I'm Darrell. And this is my other brother Darrell.

Does anyone remember that? It was on the Bob Newhart show a very long time ago. While all of you cool kids were watching "Dukes of Hazzard" I was apparently soaking in the gentle humor and quirky inhabitants of a Vermont bed and breakfast. Anyway, Harper has decided that the new baby should be named Harper Anne. I explained to her that we really like this name. That, in fact, we like it so very much that we gave it to her when she was born. At first she didn't really see why she and the baby couldn't share the name, then she conceded that it might get a tad confusing. Her solution? She will give 'Harper Anne' to the baby and she herself will take on a new name. And that name will be LIGHTNING. Lightning has also decided that she is going to be a mother. My mom had picked her up and commented that she felt heavier than last time. "It's because I have a puppy in my tummy," she replied casually. "And in a little while he is going to POP right out." She also shared her happy news with a complete stranger a few minutes later as we petted his little dog, whom, I think it's safe to assume, did not pop out of the tummy of a 3 year old named Lightning.

The kids and I have been at my parents' house for a week and it was so relaxing right up until a stomach virus set its course through, in order: my dad, my mom, Hudson, and me. The virulent little bug had already wreaked its havoc on my brother and his entire family the week before. Lightning remains unscathed. Here's a duck that really looks more like a penguin that she drew on the patio while she was waiting patiently for everyone to stop throwing up:
I tried to convince her that it was really more of a penguin but she was adamant that it was a duck. Yes, she is wearing mismatched pj's. Yes, she wore them for the entire day. No, I do not know how to interpret the hieroglyphic just under the penguinduck's beak.

It's funny because I really thought I wasn't going to get the virus. Because I had been fine all week. Then around 4 hours before the husband was due to show up and take me to my 20 year high school reunion, I had that little funny feeling of imminent reverse peristalsis. Not one to let a little vomit stand in my way of a fantastic party, we still went. My sweet friend Shelley, who has been my sweet friend since we were around 4, sat next to me most of the night to keep me company, even though her husband Mitchell treated me as though I had active TB. He kept the husband well entertained at a safe distance. The husband kept himself entertained by telling everyone within earshot that he was 12 when we graduated. He also told at least one person that we had met when I had been his babysitter. Every time I stood up for more than a few seconds I'd feel the need to swoon, but it was still a really good time. Even if I do go down as the Typhoid Mary of the PN-G Class of 1988 Reunion, it was so worth it. Here we are. You'll notice I'm a little peaked around the eyes. You'll also notice that I'm a little more pregnant. Almost 7 months worth.

gender. politics.

Hudson has learned that the best time to play with Harper's things is when she is napping. Which, sadly, is only happening about twice a week now. I had hoped she'd keep her nap until she was four (I know, I'm greedy) but it looks like I might have to be satisfied with 3 1/2. She will play quietly in her bed for a couple of hours though, so I'm technically not complaining. Anyway, one day last week when she was actually napping, Hudson woke up first and decided that he really wanted to wear Harper's pink wedge flip-flops.
He found the wedge a little steep for walking and his toes refused to embrace the necessary position, as you can see in the photo. Even so, he kept at it for a good 20 minutes. The whole episode was interesting to me because just that morning I'd had a great conversation with my dear friend Mrs. B (who, incidentally, is always good for fabulous conversation amidst the mothering. Just this morning she brought up Noam Chomsky! at the playground!) about gender roles and how much of it is conditioned versus innate. I've done lots of thinking about how we think about femininity and masculinity, and how much of that is God-governed as opposed to societal. Not much, I'm afraid. As parents, you are solely responsible for shaping your children's aesthetic. You are the filter. It's not that difficult to decide which sentiments are the correct ones to inculcate. But there's the figuring out how your kids are truly different in their innate uniqueness and how to make that part of their process towards glorifying and enjoying God forever. The hard part comes with the actual practice, which must be carried out in the actual world. The world of Bratz dolls and Hannah Dakota and t-shirts like the one I saw at the mall last week that read : "I HATE school but I LOVE boys!" So, I'll let you know when I've got it all figured out. Sometime next week, I'm sure.

I've seen high school students debate better than our two presidential contenders. I'll watch again on Wednesday night but it will pain me and make it harder for me to vote and not easier. Time constraints are to our immense detriment when it comes to finding out the measure of a man. The candidates are so afraid of being misunderstood or misrepresented that they end up saying nothing at all that isn't riddled with cliches or tired accusations. We are, in our laziness, at the whim of the media for whom the sound bite is their corporate bread and butter. Stale bread and rancid butter.

Today at the pool we met a lady from Scotland and Harper told her she was pretty sure that several of the lizards we'd seen on our walk over had come from Scotland. Hudson, meanwhile, was carefully using his yellow shovel to scoop water into a bucket which he then poured into another bucket, which he then poured on himself. Then he would start over. He was dismayed to leave the job unfinished when it was time to go.

