Wednesday, October 26, 2011

Trick-or-Treat?...I'd say Trick!

 Well, we have our first broken bone. In a house full of boys I suspect it will not be our last. Sunday at the church's Fall Festival, on the very last ride down the bouncy slide, Spitfire broke his skinny, 'lil, knobby kneed chicken leg. All five of us headed to the ER in Halloween garb. Spitfire was a werewolf, Golden Curls was Dracula, and the Little Mister was a skeleton. I'm hoping to make him a mummy for Halloween trick-or-treating but I hear my time being sucked out the window!

Wereman before. After they gave him a shot for pain he made this face and then immediately relaxed back into his chair like a little stoner to talk about how he was no longer a tearful smiley on the pain chart but "more like a zero, I'm a zero."

 Spookiest waiting room in town! I have such good boys that the wait was painless, we all just hung out doing our thing.
 Spitfire was a little upset that they ended up needed to cut the leg off his werewolf pants but I reassured him we could put them back together for Halloween.

 Pappa and Golden Curls pretending to be bored.

This is our whole clan pre-broken leg.

Cutest monsters I know!

I don't know what I expected from a broken bone, I've never had one so I guess I just thought it would hurt until they had it stable. No such luck! But by yesterday afternoon he had had a visit from some sweet friends, Pappa had brought his reading basket home from school and things were looking up. Last night he didn't wake up in pain and today he's seeming much more like himself...a little spitfire...hummm, I better watch my back! It's going to be a little tricky around here for a few months. He keeps the straight leg splint and stays home with Mamma until Monday then he gets a bent leg, non-walking cast for 6-8 weeks when we'll discover if a 5 year old can work crutches or has to be wheeled around in a chair. Just another of life's little adventures!

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

Thank You For Making Me, Me

Every night before we go to bed we say prayers with the boys. Usually my husband and I will lead it and the boys will repeat. The other night Spitfire got sent to play in his bedroom after being too distracting during stories. When it came time to get ready for bed we found he had already put himself to bed and was dead asleep (see below:).

Since it was just me and the big one I asked if he would like to lead the prayer that night and this is the beautifully simple prayer he said: "Thank you God for this day and that we got to play all day. Thank you for giving us food and hope. Thank you for making me, me. The end."

Why isn't that my genuine prayer at the end of each day? I'm so full of grumbling and discontent about what I don't have, what I "need". So full of insecurities and my own worst bully. But in reality I have this day and that alone is an incredible gift not everyone has to enjoy. I get to stay home all day with my babies in these first most awesome years of their lives. I even get to fit in a little graphic design work and crafting here and there;  my own play all day. I certainly have food and hope. But the last part got me the most. "Thank you for making me, me. The end." I think it's time I start trying to reform my 'ole pessimistic, negative self into an optimist so I can start being happy that God made me, me too.