Joyinvanity

As set forth below and as stated previously, Baby Boy loves to stare.

And I took “da chilrens” to the Library this week, and Baby Boy was lounging in his stroller while Sissy and I colored (yeah, we color and play at the Library — because we read at home!). There was a man sitting in a chair right next to Baby Boy and Baby Boy just stared at him – no blinking, no smiling, just unadulterated staring. The man repeatedly looked at Baby Boy, and then each time, would turn just a little further away from Baby Boy. I think Baby Boy intimidated him! What a little man! Only 7 months old and he’s scaring away strange men from his Sissy and Mama. I pity the suitor interested in Sissy – if he makes it through Daddy!

Today, Baby Boy had his 6 months-old picture taken (at 7 months . . . I am always running late). He was such a handsome little man! They even called him Superman! Without any encouragement from me! This made me happy, for reasons previously provided.

He was so handsome! Who made that baby?!? (Okay, God made all things — but who did God make to make that Baby — yeah, that’s right: ME! I was the secondary means! Ain’t bad for a sinner, huh?). I anticipate modeling agencies contacting me shortly wanting to discuss his career. He has such a . . . Euro-nique look — just like his Daddy (who also received certain proposals for the aforesaid vocation). My men are SOOOOO CUTE!!!

In any event, he was precious, and Sissy even jumped in occasionally — but only when she was not expected. As soon as she was invited to get into the pic, she would oh-so politely say “Um . . . no tanks.” She is quite a little lady, but a little reserved, to say the least. I had to use a little trickeration to get her into the pic. For example, I asked her to fix Baby Boy’s hair. She gladly agreed and quickly and cheerfully went to Baby Boy, gently and lovingly stroked his light, fine hair with her petite hand, and then just as quickly, returned to her little seat by me. She has such a demure, solemn look and demeanor . . . it is truly striking. Absolutely beautiful.

Funny enough, they are both afraid of the same woman. She tries to be real friendly to them, to please them, to make them laugh, etc. But Sissy, at this age, recoils in fear as if encountering something evil and runs towards me. And Baby Boy’s little bottom lip just quivers and begins to swell into this huge protruding mass atop his chin, his eyes turn bright pink as the tears well up on the verge of rolling down his plump red cheeks, and he starts turning his head frantically looking for his mama. It’s just so sad! And so precious! And makes me so happy!

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.

Sissy loves to be a pimpess, a/k/a a princess. She thought every person she saw was a pimpess. So when Baby Boy came, we had to work with her for some time explaining that she is a princess because she is a girl and Baby Boy is a prince because he is a boy. She continued to call Baby Boy a pimpess, and we continued to remind her that he is a boy, so he is a prince.

Then one day she called Baby Boy a pimpess, and I asked her “Is Baby Boy a princess?” She, in a sing song voice, replied “Nooooooooo, Baby Boy’s a pimps!”

That’s better!?!

I am persuaded that we should have called Baby Boy, “Baby Bird.” He constantly has his little mouth completely wide open, just like a little robin. I am further convinced that he is “hungry for kisses,” and therefore, just kiss and kiss and kiss and kiss that little man-child of mine! He just eats that up.

In any event, having absolutely no talent for writing poetry, I like to do it. Here is my latest:

Look at me, Daddy, look and see!
My mouth is wide open — as wide as can be!
I’m walking around with my mouth open wide –
I’m not really sure what’s going inside!

*curtseying* Thank you very much.

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.