Recent Antics

First, there was Ben. As an infant, I don't believe he was a troublemaker or problem-child. Granted, when he walked into his two-year-old Sunday School class at church, the girls would cry... but in general, other than loving to knock down big block structures, he was a pretty easy-going kid. He was outgoing, that's for sure. Loved attention and people, and still loves it. But after the "terrible twos", he stopped terrorizing wooden-block cities like Godzilla. He calmed down. Then came Reagan.

Ok, when my daughter Reagan was a toddler, Mike and I thought we had our hands full. She was going to be our "trouble child". (For those who knew us then... remember the blue inked handprints all over our kitchen cabinets, walls, living room walls, shelves, tables, bannister, carpeted stairs, chairs and more... 2 weeks before closing? I know Ben was involved too, but it wouldn't surprise me to find that Reagan was the mastermind.) Granted, Reagan was a pistol who would get into anything and climb anything. Going up the stairs on the OUTSIDE of the bannister was not abnormal to her. We had many crayon and marker wall murals courtesy of Reagan, too. She was very artistic. Then came Tommy.

Oh, Tommy. My dear sweet Tommy. He can melt hearts with a single hug (which he is always so ready to deliver), but is blessed with just too much energy. Sharing, being quiet, taking his time, standing quietly in the supermarket line ... not exactly his fortes. Again, we thought "Oh no... HE'S our trouble child." Sigh.

Now there's Gracelynn. When I saw the way she acted in China and how shy she was in group settings, I thought to myself. "Oh my, what will I do with a shy child? I don't know how to raise one of those." Sure enough, she proved to me that I won't have to worry about that!

She's one to watch 24/7. She loves oranges. However, being unable to properly cut an orange on her own, she's developed her own strategy, rather than ask for help. Slowly pick at the orange in dime-size pieces. When the hole is big enough, squeeze your teeth inside and chomp away. When you can no longer squeeze your mouth inside the hole, dig out the fleshy pulp with your fingers. Oranges are naturally sticky and messy, but Gracelynn gives whole new definition to those words. By the time I usually find her, the pulp is stuck to the tables, chairs, floor, her face and hands and arms and clothes... and everything in sight is a sticky mess. Just walk into our breakfast room, and I bet you can immediately spot Grace's chair. It's the one with the fingerprints that I can't seem to remove.

She loves cereal. She's surprisingly meticulous about cereal... no mess like the oranges. Rather than dig into the box with her fists, like most kids would, she shimmies up onto the counter (yes, really... the girl is a born gymnast), gets out a bowl, pours the cereal into the bowl and then uses a spoon. Surprisingly good job for a three-year-old, I think. Now if only I can convince her to remain at the kitchen table with that bowl of cereal instead of laying on the couch with the bowl on her belly.

The girl is already looking like a typical American three-year-old. The scrapes and bruises on her knees and shins rival those on Tommy's now. :-) She attempts anything. If Tommy can do it, well by golly, then Grace can too!

Yesterday, despite the scariness of what could have happened, we had to giggle...

We have two sickies here today (and last night). Reagan threw up in the morning at school, but seeing as though nothing else happened all day, I let her attend her "Pump it Up" Brownie party that evening. (Bad decision on Mommy's part? Maybe. But the poor girl already missed her other Brownie party at Christmas due to stomach bug, too. I felt so bad at that party since I was the leader and had to go. So, I thought she ought to at least go to this one, especially since she seemed fine and never got sick again. Plus this was her "cookie sales reward".) Wrong! After 30 minutes of jumping and sliding, sure enough... she got sick again. Yuck. So, when I brought her home, I asked her to go straight to the shower and then to bed. (BTW, Tommy is the other sickie now.)

While she was showering, the rest of our family sat and ate dinner. After dinner, Grace so carefully put her plates away in the sink and then ventured upstairs. Since Reagan appears to be Grace's favorite sibling these days (she is the jie jie, after all and we had heard Grace may take better to big sisters than brothers), we figured she was up there talking to Reagan. So, a few minutes later, Mike went up to check on the girls. Once upstairs, he called, "Chris, I think you should come up here." I started thinking about what could be wrong. Did Reagan throw up again? Did she fall asleep in a strange location (not abnormal for Reagan)?

Nope. It was Grace. Naked, wet, and holding a towel in front of her, she was hiding partially behind her closet door. She gave herself a bath. The kids' bathroom drain is going slow these days, so we figure she saw the water in the tub and decided it was time to bathe. She plugged the tub up and washed herself.

Had it been Tommy, I probably would've freaked out on him about the dangers of being in a tub alone, but it was obvious that Grace was hiding herself, like she knew she was in trouble. So, we calmly tried to tell her to never do that again (did she understand, who knows?), but just got her dressed in PJs and walked out, smirking from the humor of it and shaking from the scariness of it.

I know she was probably just thinking that this is what she should do, to be helpful. Oh, Gracelynn, you're fitting into this family better than we realized.