Holy Banter

During our ride to school this morning, we discussed possible costumes for Halloween. Because of the yearlong joy the Elvis outfits brought to our family, we brainstormed various ensembles for the three of them that could potentially have the same lasting effect.

“How about the three little pigs?” I asked my audience in the backseat. Squeals of laughter responded until Mary Mac added, “That’s a good idea Mommy. I’ll be the pig that used brick for his house since I’m the smartest.”

Lack of humility on the part of a four year old quickly waned the enthusiasm of the others to dress like pork.



“How about characters from Star Wars?” offered Chandler. “ I could be Luke, Chase could be Darth Vader and Mary Mac could be Princess Leia.”

“Yeah,” Chase quipped, “We could put honeybuns on Mary Mac’s ears for her hair!"


Discussions continued until we reached the carpool line. As we neared drop-off, Chase suddenly exclaimed, “I’ve got it! I know exactly what the three of us can dress up like for Halloween!”

“What’s that, buddy?” I asked.

“I could be God. Chandler could be Jesus. And Mary Mac could be the Holy Spirit!”

There you go.

From Elvis to the Trinity - in just a year's time.

A few quips from the backseat.....

Joyful Car Ride #1:

Mary Mac: Daddy, I checked out a book from the school library today. The LIBARIAN says we have to take extra special care of our books.

John: That's great, Mary Mac. Maybe when we get home I can read the book to you.

Mary Mac: Well, I don't want to hurt you feelings or anything but you can't lick your fingers and then turn the pages with this school book. You can only do that with the books that belong to me. Maybe mommy should read to me.


Joyful Car Ride #2:
(on the way to visiting Nana's church)

Chase: Mom, can we just go to big church with you and daddy?

Chandler: Yeah, 'cause we don't know anyone at this church and we'd feel better if we could stay with you.

Me: That's fine with me.

Mary Mac: You mean, I'm the ONLY one going into a class by myself?!
(Big four year old eye roll.)
That's okay, it just means that out of everybody I'm the BRAVEST and the SMARTEST.

(and the most humble...)

More Conversations from the Backseat

Maybe one day I will catch up with them spiritually:

Mary Mac (4): (singing joyfully in a tune only her brain recognizes)
"Loooorrrdddd, I wish you would come back to Earthhhhh......"

Chandler (6): (in a somewhat annoyed, know-it-all big brother voice)
"Mary Mac, Jesus doesn't know when He's coming back to Earth. Only God knows."

Mary Mac (4) (now even more annoyed than her brother) "I didn't say Jesus. I SAID LORD! And when I said Lord, I MEANT God!"


There you have it.

And now I am going to go study my Bible.

Who's Howard?

My previous post mentioned the precious prayers of my faithful children. Here is another quick example that brought our family much joy.

A few days ago Mary Mac spontaneously began reciting the Lord's Prayer as we were traveling home from a baseball game. Here is an excerpt:

"Our Father, who art in heaven,
Howard be thy name.

Thy kingdom come
My will be done...."


So, not only does she believe that Jesus is unable to swim, but also my willful child is under the impression that God's name is Howard.

I get the feeling that the Christian School my children attend may be revisiting our re-enrollment status.

From the Backseat

A good amount of chatter takes place in the backseat of my car. Observations, conversations, and disagreements are exchanged between the team in the backseat (children) versus the team in the front seat (adults). John and I hang in there for as long as we can, but it does seem that most times we are struck speechless, either because we are trying not to laugh, or because we are dumbfounded by the things they say or ask. Dumb, of course, being the key word.

There have been a couple of occasions this week that have caused different reactions from those of us riding in front. Here are a few:

Occasion One:
Mary Mac loves to sing and especially likes to croon to songs that she devises spontaneously. Whatever subject matter that may be floating around in her joyful little brain usually comes out in the format of a toddler show tune. This has happened often enough that we refer to her as Mary Mac, The Musical, while also hand motioning the universal sign of "jazz hands".

So a few days ago, as we were riding along cheerfully in the car, the following song comes out of her sweet little mouth:

(Insert out of tune melody that only a four year old could create)

"Jessuusss, I know you can't swiiimmmmmm, but at least you can walk on waaatterrrr"

Huh?! I laughed as I attempted to imagine the picture in my daughter's head that produced this show stopping tune. Perhaps Jesus walking on top of the water with floaties around His arms in case He needed to swim? Or an inflated swim tube around His waist as He walked towards Peter in the storm? Clearly, theology issues will need to be addressed sometime soon.



Occasion Two:
Last night, we attended the season opener of a baseball game with a family with three year old triplets.

(Please indulge me with a slight interruption. If you want to read a real blog,one with organized thoughts, intelligent insights,and humorous observations, visit Lots of Scotts. It will make you question, and quite possibly, regret, the time you spent perusing the ramblings posted by yours truly. One thing though - I do expect family members to remain loyal. Just sayin'..)



