9:30. The kiddies are tucked safely into bed. This is the peaceful time of day; now, and naptime. Tonight the house is actually clean already, dishes done and whatnot. Mitchie kicketh. Peter’s still got a lot of work to do, poor guy, so while I wait for him to surface I’ll blog. (I despise that verb.)
Inge has pretty nails because we painted them tonight. Lewis has some pretty nails, too, because after we finished painting Inge’s he re-opened the bottle and started painting his own. He got two done before I found and stopped him.
Inge went on a “date” with her Daddy today. She looked like a little lady, very grown up, and conscious of the grandeur of the occasion. I understand they went to the Pantry and split a piece of Tollhouse pie.
Had the reader joined us for family prayers tonight, one line of Lewis’s petitions as dictated by his father might have stood out: “And please help me not to bite Inge.” For yes, Lewis has taken to biting. Not as terrorism, or as a coercive technique, or (apparently) for personal gain of any kind. His motivations are more philosophical than pragmatic. Seemingly, he enjoys the activity as a sort of comedic and interesting routine that also reinforces the presence of causality, even in his little round of existence. That is to say, he bites, she shrieks, we appear, conduct a basic forensic investigation, and escort the culprit away. “Spanks” are received.The culprit is now very sorry. Amid sobs, he repents and apologizes. Hugs are exchanged. The order of events never changes, but one or two days will elapse before a repeat performance and then…as if the little philosopher needs to reassure himself that the sun still rises in the east, he bites again, she shrieks again, and off we go.
Inge, meanwhile, expands her vocabulary daily and shows a certain impromptu creativity to give one pause. An excerpt from yesterday’s visit to the Amos household, where we ate lunch: According to parental injunctions, Inge was (loudly) taking her leave of Mrs. Amos (“AND-THANK-YOU-FOR-THE-FOOD-AND-THANK-YOU-FOR…”) but, in the general hubbub, Mrs. Amos was not listening.
“Inge,” I said. “You have to get Mrs. Amos’s attention before you talk to her.”
The small rhetorician pondered less than half a second; and then delivered this thunderbolt:
“ATTENTION!!” quoth Inge. Wherewith she had it, and plenty of it.
And now, goodnight, as they say. It is time to sleep. (So we will sleep with our pet Zeep…today was good, today was fun, tomorrow is another one.)