God doesn't want us to worship booties

I was putting Knox and Darcy to bed tonight, reading to them about David and Goliath. We finished the story, and I turned out the light. Lately, our routine is: both K and D pick a book and we read them both on the floor, then I turn off the light and we get in Darcy's bed on the bottom bunk, Knox lays on me while I pat him and sing a "me and Knox and Darcy" song, then Knox gets up in his top bunk, and I'll pat Darcy and then pat Knox.

After reading David and Goliath tonight, I went and turned off the light. I got in Darcy's bed and before Knox laid on me, he sat in front of me and looked at me and said, "God is the strongest god." (While reading, I had told them how Goliath needed a massive sword and shield, but David just needed his strong God.) And I replied, "Well, God is actually the only God." Knox sweetly said, "Oh, I didn't know that." And I said, "Yea. A lot of people in the world make up their own gods. And these gods aren't real. They're fake. And God tells us in the Bible that if we spend our lives worshipping other gods and not the one true God, we will not go to Heaven, and we will have spent our lives here on earth not actually walking with God." Knox said, "Oh." And I said, "There are tons of fake gods out there and so many different names for them. One is named Allah. One is Buddha." Darcy laughed and said, "That sounds like booty." And I laughed and said, "God doesn't want us to worship booties." And they thought that was hilarious and asked me to say it again. It's probably sacrilegious, but I said it several times. "God wants us to worship Him, not booties." And Knox said, "Can you sing a song about booties?"

pink doctor

Knox got a fever this afternoon and mommy made dinner while Darcy and I played and I held Holden. Holden is feeling much better after a few days of feeling very crummy, lots of snot, lots of discoloring around his eyes. He got his six month shots a few days ago and is getting teeth.

Darcy and I were sitting on the dining room floor pretending that I was being disciplined. Darcy told me I was not obeying and that I needed to sit in time-out (her time-out chair is in the dining room). So I sat in the chair and she closed the dining room door. I was holding Holden and he turned around and looked at me in the face, like, "Why are we facing a wall right now?" Darcy came back in fifteen seconds later and said, "Okay, you can't do that anymore. You need to listen and obey." And I said, "I'm so sorry. I really will try to be a better person and listen to my mommy and daddy. Can we pray now for God to clean my heart and wash away my sin?"

So we prayed and Darcy said, "Okay, you were bad again. I gotta leave you in time-out." And she went and closed the door again. We did this about four or five times. Each time she told me I was bad, I would act like I was crying hard and tell her, "I'm trying so hard to be good. I really am. I don't know why you're doing this to me." And she would just look at me and say, "Well, you need to sit here for a bit." And then she'd leave me alone. And the last time she came in, she said, "Okay, now you're not feeling well. Come down on the floor with me and I'll read you this book (The Gruffalo)." She began reading the book (just making up the story either based on memory or whatever pictures she saw): "Okay, here's the fox.. 'Hi. I am the fox.'"

We finished the book and she asked me to lay down on the stacked-chairs in the corner of the room. Jokingly, I said, "So you want me to plank on these chairs." Andrea laughed from the kitchen. And I said, "Okay, well I'll have to put my baby down on the floor." Darcy looked at me like "yep". So I put Holden down on the ground and began planking on the stacked-chairs. Darcy went to get some pretend-medicine. As she was walking away, I yelled, "But doctor, what happens if my baby cries? Can I get down off these chairs and get him?" And Darcy said, "No, you can't." And I responded, "What kind of a doctor are you?!" And Darcy looked at me with a grin and said, "Pink." And I broke into laughter and said, "A pink doctor?" And she nodded her head "yes".

no more a dreamer

I remember a time when I didn't have a clue what I'd be when I'm older. What car I'd drive. What house I'd live in. Who I'd marry. I greatly miss that mysteriousness.

I have "acquired" all of those things and it leaves me feeling empty inside. It shouldn't though, of course. I keep feeling like there's nothing more. But there is. So much more.

I want to flick my mind. I want to turn off whatever part of my brain prohibits me from being a child with my children. I want to think like them and feel like them. But I am just annoyed at everything and everyone.

I am tired. I am no more a dreamer.