destroyed this house in ways I never knew possible. Later that night when my husband arrives home, we ask the twins about  the pig. David shrugs his shoulders to his ears — a new move he must have picked up at Mother’s Day Out. When I repeat the question, Cate beams with pride, pats herself on the chest and says, “Cate throw.”

The next morning as I head for coffee I stare at the clay heap.  I am the antithesis of a hoarder, but I am unable to throw away the remnants of my pig and I decide that I am going to fix her. Armed with a fair amount of determination and a lot of Gorilla Glue, I begin the 15-hour restoration process. Over the next three days, Claire and Edwin are enthralled with the tedious progress and the perils of repeatedly gluing my fingers together.

Claire and her pig

By Saturday evening, hope is restored as the pig is in one piece. Although she’ll never be the same, she’s as strong as ever. We return her to the room of a very pleased little girl. This time she’s on the top shelf.

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When 3-year-olds Pray

In Family, Kids, Parenting on January 28, 2010 at 10:03 PM

Little man with some big requests

A friend of mine reminded me what a good idea it is to record our children’s voices. Whenever I use the video recorder, they always act different, so thanks to the new iPhone voice memo feature, I have recorded my kids without then realizing it. Click the arrow button below to hear Edwin’s bedtime prayer a few nights ago.

or click here to download: Edwin’s prayer

For those of you who aren’t fluent in Edwinese, here is the transcript:

Me: Who do you want to pray for?

Edwin: …the people who don’t have no houses, no food, no door…Dey want a nightlight but der mom said no but da dad said yes, but not right now….and da people who have no trundle and want der sister to sleep wit them because they’re scared.
…and da people who have no door, no lights, no pictures and no roof when the rain comes to get their house so mess, so wetty…And no costumes…

Me: And what about the people in Haiti, should we pray for them?

Edwin: Yeah, and they’re bones are sticking out for real…Or you fall down wike a tree….Cuz your bone might break out.

Me: That would be terrible.

Edwin: Uh huh, and you can’t walk anymore. Your arm can’t move anymore.

Me: So maybe we should pray for the doctors who take care of those people?

Edwin: …and your arm going to be like this. [holding his arm like it's in a cast]. It couldn’t move anymore, because the bone help your arm move.

Me: Do you want o pray for all of the people who died?

Edwin: …and the people who died and turned into new people and don’t want to die…but, I don’t want to die, Mom.

Me: I don’t want you to die either. You are going to live a long life.

Edwin: …but…when I grow up wike into a grandma and a grandpa.

Me: Yep, but Memaw and Paw Paw and Nanette are all still alive, so you have a long time.

Edwin: …and the people who don’t have no chairs, and no bulletin boards, and da ones that don’t have no pillows, no bed, no animals and no…and no… boxes.

Me: Okay, good night, say, “Amen”

Edwin: And one more…[he gets up to look around]

Me: One more…

Edwin: …and no football, like this.

Me: Okay, good night.

Edwin: That’s the last one.

If only he was this sweet during the day.

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Stop and Smell the Babies

In Family, Kids on January 1, 2010 at 12:59 AM

Day four in the hospital and feeling better

Monday evening was an unusual evening at our house. Usually the witching hour, 5:00 pm was oddly peaceful. Claire, Edwin and David were still napping, Unnamed Husband was in his office “working” Facebooking (vicariously through me) and Cate and I were on the couch. She had been feeling bad all day and was snuggling like only a sick baby snuggles.

As we lie there,  I realized what a rarity sitting and holding one baby is for me. At 20 months, twins vie for attention. If you are holding one, the other is climbing on board attempting to wedge the other out of position. So other than carrying her or her brother somewhere, I don’t hold them much anymore. So I soak in the moment and her smell and think how nice it is compared to the usual chaos.

I think about how I really need to quit calling them “the babies” as they will be two in April.

I think about how I dislike referring to them as “the twins” and try to think of another term that I can use to reference the two of them.

I think about how this is my last baby and I need to stop and smell her more often.

Then Edwin flies into the room and begins barking orders, speaking in fluent whine-ese. My moment with Cate abruptly ends but the sweet memory sears my heart.

Three days later, I sit next to her as she sleeps and recovers from RSV and Pneumonia. Killing time on Facebook and Twitter, the excitement on the new decade permeates the air – even in the hospital. I think of all the things I need to accomplish and do and decide to write about my 2010 resolutions.

