Killin' Meat

    Evelynn is an inquisitive little girl and what she learns ruminates in her mind for weeks, taking on new meaning for her. After she has acquired enough information on a subject she educates Caelan with what she has learned. One of the things that has interested her greatly in recent months is discovering where 'meat' comes from. This evening as I was cooking dinner Evelynn came in to smell what I was cooking (spaghetti) and to inquire the source of the meat. She left the kitchen with her answers and soon brought Caelan back with her.
    "Caelan, I have something I want to talk to you about. I want to tell you about the meat Mama's fixin'. Grandpa killed that meat. Isn't he so sweet to kill it for us? It's like cow meat, but it's not. It's deer meat. It's gonna be so good. Mama's makin' pasghetti with it. It smells lovely. Grandpa would think so, too."
   The explanation given, she now can't wait to eat that 'killed meat.'
   

Are You a Princess or an Ogre?

There comes a time in every kid's life when bodily functions are either 1)ignored/oblivious or 2) uproariously funny. Evelynn and Caelan vary between the two options. Today, however, one of my beautiful daughters let one rip on the wooden pew of the church, not just once but twice. And then thought it was hilarious. I was somewhere between incredibly embarrassed and hiding behind my hand in an attempt not to laugh. A quiet reprimand was made but the true moment of instruction was on the way home from church. Ah, good thing for the kids that we went to the church that is seven blocks from the house and not the one that's 45 minutes away, or, rather, it was good for me.
    The additional words of reprimand were made by my husband and again, I found myself forcibly holding my face from smiling. Oh, it was a serious conversation, but there are some things that I never thought I would hear myself or him say to our children. It went something like this: "We do not toot or burp in public, and definitely not during church. It's nasty and not nice. Are you a Princess? Well, princesses do not do that. They go somewhere private to do that. Like the bathroom. Only trolls and ogres do that. They are gross. Are you a troll? Are you an ogre?"
    I know the conversation was necessary and he played well into their interests, but I was dying inside. I have no idea how he could do that without at least cracking a smile. Maybe because he was driving? I couldn't look at them. There was the "Yes, I'm a princess," and the "No, I'm not an ogre." I think they certainly understood, but I'm sure this will not be the first reprimand of this kind.