That Baby Boy (he hasn’t quite gotten rid of the nickname, yet)! I am convinced he’s got a James Dean thing goin’ on!

To begin, let me emphasize the fact that the boy is persistent. He is continually testing to see if something is still forbidden (despite the fact that I have told him “no” on numerous previous occasions).

Further, he’s got this rebel attitude to go along with his actual rebellion. Let me illumine your minds with an example: As soon as The Boy is caught holding something he should not have, he looks at me, bright-eyed, like the proverbial deer in the headlights, drops it, then walks towards me, as if nothing has happened, and smiles at me with this huge, winsome, and, if I am being honest, irresistible grin on his shiny, ruddy little face. And of course, his beautiful blue eyes are twinkling at me the whole time!

He is such a stinker!

And soooo cute . . . that it is very hard to correct him!

In fact, when I was walking into the den the other day, he had gotten a hold of the remote control (one of those forbidden items he just can’t seem to resist). He was standing directly in front of the TV and was just pushing buttons like a mad man. When he realized that he was changing the channels, he started laughing hysterically – like a villain who thought he had just conquered the world. I must confess that I could not immediately correct him! It was all I could do to walk out of the room undetected so I could laugh, without encouraging this incorrigible little boy!

However, after regaining her composure, SuperMom returned to the den and restored world order - much to the shock and dismay of our favorite superhero-in-training.

Our friends have a daughter, now a teenager, who when she was very young, had several speech “impediments.” She just couldn’t pronounce certain words or letters. In particular, her “s” sounded like an “f.”

Well, when she was a young one, this problem with proper pronunciation provided much mirth for her parents. As she has gotten older, her parents have had to tell her about several little snafus, because, not unexpectedly, she has no independent recollection of the “fuff fee ufed to fay.”

While we were on buh-cay-shun, i.e. “vacation,” we discovered she had never heard one of our favorite stories that her parents shared with us. So her mom, thinking that she was now mature enough to understand the story, told it again. I will try to do it justice:

Once upon a time there was a cute and sweet little girl, hereinabove mentioned with the aforesaid impediment, who was eating supper with her family at the Solid Rock Café (yeah, cute name, huh? Her father was in seminary). Well, she, as most children do, loved to talk about what was most important to her at the time: some nursing kittens. She had even given them a cute little name. During the meal, the little girl began her story about the kittens with her pet name: “The Sucking Ones . . .” And immediately her parents turned brilliant red as all the seminary students and their families turned aghast to look at our friends.

Our friends’ daughter turned a similar shade and laughed heartily as she realized what she had said. We were all laughing as hard as our stomachs would allow, when we heard the eight year-old daughter, softly, but clearly, pose a poignant question: “The *@#%ing ones?!? What’s that?”

Needless to say, we laughed harder, though discreetly, as her mom told her calmly not to say that anymore.

*@#%ing phonics!

I finally understand the meaning of knowing something by heart. It means that this something is an integral part of you — it is dear to you. Seeing my 3-year old daughter sitting on our worn loveseat in her Sunday dress singing Psalm 4b by heart touched me in a way that few things can. Jesus loves her — and this she knows because the bible tells her so. It is as simple as that. And because of this knowledge, she loves to sing God’s praises. I even hear her singing Holy, Holy, Holy by heart to her little family as she puts Baby to bed. This truly is amazing grace.

I recently had the pleasure of attending a most wonderful tea party. The hostess, an exquisite young lady, welcomed me with such warm manners, including a lovely smile and affectionate hug as I arrived. She was dressed in her best – akin to a princess. She had a most magnificent table set. The table was draped with a beautiful hand-crocheted tablecloth, color of pumpkin, in the pattern of pineapple (which I believed to be very witty, in light of her hospitality). There was also a unique centerpiece containing bright orange and gold leaves that danced and sparkled in the late afternoon sunlight spilling through her window. It was a charming touch. And of course, she selected her best china for the occasion.

She served homemade pumpkin cookies (made from fresh pumpkins), which were delightful. She would not take “No, thank you” for an answer when I declined to have more than one. I reluctantly indulged in several. She also did a most unusual thing: instead of serving tea at her tea party (which, in my humble opinion, is so trite), she served the far superior and refined beverage of chocolate milk. That is when I discovered the depth of this young lady’s intellect.

On Election Day 2004, my 3-year old daughter, Sissy (self-named after the arrival of Baby Boy, whose name she also assigned), and I went on a date: The Library, Chick-fil-A to eat and play, and the Polls. Nice balance of fun and education, don’t ya think?

Because we have electronic voting booths, Sissy made my selections and pushed the big button to submit my vote. She did such a good job - she was attentive, interested, and listening to and following my instructions very well. My civics lesson was succeeding! I was so proud of her being so responsible!

Then she asked to vote again.

I know that some (many? most?) people like to take reading material into the bathroom. Consequently, I understand that it may be necessary to maintain a modest library of reading materials in the bathroom.

But what about that person who takes his drink, and by drink I mean a yummy adult beverage, into the bathroom? Should I stock a full bar in the towel cabinet? Or is a flask hidden in the book holder on the back of the toilet sufficient? Do I need to keep a bucket of ice in there so he may freshen up his libation at his leisure? Or is it appropriate to tell that person where he can put his drink — on the table until he’s done in the Loo!?!

My cute hubby was one day observing the wonders of our Baby Boy. He described how he loved how Baby Boy just stared deep into his eyes, looking so interestedly at him, so lovingly towards him, just looking and looking and looking, with no awkwardness. I thought that was exceedingly sweet and precious, so I looked at my hubby in just the way he described, and he turned to me and said “What are you doing?!? – That’s just creepy!!!”

We had some friends over for Sunday lunch. Good food (if I do say so myself), good wine and good fellowship.

One precious friend stayed and visited until the evening. As we were putting food away, I offered her a Coke (Not a “soda” or “pop!”). She said water was fine. I asked, “Are you sure?” She had been drinking water all day! She replied that she was fine, water was fine, everything was fine. I protested because I know she likes Coke (Hey, who doesn’t? Down with the Pepsi drinkers!). She insisted that she was fine — as is. I have to admit, I did not believe her. She is so gracious and did not want to trouble me for a thing. So I tested her resolve and told her “I’m gonna have one” (which I did plan to do, but got all caught up in this situation, as you will soon see why). She relented.

I reached in the fridge and grabbed a Coke. She was standing right there, so I handed her the can while I fixed a glass of ice. In this process, I looked and she was drinking right out of the can!!! I cannot stand to drink right from the can . . . anymore (I confess I did it in my youth. But I have recovered. There is hope for you, too, you pitiable can drinkers!). I said, “Don’t you want a glass of ice?” She insisted she didn’t, saying such things as “this if fine,” “I am great,” “I like it this way,” “it doesn’t matter,” etc. Well, I have to admit, I did not believe her AGAIN (I am so B-A-D)! So I had to get her in a corner. I knew she would not lie if I asked the right question. Consequently, I asked her “Which way do you PREFER your Coke: on the rocks or out of the can?”

It really doesn’t matter what our dear friend preferred. What IS important is that she enjoyed her Coke . . . on ice.