It was at the lunch table that I discovered that my sons have a slightly mistaken concept as to where a turkey carries its vitals. Alex thought that you probably have to hit them squarely or you might have to shoot them at least ten times. "Yeah," piped up Greg, "and if you hit them right in the thingy that hangs down from their chin, they just plop over dead."
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Gregory is Five!
Greg is a star gazer since before birth. Unfortunately, he refused to change his position when it was time to be born, and had to be rudely extracted by C-section. This cheerful impracticality has followed him through life, afforded us much amusement, and sometimes exasperated us as well.
We were talking on his birthday and he asked, "Will I be five on this very day?" I told him that he is already five and will never be four again. "But I am still the same length as when I was four... Will they let me go to Sunday school if I am still the same length?"
This is the child who broke the tips off his brand new crayons so he could stick them between his toes for claws. He was chagrined when he saw the damage it had done, but they did make great claws.
He has a little boy's fascination with all things creepy crawly, especially "callepitters". This summer he filled countless peanut butter jars with bugginess, only to let them go later, so that they would be happy. I was unhappy on quite a few occasions when my landscaping got severely pruned, so we planted a long row of zinnias. These flowers were all his own to pick and distribute. Nearly every day he would come up to me with a dimply grin and ask, "Which hand?"
I would try hard to choose the wrong one first, then out would come my fresh bouquet. Endearing, to say the least.
We were extremely pressed for time when it came to his birthday cake, but he was delighted with his callepitter cupcakes, decorated with plenty of sprinkles. (Please do not ask why the antennae both come out the side of the worm's head. I couldn't even remember at the time if worms have antennae!)
Gregory prefers all his food to be pale and mild. Bread. Cereal. Mac and cheese. Nothing takes his appetite away more quickly than the glimpse of a kidney bean. Or broccoli. Never mind that everyone else is scarfing it down like no tomorrow. Never mind health lessons about rickets and vitamin deficiencies. And the lessons the Israelites learned when they complained about their food? That is definitely Old Testament for our Greg.
I cannot write about this character without mentioning the love of his life. Even at mealtime he is grateful, "And thank you for our food and books to read." Many a morning I get up to find him in a pool of light beside the lamp, quietly poring over a stack of Smithsonian magazines. The favorite story books are dogeared and tattered, and Greg will come up to me with an impish expression and quote a line: "Ten tired turtles on a tuttle tuttle tree."
That is our Greg. The funny little man with the grin who trips over the toys while he dreams about going to the moon on a rocket ship.
We were talking on his birthday and he asked, "Will I be five on this very day?" I told him that he is already five and will never be four again. "But I am still the same length as when I was four... Will they let me go to Sunday school if I am still the same length?"
This is the child who broke the tips off his brand new crayons so he could stick them between his toes for claws. He was chagrined when he saw the damage it had done, but they did make great claws.
He has a little boy's fascination with all things creepy crawly, especially "callepitters". This summer he filled countless peanut butter jars with bugginess, only to let them go later, so that they would be happy. I was unhappy on quite a few occasions when my landscaping got severely pruned, so we planted a long row of zinnias. These flowers were all his own to pick and distribute. Nearly every day he would come up to me with a dimply grin and ask, "Which hand?"
I would try hard to choose the wrong one first, then out would come my fresh bouquet. Endearing, to say the least.
We were extremely pressed for time when it came to his birthday cake, but he was delighted with his callepitter cupcakes, decorated with plenty of sprinkles. (Please do not ask why the antennae both come out the side of the worm's head. I couldn't even remember at the time if worms have antennae!)
Gregory prefers all his food to be pale and mild. Bread. Cereal. Mac and cheese. Nothing takes his appetite away more quickly than the glimpse of a kidney bean. Or broccoli. Never mind that everyone else is scarfing it down like no tomorrow. Never mind health lessons about rickets and vitamin deficiencies. And the lessons the Israelites learned when they complained about their food? That is definitely Old Testament for our Greg.
I cannot write about this character without mentioning the love of his life. Even at mealtime he is grateful, "And thank you for our food and books to read." Many a morning I get up to find him in a pool of light beside the lamp, quietly poring over a stack of Smithsonian magazines. The favorite story books are dogeared and tattered, and Greg will come up to me with an impish expression and quote a line: "Ten tired turtles on a tuttle tuttle tree."
That is our Greg. The funny little man with the grin who trips over the toys while he dreams about going to the moon on a rocket ship.
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