In the Doctor’s office, I made the girls a balloon out of a latex glove which made for a rousing game of tossing the balloon when the Doctor walked in. Charlotte wasn’t even six months old yet, but she was squealing with delight at the sight of a balloon. Taking notes, the Doctor asked, “How is Eva at night? Does she snore? “No, not at all,” I inputted. Eva interjected, “My daddy snores.” I immediately lowered my head and flatlined my lips. “Mommy makes him sleep in the guest room.” I covered my face with my hands. Trying to save face, I defended my actions with, “We have an infant in our room, and my husband, Chuck, was sick.” Chuck had graciously moved himself to the guest room, trying to keep Charlotte from waking. I continued, “He usually sleeps in the room,” trying to dig myself out, but it was too late. The Doctor could not write on his clipboard further because of the laughter that had erupted.
Charlotte is the spice of life, the ingredient we didn’t know we were missing. She has a zeal for life that is bigger than her, probably because we prayed for so long to meet her that it all came bottled up in one dynamic package. There is no denying how she feels about the current situation since her eyebrows will tell the story. Baby Charlotte loves deeply, just like her sister. If she sees hurt in your eyes, she will ask, “It ok?” Her eyes are full of concern, and her eyebrows bow low. Charlotte will lay her head on my shoulder and pat my back as if making it all better. Her complete sentences contain only a few words, yet she thinks she has told you her life story. Her fearlessness is harnessed by my ever-proclaiming, “NO, NO!” Her walk is determined, with one arm swinging as she leans forward. Watching her, I think, “That will serve you well in life, little one; lean in and walk on.”
Eva’s love and care for Charlotte come second to none. Charlotte is her best friend. She is quiet yet has an aggressive edge to her, like a kite soaring on the wings of the wind. She is strong yet delicate, organized but carefree. Eva talks incessantly and would argue without an argument if we let her. She loves to listen to stories and has a knack for telling them herself. Eva must be a part of whatever I am doing and thinks her daddy hung the moon. There is no doubt in my mind her roots will always be close to home.
It used to be good manners for children not to speak when adults were gathered. Children were to be seen and not heard. There is some truth to this. Of course, children have ideas, opinions, questions, and requests that need to be made, yet sometimes they will have to sit quietly, even if they have a thought. It needs to be shared at the appropriate time.
When I was young, we knew better than to interrupt Mom and Dad when they were talking. We had to wait patiently until they finished; then, we could ask our questions. Most of the time, they saw us and knew we needed something, so they would pause their conversation and take our question; if not, we had to wait.
Loving to talk and always up for a good conversation, I found no interruptions a hard rule. I had so much input I wanted to add. It took a lot of work to learn my place. Mom and Dad always made time to listen and hear what we had to say. Overstepping childhood into an adult conversation was only allowed if invited.
Now, as a parent myself, there are a few times I don’t like to be interrupted: when I am praying or taking a phone call, and well, also when I am singing along to Brooks and Dunn on the radio.
We just finished painting the upstairs family room. I called my mother in a panic because the edging and the roller were not blending. It was a tedious job, and I didn’t want to redo all my hard work. She patiently said to me, “Give it a little time. Paint has a way of blending as it dries.”
Our kids will need to interrupt our lives and conversations more than will be convenient to the discussion of life, but in all the strict rules of non-interruptions, my parents set, not once did they ignore my need for their attention. Even if I had to wait, they never forgot me. What seemed unimportant to them was vital in my eyes. Information like: who fell down on the playground or if I could go to a friend’s house didn’t always coincide with what they were doing, but as the years passed, our conversations blended beautifully. This happens only when we pay attention during the tedious listening years.
Now Available the BOOK INN – downtown Fayetteville, TN and on Amazon! Or you can purchase personally anytime!
My arms were weighted down with after-school belongings. Unloading the truck seems more like a sporting event than a simple carpool pickup. I had all of Charlotte’s essentials, her diaper bag, and Charlotte. I reached to grab my other bags and noticed my purse was missing. Eva entered the house with her backpack, lunch box, and coat. But in the other hand, she held my purse. Eva had come to my side of the car while I was getting Charlotte out of her car seat. She quietly relieved me where she could and slipped away. What a blessing she was to me. She was seen and not heard.
Subscribe and receive my free printables, monthly newsletter, and weekly blog straight to your inbox!
Love your writings!
Thank you so much! ♥️