The triplets fascinated my children as exampled by the comments made in the car on the way home.

"So, that means they all have the same birthday. Like ,if they wanted to have a cowboy party, they would also have to include cowgirls, because, you know, one of them is a girl. EWwwwwwww, that means you'd have to have girls at your party!"(Chandler, 6 years old)

"One of those tripohlets is a singer just like me. He wasn't scared at all to sing in front of EVERYBODY. Can you teach me all the words of his song, Who Let The Dogs Out?" (Mary Mac, 4 years old)

"Wait a minute. We're not triplets. In fact, we're not even twins. Then why do you make us wear matching outfits to church?!" (Chase, 8 years old)

"Busted." (John, 40 something years old.)

Why is the sky blue?

Yesterday I participated in a rapid-fire question/answer session with Mary Mac. Typical four year old questions asked with great curiosity as well as in great quantity. With patience that had to come from Jesus Himself, I responded to all 46 questions, recognizing that her inquiring little mind just wanted to know.

There was a break in the action of her interrogation and I said,

"Mary Mac, you sure are curious. Did you know that you ask a lot of questions?"

"Yes Ma'am. That's just the way God made me."

I laughed out loud and soaked in the joyful smile on her angelic face. So dadgum precious and sweet I could lick her.

Later on that day, we had an interaction that wasn't quite as pleasing.

"Mary Mac, I don't like it when you talk to me that way. It is disobedient and disrespectful. Do you understand why I am upset?"

"Yes Ma'am. But that's just the way God made me."

Let It Snow

Our forecast calls for snow. Southerners react with secretive joy masked by faces of grave concern they mimic from the local weatherman. Rolled up sleeves, tie askew and sporting three days of unshaven beard, our devoted weather personality bravely relays updates from his prominent post at the "Stormwatch Center." His appearance reminds us of the desperation of those reporting in the Middle East, but with much more hope and a much better outcome.

Snow in Georgia is as rare as balmy days in Vermont. It just doesn't happen much and our regional response and state preparation makes the Boy Scouts of America look downright lazy. The media exploits it further by going so far as to name our grievous weather - "Snowstorm 2008" or, if they are really looking for extra hype and hysteria, - "Black Ice: The Secret Killer in Your Neighborhood."

It is a big deal. Groceries are bought, firewood is gathered, and sleds are purchased. Sodded lawns across our fine state will be shredded to pieces tomorrow as ambitious children attempt to sled down hills peppered with maybe two inches of snow. You have to appreciate our enthusiasm, albeit somewhat exaggerated and just a little misguided.

Coming home from a basketball game last night, the topic turned to the possibility of snow. From the backseat my six year old said, "I know where the snow comes from."

"Really?" I asked, not realizing that the curriculum in his kindergarten class included this particular subject matter.

"Yeah," said Chandler. "Jesus drinks a whole lot of vanilla milkshakes and then spits it out everywhere. "

It's My Fault

I was recently driving my oldest son, Chase, to guitar lessons when I glanced in the rear view mirror and noticed that he was reading. He is required to read a certain number of minutes each day for his third grade class, and apparently picked up his Kid's Study Bible previously left in my car. (Random items can often be found in almost every crook and cranny of the hunk of motoring metal I use as a vehicle/closet/infirmary/pantry/office/hiding place.) I was pleased not only at the text my son had chosen to read, but also that he was wisely using his time in the car to complete school work. However, it did mean that I would miss out on typical "car conversations" that take place with Chase. These are examples of past contemplations of his:

"So what do you think would happen if this YooHoo that I am drinking accidentally fell out of my hand, out the window, and into the mouth of a deer?"
or
"What if I stuck this jellybean up my nose and it came out my eyeball?"
or
"If God has super hero powers then why do we need Batman, Spiderman and Superman?"

So, we're riding along peacefully, when suddenly Chase blurted out , "I KNEW IT WAS YOUR FAULT!" Immediately, I was snatched back from my daydream where I was negotiating the future football scholarship Georgia Coach Mark Richt was offering to my child. (He also included a place for me to live on campus so I can be with my baby as much as possible and my own personal headset to use during the games in case I have some advice to offer the coaching staff.)
Upon re-entering the land of the real, I asked Chase to elaborate on his puzzling outburst and he responded, "Well, I was reading the story of Adam and Eve in Genesis, and they're hanging out and talking to all the animals and then Eve convinces Adam to eat the forbidden apple.So God gets mad and throws them out of the Garden of Eden. So it's your fault I can't talk to animals."

There you have it. Young boys everywhere cannot talk to the creatures of the land and of the sea and it is my fault. I think I prefer the conversations surrounding items up his nose. Boys are a joy.