We have this little record player, I think it is Fisher Price, you know, it plays plastic records, one song a side – orange, lavender, blue, lime-green- one more can’t remember. My sister bought it in a fit of nostalgia and selflessly gave it to my profoundly deaf (then two year old) son who was just learning about sound. I loved it then. We would sit together, he would wind the crank, select a record, jam it on, turn on the player and then we would break down to “Camp Town Races”, “Edelweiss”, “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star”, “O Where O Where Has My Little Dog Gone” or something equally snappy. I was thrilled to be doing something to support my little guy and unconsciously assuaging the monstrous guilt that dogged me night and day.

Well, it is 7 years later, my son is doing well, guilt has been slayed and my 2 yo daughter with regular hearing is the current keeper of the record player. I am glad she likes it, but as she is a bit of a speaking savant it’s no big thing and actually sometimes a bit annoying. For example when I have my own music blaring, we have just gotten home from school, the big two are whining and I am raising my voice to give instructions and or corrections. This was the scene yesterday when two chubby hands someone finagled the blue record onto the player and the tinny tune, “Camp Town Races” floated into the cacaphony, drifted into my straining eardrums and began to scratch them. I leaped across the room and tore the arm off the record, silencing one offensive sound.

“Hey Stop! Thas my Ha Lu Ya Box!”

Hallelujah box? I had no idea.

Clearly I was quenching the Spirit. Instead I turned off my music and allowed my baby to worship.

“Ha lu ya. Ha lu ya. Ha lu ya….” All the Doo Da Day.

My sister-in-law, Kristi, and her family are visiting. Last weekend extended family came as well. A cousin brought bags and bags of clothing and toys for my sister-in-law’s kids. One night Kristi sorted through things while her husband, Jon, Paul and I sat around talking.

Kristi is no cat lover and terribly allergic to boot. When she hauled out two framed photographs of kittens there was no question of keeping them. She made a face and promptly placed them in the Goodwill pile at my feet. These pictures were not for the faint of heart. I picked one up, a horizontal 8×10. A fluffy long haired white kitten is the focal point. Left, in the slight background is a heart pillow, all lace, bows and doilies. The background is a pink chintz, pretty actually, though half is draped with a lace panel. There is lace in the foreground too, just under the kitten’s paw. The kitten is staring, bug-eyed just above the camera. There were many terrible things in this picture, but it was lit from the side by sunlight, which gave a good feel and it was very nicely matted and framed. If you took out the lace, the pillow and the cat…well I guess there really wasn’t anything redeeming the picture and yet I continued to hold it.

I knew there was a little girl in this house who would treasure this picture. Paul was mortified, “Gun it!” Kristi and Jon laughed in agreement and yet I hesitated. There are so many issues and areas where our children are called to submit to Paul’s and my higher wisdom and authority. This was a matter of taste. To me, this picture was wretched, insipid, nauseating, but to my 7 yo daughter I knew it would be beautiful. Undecided I slipped it to the side.

The next morning morning my daughter unearthed it within minutes of waking. Clutching it to her chest she asked to whom it belonged. I told her she may keep it and to put it in her room. She scurried off in joy.

It is propped proudly on her dresser just waiting to be hung.

Talking to a friend at church yesterday she told me about a big change for her family. They are going to do something that is really atypical, potentially uncomfortable and possibly unsafe.

God is clearly guiding.

There came a point when she and her husband sat down to make the decision of whether or not to do it and they realized they were actually debating whether or not to obey.

I have more of these than I would like. I awake a bit earlier than necessary, that is, to the sound of my 7 yo kissing the head of my 2 yo as she carries her through the house to our room. I muster the strength to greet them both with a smile, a hug and a kiss and then we all snuggle together for a bit until the 2yo gets antsy and starts kicking her legs in the air and rolling around. I don’t know how such a still pudgy body can feel all elbows when connecting with my own. Eventually we drop her to the floor and she trots off to play with her big sister. Our eldest, the night owl, has the decency to sleep late.

Any way, slow lazy day where I’ve felt like I am walking under water. Just starting to wake up at 5 pm. OK, not even yet.

Am going to go outside and watch my husband play frisbee with my daughter and niece.

Slackers relax, the Patrol is off the clock.

Upcoming topics:

Shaved head
Why some cat lovers (not KMJ) should not be allowed free rein with a camera
Needy gardening
Dead Father
Coveting my neighbor’s evergreens

A veritable smorgasborg, to quote Templeton of Charlotte’s Web

See you at the fair.

If any of you cats are lurking on my blog you better comment. Pronto. Don’t be shy. That goes for you too, Pretty!