Each year, I usually come up with four or five lofty aspirations and by Mardi Gras I’m back to my old, wretched ways. I realize that I should narrow my focus. So this year, I’ve decided to keep my extra pounds, my nail-biting habit and my inclination not to floss. I’ll probably continue my fair-weather church attendance and my obsession with Gummy Lifesavers. Instead, I’ll resolve to do one thing:

Stop and smell the babies.

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God Bless The Heathens

In Family, Kids, Parenting, Twins on September 19, 2009 at 11:19 AM

DSC_0056We attempted church last Sunday. All of us. After a slacker summer, it was time. We have been holding out going as a family, hoping our church’s nursery would reopen soon. The lady who voluntarily babysits at our church recently “retired.” So rather than torture ourselves, My husband (who requests to remain unnamed on my blog) and I will go separately, leaving all four kids at home.

It’s been months and no sign of the nursery reopening, so we thought, What the hell? How bad could it be?

BAD.

So here’s how it went down:

We get everyone dressed and all look nice — except Edwin. Apparently, I do not know how to dress a three year old for church. Last time he went, he was in a Jon-Jon.  I tuck his polo shirt into his elastic waist pants and with little time to spare, we vow to get him some church clothes. After frantic packing of sippy cups, books, and other paraphernalia, we embark on our spiritual journey.

Appropriately enough, it’s raining so Unnamed Husband drops off the girls.  I walk into church (late, of course) with Cate and Claire (17 months and [almost] 5 years). Our usually half-empty church is brimming with repenters. As the opening hymn is ending, I scan left, then right. Baptism. Damn.

We head to the back and find a partially-empty row and my hopes of  buffer rows are squashed as people are directly in front and in back of us. Unnamed Husband, David and Edwin (17 months and 3 years) join us. We sit and Edwin asks loudly, “Mommy, what is dis place?”

First Reading: Cate starts coughing. Then like dominos, Edwin and David fall victim to the cough and the hacking begins. I try to remember if any of them were coughing before now — I can’t. The triple coughing continues and I cover David’s mouth. My hand is covered in spit. I can see the woman if front us cringing as if swine flu droplets are wafting her way.

Second Reading: Juice and Snacks. I pull out the reserves early in hopes that the coughing will subside. I try to ration the twins but they begin squealing in frustration. LOUDLY. I give them the bag. They fight and spill half on the floor. They finish the bag and drop to the floor for the rest. Seconds later they reemerge and polish off the juice.

Alleluia: We stand and David hurls his juice cup at the pew in front of us. The lady bends downs and picks it up as if she is picking up a used Kleenex. I feel her pain.

Gospel: David begins playing peek-a-boo with the lady behind me. I feel a moment of relief now that he is being pleasant. It’s short-lived as I notice the thick strand of green snot hanging from his nose stretching to my shoulder. I swear no one was sick an hour ago. Luckily I have wipes and clean his nose. Noticing the snot all over me, I wish I wasn’t wearing black.

Homily: Cate has been whining and thrashing herself in hopes that Unnamed Husband will put her down so they exit the pew for a break in the back of the church. I try to focus on the message but realize that I never heard the gospel reading thanks to the snot debacle. A baby several rows up makes a loud, Enghh sound. David answers with a similar sound thinking it was Cate. The mystery baby and David call back and forth to each other for several minutes.

Preparation of Gifts: Fidgety Edwin asks, “When we gettin’ outta here?” He begins playing with the large bangle on my arm. David tries to take it, a squabble ensues and the bracelet spins like a dreidel in Hanukkah. It comes to rest two pews up and the poor lady ahead of us works diligently stretching her leg to retrieve it.

Sign of Peace: After offering the sign of peace to my family, I turn to the woman behind me with extended hand. She waves politely as she has no intention of partaking in our germ fest. Who could blame her. Rejected, I turn around and simply wave to the others nearby.

Communion: Unnamed Husband and Cate return. As we rise for communion, I discreetly threaten Edwin and we walk to the altar without incidence. Whew.

Prayer after Communion: Edwin has been messing with the kneeler since we arrived so he is thrilled when I pull it down to kneel. The babies flock to the floor, and escape through the open space the kneeler has just created. I pull David back easily. But Cate is out of reach, one row ahead. Edwin and Claire begin giggling uncontrollably and I can’t help but laugh too. The further she goes the more we laugh. She finally returns on her own and…

I am ever so thankful.


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