This year, Little Brother is a member of his school’s chapter of the National Junior Beta Club. They have frequent service projects and fund-raisers, the proceeds of which are donated to charity.
This morning he let me know that next week, the Beta Club will be having a lunchtime bake sale. “There’s a paper in my classroom, Mom. It’s on the 6th and the 7th and we’re supposed to bring in baked goods….Will you bake a good?”
Little Brother’s not going to be little forever, and that means all those Little Brotherisms are going to come to an end someday. I’m savoring them while they last. Here’s today’s:
We were in the car after soccer, discussing that we were both surprised to see the soccer coach smoking.
Little Brother: “He should try to stop smoking. Maybe he could get some of those patties that you pat on your arm that help you stop smoking.”
Ever since he was a very Little Brother, his nickname has been “Monkey.” If it was there, the kid would climb it.
Just now, he woke up and came downstairs.
“What’s up, Monk?” I greeted him.
“I’m not a monk,” he informed me. “Monks do this all the time,” bowing his head and folding his hands in prayer.
“I’ll bet some of them altar serve,” I commented.
He brightened (I thought the mention of altar-serving did it) and then zipped out of praying-hands mode into full-on Ninja warrior moves–kind of like Tai Chi but speedier.
“Some of them do this,” he told me. “Ninja Monks!”
So I was sitting at Little Brother’s soccer practice last night when the leaves of the tree next to me caught my eye. Because of the heavy underbrush, I couldn’t see the tree trunk, but the leaves were interesting. I have an app for my phone called Leafsnap that lets you take a photo of a leaf and then it analyzes it, offering a few possibilities for leafy identification.
My kids found the leaf on the kitchen table tonight (I had to set the leaf on a white surface or the app doesn’t work) and they think they don’t need an app to know that the leaf is probably marijuana.
NOT.
It looks quite a bit like it, but according to the app and several websites, what we’ve got here is a sweetgum tree.
I had no idea those grew north of the Mason-Dixon Line; something about the name “sweetgum tree” just screams “Deep South” to me. Must have been mentioned in a book once.
My kids, however, are standing by their story and offering me assistance with recovery of a whole other sort than I’ve been working on for the past few months.
Little Brother and I attended Mass together this morning. He paid attention to the readings and even to Father’s homily, which linked the “Magnificat” from the Gospel to both the Visitation and the life of St. Teresa Benedicta (Edith Stein).
That might seem like a stretch, but the gist of it was that “My being proclaims the greatness of the Lord” was central to the Blessed Mother’s life as well as to the martyrdom of St. Teresa.
After Mass was over, Little Brother asked me what the name of today’s feast was, again. He didn’t seem to be too familiar with the concept of the Assumption–especially after listening to a Gospel that told the story of the Visitation.
I told him that when most people die, only their soul goes to Heaven. But the Blessed Mother’s soul and body went to heaven upon her death.
It’s complicated. I can’t wrap my head around this mystery either.
Apparently neither can Little Brother, who then commented: “Mary could FLY? Wow, that’s COOL! I want to fly…”
If you take a Street Urchin to the diner, it is not advisable to order the Mexican Omelet. (It’s my favorite. Green peppers, onions and Monterey Jack cheese, so says the menu, although in real life it’s more likely to be Cheddar. Either way, it’s all good.)
So we went to the diner with Little Brother and Adventure Boy. And I ordered the Mexican Omelet, not knowing any better, because it’s my favorite, and it’s never been a problem before.
Then again, we don’t usually take Street Urchins to the diner.
My omelet was delicious, as usual. And then Adventure Boy, Master of All That Is Tactful, looked at it, made a face and said, “EWWWWWWWWWWWWW! That looks like big green BOOGERS!”
Thanks for that.
My Kindle was on the table, in screen-saver mode. Many of the screen-saver images feature famous authors.
“Anne Ghoul-berg!” Little Brother exclaimed when he saw the picture on the screen.
“Who?” I said, picking up the Kindle. “This is Agatha Christie.”
“Oh! I thought it was Anne Ghoul-berg,” he explained.
“Who’s Anne Ghoul-berg? Where did you hear of her?”
“In my mind,” he replied proudly (I should have known).
I switched on the Kindle and resumed reading my book. After a few quiet moments, Little Brother inquired, “Is there an Anne Ghoul-berg?”
Little Brother (pointing at the shirt he’s wearing now, which is, not surprisingly, dirty): Mom, can you wash this shirt tonight?
Me: No. I don’t do laundry on Sundays.
(commence pouting by Little Brother)
Big Brother: What’s his problem?
Me: He just remembered he has a dress-down day tomorrow and he wants to wear THAT SHIRT that he wears all the time.
Big Brother: Did you wear that to the last dress-down day? Then find something else to wear tomorrow.
Little Brother: No!
Middle Sister: You can’t wear that if you wore it last time. Never repeat an outfit!
TheDad: Boys don’t wear “outfits.”
A whole lot of dinner showed up here yesterday, thanks to three wonderful friends. Fortunately, it all arrived early in the day, with cooking instructions, so we didn’t have to choose among three hot meals.
Now that she’s a sophomore in high school, Middle Sister’s been getting a bunch of college mail. Most of it is postcards directing her to visit college websites, but yesterday she got a big envelope with a folder full of papers inside.
That impressed her. She actually opened it instead of just tossing it aside like she does with the postcards. She asked me if I knew where this university was, and I told her that it’s near where TheDad works and that one of Big Brother’s friends had gone there, as had the friend’s older brother.
She asked what the friend had studied at this university.
“Psychology, I think,” I replied.
“What IS psychology?” asked Little Brother.
“The study of the mind,” I answered in a fake-mysterious tone.
“He’s gonna be a PSYCHIC?”
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