The finer things

Today on our way to the park, Harper saw a sporty little convertible Mercedes and she gasped and said, "Oh Mommy! Look at that fast car--is that a RACE car?" I told her that technically it was not but that it probably was quite speedy. "I WANT that convertible Mercedes, Mommy!" So I told her that when she got to be a big and could buy her own car she was more than welcome to chose whatever car she wished. She pondered that for a minute and said, "When I get to be big I WILL buy a Mercedes with a convertible." Then a pause. "And I will climb trees."

Drowning in a drop

Harper hasn't been fond of the camera lately, but for some reason she was amenable to this shot:
This is a more typical response:
It's downright surly.
We briefly had another pet last week. It was a tiny roly-poly and it spent the morning crawling all over Harper's arm and she decided that it was the key to all happiness and contentment that the roly-poly join us later at the zoo. So I pulled out our makeshift bug catcher (a plastic leftover container with some air holes punched in the lid) and in went Tiny Roly-Poly Friend and an ivy leaf. As an afterthought I decided to put a couple of drops of water in since I certainly didn't want Tiny Roly-Poly Friend to die of thirst at the zoo. Hm. Make note, all you amateur entymologists: Tiny Roly-Poly Friends Don't Need Water. They will roll into a ball and roll right into said drop of water. They will drown. Before you even get to the zoo and show them the elephants. I tried explaining to Tiny Roly-Poly Friend that it was only a drop and that if he hadn't panicked and stayed all rolled up he would have realized this and crawled right out of the drop and right on to the ivy leaf. Alas. He was beyond hearing. Harper, as is her inclination, refused to believe that he was really and truly dead and insisted on putting him outside to "dry out" when we got home. Feel free to personalize the metaphor. Unfurl all ye who seem to drown!! It isn't the ocean, more than likely. Maybe it's just a drop.

I have a theory that preachers secretly love natural disasters because there are so many metaphors to be gained from them. I don't mind it as long as they don't get too thick. I am loathe to criticize the direct anecdote, even if they are cheesy, because they are so much better than stories that start off, "A man once said..." or "It was once told that..." Seriously, if the scriptures aren't vivid enough to you that you don't find daily, if not hourly, personal, first-person application that you can use to illustrate a point on Sunday morning, then you shouldn't be teaching other people. Period. There. In the unlikely event that I would ever get a chance to voice my views to a bunch of folks Training For The Paid Ministry, this is what I would tell them. Don't use passive voice. "Saturday when I was buying Hudson a pair of shoes on sale at R.E.I....." is a much better introduction to a point than, "It was once told that..." And for the love of all that is foot-noted, never introduce a quote by saying, "A man once said.." There's just no excuse for it. Find out who said it and tell me. And if Google attributes it to Mark Twain and Warren Buffet, go with Mark Twain. And if Google attributes it to more than, say, four different people, that probably means it's trite. SO don't use it at all. Think of something original to say. Whew. Class dismissed.

Speaking of class, my husband was on campus on his way to teach one of his classes a couple of days ago and a student he passed asked him, "Is there a play?" He called to tell me and I immediately asked him what he was wearing (the husband, not the student). "Blue pin-striped suit, white shirt...yellow bow-tie." The husband loves the bow-ties. He's a snazzy dresser. Apparently to the point of looking theatrical.

Speaking of college campuses, I have decided something quite radical. Are you ready? (caveat #1: if you have a liberal arts degree and are easily offended, STOP READING NOW. caveat #2: the husband and I have, between us, undergrad degrees in English and Biblical studies, and graduate degrees in philosophical theology and law). I have decided that I do not care if my children go to college. That's right. You read that correctly. I want my kids to find a fulfilling vocation through which they can be useful, be joyful, and earn a living wage, regardless of the economy. If college is necessary to enhance their usefulness in their chosen vocation, I will support it. But if my son comes to me when he is 18 and tells me he wants to major in philosophy, I will tell him he must first apprentice as a pipe-fitter or electrician so that he can earn a wage while he pursues philosophy. Or the drums. Or poetry. I think it's a little trickier with girls. So much of what they will need to know I need to teach them, and I have lots of learning to do. Or I'll encourage them to be nurses. Because it is so very useful. And so like Jesus to go around healing people physically. Plus the pay is great. There is lots left for me to hash out, I realize. I just know that I spent four years at college and had NOT ONE useful skill when I graduated. I don't count the ability to find obscure thematic elements in Mansfield Park as a useful skill, you see. I watch home improvement shows and am amazed that people know how to wire a house. Or sew their own curtains. Or make sure toilets flush properly. Ok, the kids are up from their naps and we are going swimming, because these are the years they just get to play. I'll rant more on this topic later, I'm sure.