Carla: He looks like the beggar at the Beautiful Gate.
Éa: Who?
Scott: One of the people Jesus healed. One of many.
Éa: Killed?
Scott: HEALED.
Carla: And THAT. is why I don’t want our children to read Bible stories yet.

At the risk of sounding like a monster, I must report that today I lashed out in anger without warning at Sullivan by throwing his flying paper dragon hard at his upper chest after he flew it past my face a few times while I was trying to master parts of the above Choral Society piece.

He was astonished and on the verge of tears. Thankfully, I realized my error immediately, apologized quickly and profusely, and embraced him. He forgave me without hesitation.

In the end, it’ll be a good example to him of how to deal with sin. But aie, that look on his face.

I’ve got to get back to rehearsing when no one is around.

“Oh…

…I love cheetahs!”

— Éa, in an arrestingly genuine response to the animal-print pajamas Sullivan gave her for Christmas; she had left us because she paused about five seconds between the first and second parts, and her reply wasn’t accompanied by a smile

Carla insisted the four of us go outside in the 6–8 inches of snow after dinner this evening, and I’m glad she did. We pulled the kids around on their sleds, enjoyed the scenery and relative silence, sledded down the steps of the new footbridge and down the hill near Meadow Lane. O Lord, You’re beautiful.

Carla and I parted ways for the evening after a noisy, meh-but-enjoyable “food fair” (glorified, overpriced kosher hot dog party) at Congregation Brit Shalom: She to a council meeting, the kids and I downtown for the tree lighting ceremony. We missed the actual lighting by literally three seconds but enjoyed the tree anyway, along with hot chocolate, popcorn, secular Christmas tunes, Animal Kingdom, the bathroom at Irving’s with Éa while Sullivan waiting in line with Lucy S-M & her mom, dancing on my shoulders, and Sullivan on Santa’s lap asking for mittens and a whole dinosaur skeleton for Christmas.

But the real pick of the day today is how much time I spent crafting simple HTML email signatures at work. Was it a waste of time? My desires said no, but perhaps it wasn’t the highest priority. Why do I let myself get carried away with trifles?

“I have no greater joy than this, to hear of my children walking in the truth” (3 John 4).

This is my prayer for my children. Please hear it.

To further Sullivan’s penchant for architecture and craft, and at his request, we made paper airplanes today in my office for our date. We also did some tangrams right before bed—and he beat me in making the square.

“To sum up, all of you be harmonious, sympathetic, brotherly, kindhearted, and humble in spirit… (1 Peter 3:8).

I’ve been praying this a lot recently for Carla, the kids, and myself, and I think You’re answering my prayer. Thank You.

“Daddy, will you draw me a picture of Jesus?”

— Éa, at the end of a bedtime conversation that started, “When you die, do you stop moving?” and included “I don’t want to die,” brief tears, and a “Don’t worry, Darling. We all die, but Jesus will bring us back to life again.” Carla pointed out that Éa will probably take that to mean that we “bounce back” to life immediately after dying. This was a terrifying conversation to have, because I don’t want to glib, but I don’t want to talk over her head, but I don’t want to mince the truth. God, You gave this girl to us. Help!

In other news, Carla won a seat on College Township Council today.

Scott: Sullivan, I’ve been meaning to talk with you about your reading habits.
Sullivan: You’ll never stop me.

Éa [from the other end of the house]: Mama! Watch this!
Carla: Honey, I’m cooking!
Éa: Mama watch this!
Carla: I can’t! I’m cooking right now!
Éa: Mama! Watch this! I can jump from the TOP!
Carla [walking quickly to the other end of the house]: Okay! You’ve got my interest!

5th birthday verses

My son, youre five,
And I’m so glad youre alive.
It’s worth a lot of mirth,
The day you came to Earth.
So Mom baked a shark-tastic cake
And planned a party for your sake
With piñata, food and skating today
and friends who gather round to say:

We love you very much, my boy.
MAY ALL YOUR DAYS BE FULL OF JOY!

I’m all done with having to ask the children to do something twice because they’re defiant or unresponsive.

as reported by Carla:

Just after sunset yesterday, I yelled for Scott to come see this neat swarm of tiny ants that I found in the driveway. We noticed one example of the stark difference in our kids’ personalities when Sullivan stood looking from a safe distance while Éa lay right on the blacktop inches from the mess of ants and poked at them with her fingers.

When I followed Éa in her boldness and looked up close myself, I noticed that these little ants weren’t after some food item as we had first assumed, but were actually fighting each other. I described what I had seen to the others, saying, “They’re fighting! It’s an all-out war! They’re in piles on top of each other and some are carrying away the dead.” Scott explained to the kids that this must be two distinct any colonies fighting for territory or something.

Then our kids displayed another fine example of their polar opposite personalities. Sullivan folded his hands and looked up to the sky with his happy bright blue eyes reflecting the clouds and prayed, “Dear God, please help these ants stop fighting each other.” Meanwhile, Ea moved even closer to the ants, with her brown eyes wide open and a big smile on her face, put her forehead right into the swarm and said with joy, ”Bonk heads!”

Sullivan: I’m a postman.
Scott: Well, hello, Mr. Postman!
Sullivan: Daddy, I’m just pretending.
Scott: Well, hello, Mr. Pretend Postman. What are you doing?
Sullivan: I’m delivering mail.
Scott: Well, what are you delivering, Mr. Pretend Postman?
Sullivan: I’m just pretending to deliver.
Scott: Well, what are you pretending to deliver, Mr. Pretend Postman?
Sullivan: I’m delivering a television.
Scott: Oh! To whom are you pretending to deliver a pretend television, Mr. Pretend Postman?
Sullivan: Dadda, I have to tell you something: It’s not a pretend television. It’s real television.