Just like George.

The house is quiet for a change. baby millie and i are home while jeremy and eli are out buying the necessities: coffee and diapers. pretty soon i'll hear them rolling up the gravel drive. from this second story room where i sit, the baby asleep on my lap, i'll be able to hear eli talking as they tromp, lugging a jumbo box of pampers across the dry patch of winter grass to the back door. he'll have chocolate crumbs on his face from the cookies i sent in a bag for him to eat on the journey. and he'll run into the house and begin calling for me to come down so he can tell me all about his day at "hool" and ask me how my life is. though he's amazingly articulate (and really does frequently inquire: "mom, how's your life?" in the most sincerest of tones) he can't quite master the "sk" sound. so for the time being, school is hool, squirrel is hurl, and scratch is hatch. i recently read that two and three year olds talk so much because they enjoy the sound of their own voices. this definitely seems true in eli's case. he keeps us very much amused with statement-questions like:

"mommy, can i have some chocolate chips because i'm curious and i want some."

"because i'm curious" is his answer and his reason for just about everything these days.

My millie, dear, dear girl, sleeps six to eight hours a night while i slumber ever so gratefully nearby. and if i may boast for a minute---she's absolutely beautiful, sweet, happy, cuddly, and a little on the plump side. jeremy and i are the only ones who seem to think she's chubby, probably because eli was so un-chubby by baby standards. it's fun to have cheeks to kiss and soft little leg folds to navigate the diaper around. she's up to almost nine pounds now and still has a full head of dark brown hair. she often wrinkles her forehead as if concerned, smiles crookedly, and makes it known that she adores her daddy and big brother more than anyone else in the world.

this week i went to my monthly mom's group and came away with a bit of truth i've been trying to work my heart around. it's the reality that my children are not my own, but God's. as Scotty Smith, the pastor who spoke, reminded us, we do not own our children. they are borrowed; we are stewards of them, here to help and shape and guide them for a time until they go out into the world. mine are so small that i'm tempted to push the idea of them leaving out of my mind for at least the next decade. but in the past few days, i've found that in moments of exhaustion, exasperation, confusion, and worry (mostly over eli because he's trying to earn his toddler badge and working hard at wearing our patience into a thin remnant of what it once was) this idea has actually been comforting. somehow, oddly, there's encouragement in knowing that i've been entrusted with these little creatures, but they are not mine to keep forever.

and now, the curious one has arrived home. his footsteps are approaching the bottom of the stairs and soon he'll get tired of waiting and make the climb to look for me himself.

he has just now found me, presented me with a dinosaur sticker as a gift, and asked me sweetly, "mom, how was your day?" definitely time to close the laptop.