Unconditional

Berto, my eldest son, asked his younger brother Danny frankly, "Who do you think would win in a fight: you or Booey? I think you would, Danny."

Maybe Berto just assumed all boys, no matter how big, can take girls in a fight. Maybe he felt it was his duty to stand in his bro's corner of the ring, even though Danny is more than two years younger than Booey.

Danny had no such loyalties - to himself or his sex.

"I bet Booey," he said.

We burst out laughing.

*******************

I was explaining to my son Berto that his sister Ana just doesn't get in fights.

"Well, maybe it's because she doesn't stand up to people when they're being bratty and rotten to her," he answered stridently.

"Maybe it's also because she's not bratty and rotten to other people," I rejoined.

I had him, and he knew it. He gave a gorilla cry and raised a plastic basketball hoop against me with that devilish grin on his face, proving my point.

"Look," I began philosophically to my children, gathering them around. "We don't have favorites. We don't love Ana more, because she doesn't get into fights...our love for each of you is constant and unconditional. We don't love you more, Booey, because you're spunky and energetic. We don't love you more, Berto, because you're a great athlete and a great leader, too. We don't love Danny more because he's our little apple-schlapple-mapple." (At which vague, saccharine description, Daniel tilted his head and smiled winningly at me; he knew what I meant even if I didn't.) "Nothing you do or say can change our love for you. You might make us frustrated, irritated or angry, but our love for all of you is constant and unconditional."

Five minutes later I recanted as they were running - including Ana - screaming through the house, chasing each other with couch pillows and slipping on plastic grocery bags.

"Never mind!" I yelled above the din. "I change my mind. Our love is only unconditional when you're on the moon!"

*******************

Ana, Booey and I snuck out to the store one day during Daniel's naptime. Danny woke up and joined his brother at the computer for a bit, but presently he wandered back out to his papa and, in a concerned tone, asked, "Papa, where's Ana and Booey?"

"They went to the store with Mama."

"Oh."

Suddenly Matthew was curious.

"Hey, Daniel...what's Booey's real name?"

"Booey."

"No, that's her nickname. What's her real name?"

Daniel, confused, reiterated, "Booey!"

"No, her full name."

"Booey..."

The little fellar had bestowed that nickname on his big sis and, by George, he was going to stick by it. He didn't know that it had all begun with me calling her Ella Boo; Papa shortening it to Boo; and then he adding the -ey when he was just a tot. Matthew reminded him of his sister's real name, and Daniel pronounced the long, pretty name slowly, but he has never stopped calling her Booey. I just hope she doesn't balk at it when she's a feisty teenager. Otherwise, we just might get to see that fight Berto was predicting.

Three Funny Things, too

1) My husband had drawn a map to the soccer field on my van's dusty window, but when we showed up at the park, my daughter Ana wasn't even sure it was the right one. We turned away from a playground and circumnavigated a huge field where we stopped at every softball practice to ask if they were playing soccer, which they weren't. I was anxiously herding my four kids around with balls, scooters and tricycles, shouting for them to Come on!. Other moms stared after us, congratulating themselves that they did not have four kids, could tell a game of softball from a game of soccer, and could juggle a water jug, tricycle, purse and preschooler better than I could.

Eventually we spotted the soccer practice - right behind the playground at the entrance to the park. I told everyone to make a dash across the field as I waddled after, spilling the water jug on my cellphone and urging my littlest to use the legs God had given him. My stress level was high and the child-rearing karma so unbalanced that I wasn't surprised when I heard the squelch of my tennis shoe sinking in a mud pit before I hit the sidewalk.

Still, our 4,237th misadventure came to a close, and my daughter was finally reunited with saner, more patient people: her coaches.

2) I told my husband to have a good day at work.

"You, too," he replied with irony.

"Yeah," I said languidly, recalling soccer practice. But then I called after him, "I am going to have a great day. I believe it!"

I turned around, and my little Danny Sam, picking apart an orange slice, said matter-of-factly, "You'wre not going to have a great day. Thaz sad."

I threw my head back and laughed: The Ides of April, delivered by a three-year-old.

3) My littlest guy thinks his good looks are a gift to the world.

He looks up at me in the morning light with those big blue eyes and golden hair and I declare, "Danny, you're so handsome. I love your new haircut!"

He casually replies as he turns away, "You're welcome."


This list was loosely based on Clare Law's blog, Three Beautiful Things. I always enjoy visiting her site, because I never fail to be reminded to enjoy each day and to take the time to relish all the silly, cute, sweet, unusual and beautiful things my kids do - and to laugh at the misadventures. It's all about accumulating the laugh lines.

Three Funny Things

Half a mother's wrinkles are from stress, lack of sleep, worry, and non-vocal disciplinary warnings. Thank God the other half are from laugh lines:

1. It was getting out of hand. Another uneasy gathering of minds, a new exchange of hard stares and rude exclamations, "It's your turn! Go!" Sighs and grunts and shouts of indignation and dice scattered under the couch and people's legs. I had to do something to promote peace.

"You guys, let's all try to remember how Jesus would want us to behave," I gently reminded.

My husband responded wryly, "I don't think Jesus had Yahtzee."

2. We have a chandelier in a bad spot. It hangs low over a cramped space between the dining area and living room. So many people have hit their heads on it, my husband always gives a shout and applause to any new victim. "Congratulations!" he exclaims. "You're part of the family! You've been initiated." It seems a little late when, after such an exuberant display, he asks if they're alright.

The other day I found my littlest guy, Danny Sammy, standing on a dining chair hitting a toy against this same chandelier to make tinkly music - again.

"You get down from there right now," I said firmly as I walked past with an armful of laundry. Instead of doing what I asked, I saw him lift the toy again out of the corner of my eye. "Don't you even think about!" I called, dropping the load into the washer.

A moment's silence...then I hear my little boy confess, "I'm thinking about it!"

3. The rain was coming down hard, but it had to be done; toys and chairs and bikes and skates needed to be rescued from the elements. My 10-year-old thought his mad dashes into the yard protected only by his papa's rain slicker were a joyride, even as I shouted for him to hurry up out of the storm. But when there came a mighty clap of reverberating thunder, my brave boy launched himself indoors with a shriek, slipping, sliding and arms flaying until he lay stretched flat on the floor, laughing up at me. I joined in gratefully, my first good belly laugh of the day.


This list was loosely based on Clare Law's blog, Three Beautiful Things. I always enjoy visiting her site, because I never fail to be reminded to enjoy each day and to take the time to relish all the silly, cute, sweet, unusual and beautiful things my kids do. It's all about accumulating the laugh lines.