Like herding...well...cats

When it's bedtime and three tired and pajamaed kids have truly come to the end of their day, then it behooves us to send up a small prayer that Miss Michelley will not, having got a nap in over her bottle, revive to enjoy the rest of the evening with us. Once that idea has taken root in her mind, once her pink pop-eyes and pistoning legs have communicated her intention sufficiently for us to understand it, the thing is hard to undo. What happens then can go something like this.

I usher the kids up the stairs. Lights go off, quick, quick, so they don't think it's time to play. Then one goes into the crib, and two into the bathroom. One down.

A noise of galloping is heard on the stairs behind us. I don't have to look; I know what it is: Tuppence, whose chief ambition in life (next her longing to be indoor-outdoor) is to spend a night upstairs. This is not allowed, because the one night we tried it she got ostentatious with her privileges and tried to spend it with Michelle. In lieu of receiving her heart's desire, she finds what solace she can in interrupting our slumbers however she may; she is creative, and uses whatever means come to hand, er, paw. But she also tries often to be already upstairs in hiding by the time we ascend. We have grown wise now, and we go looking for her and boot her out.

I pluck one child off the toilet and put another in its place. Water on for Lewis, who still can't get his own shirt off either and is eternally baffled by the pull-knob in the bathroom sink. Squelch Ingrid's comment; she's probably telling me about the last three times she went potty with a view to avoiding this last time so she can play it as a wild-card after everything else is done, at the very eleventh hour, just before I'm about to go back downstairs.

The toothbrushes are missing. Usher the kids to the bedroom. Michelle is standing up. Grab Tuppence, run her downstairs, shut the door. Back upstairs, lay Michelle down.

"Ingrid," I ask, "where are the toothbrushes?"

I have a vague memory of seeing them on my desk downstairs--my fault--but that was hours ago. They wouldn't still be there. Ingrid's eyes brighten. This is a heavensent chance.

"Can I go get them?"

No. She cannot. She begins moving in tight backward circles, as she always does when she is thinking hard. "Well...well...well, well, well...they're, they're, theey're...well, I saw Lewis's somewhere..."

Clearly this is going to strain her brain. Michelle is sitting up again. I send Ingrid down the stairs; she leaves the door wide open and Tuppence rejoins us. No subtlety in this cat. You'd think she could sneak, under the circumstances, but no, she comes like a handful of cavalry. You could hear her a block away. Her demeanor says--all over it--"I'm gonna make it. For just two glorious seconds, I'm gonna get in there." In there indeed she gets; I have to crawl across the rocking chair and around the easel to get her out again.

Inge comes back; her memory has served her quite well. In fact, she has found Lewis's toothbrush, but not her own. She remembers dropping it somewhere, with a red pen. She wants to know if she can borrow Lewis's. I pack her into bed, despite protests. Michelle jumps up and down, full of the joy of living, especially after nine. Lewis jumps up and down in bed, probably thinking about his Dodge Viper. Inge sort of bubbles up under her blankets and forms the letter "V" upside down. Not sure how she does that; I think it signifies that she wants to brush her teeth.

I take Tuppence downstairs. The monitor tells me what I already knew: I should have taken Michelle upstairs when she was asleep, instead of reading that extra story about Frog and Toad.

But...it was a good story. It's called, "The Button." Ever read it?

Websites and Cuncubers

Today's kids are a whole new breed. Which of you parents or grandparents, I'd like to know, ever looked at a picture of a spider web and said--knowledgeably--"that's a website"?

But then again, today's kids are pretty much like the kids of yesteryear, with their "mayzagines" and their "ba-sghetti." Lewey distinguished himself again at lunch today by requesting another cun-cuber. Unfortunately for him, the word over which he was stumbling sounded (to his father) regrettably like he wanted another concubine; but what he was really referring to was one of those long green things you can peel and eat with salt.

Namma found a Sale...

Here are some more pictures. The colorful clothes are from Namma who found a sale at a Hanna Anderson Outlet... hooray! and Thank You!

A very nice Michelley, and part of her colorful jacket.

You can't see a whole lot of Ingrid's dress, but you can tell basically what it looks like.

This may look like the same picture as below, but really this is a picture of Inge.

Lewis has an excavator, a hard hat, and a new shirt.

Here's little Michelley in a colorful jacket with a hair... I wonder what you call that. Names anyone?

A Prayer for Andrew

Two years ago, our first nephew and cousin went to be with the Lord. I found this prayer in the prayer book today. I think it speaks well of our desires, and of our confidence that we will meet this little guy again some day.

Almighty God, we remember this day before you, your child of the covenant, Andrew Robert Roise Jr., and we pray that you, having opened to him the gates of larger life, will receive him more and more into your joyful service; that he may win, with you and your servants everywhere, eternal victory; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen

A Little Too Short for the Fast Ones

Sons are funny. They make you wonder sometimes. Our son is a random, phlegmatic, impenetrable, unpredictable mass of opacity. Why does he panic? I don't know. I really don't. In my understanding of his life, at least, it could be characterized like this: "He doesn't get it, he doesn't get it, he doesn't get it, holy cow. He noticed that?"

Which is why when he sauntered into the kitchen, looked at the steaks I was preparing, and asked, "Is that poop?" I wasn't overly surprised. These misunderstandings will occur. And I patiently explained that it was steak. For dinner. Not poop.

Two minutes later I looked aghast at the small pile of kitty-poop next to which Michelle was playing, understanding for the first time what those plaintive meows of an hour ago had meant. "Lewis," I gasped, seizing on the nearest bystander for interpretive help, "what is that?!"

And he had learned his lessons well. "It's steak," quoth Lewis.

Happy Birthday Libby

Here's a Happy Birthday wish for Libby from Gabe Monroe and his sister, and from Inge and Louie.

Happy Birthday Libby.mp3

Back by Popular Demand

The mid-week pictures.

Inge.

Louie
Michelley long-bottom.
Bea and Michelle were born on the same day. Annie is an old NSA classmate of mine.

Weekly Pictures

Here's the latest, and perhaps the last, of the Minnesota pictures. Enjoy.

Behind on the blog...

Here are some more Christmas pictures. And believe it or not I have at least one more set of Christmas and New Year's pictures to post. Sorry for being so behind.

Here my sister Libby is holding Michelle while Claire gets coffee. This is a coffee shop in Fargo, ND that says "Welcome to Seattle" in a mural on the wall inside.



In the middle of present opening we realized that Lewis wasn't there. This is where I found him.

This is Ingrid during the Christmas opening, and I think she looks like pictures I've seen of her mother, when she was this age.

This is a special kind of sledding that they do at Roisestad-- uphill sledding. Yes that is Grandpa giving Lewis a sled ride uphill. Notice how Grandpa is in mid-air.

Giving the kids rides through the woods was kind of an adventure. Especially getting up the hills.

Update

Here are a few pictures to give a bit of an update.

This is my brother Michael. He has a great sense of humor, and he is too funny, and is still mostly made of water.

Claire and Bethany had the same outfit for the ball. Pardon the snapshots.

Here's the whole bunch. As usual we took this picture with the minimum of planning. At least we look like we're having fun, eh?

Grandpa's present from Inge didn't come in time (nevermind that we forgot it). I think they both enjoyed it anyway.