(Eeek! I know these pics are too red, so just squint and don’t stare too long at them)
A couple of Saturdays ago, I came upon this sweet scene. My Rachel was feeling a little under the weather, so she curled up with a book. Prairie handcrafted a get-well crown for her sister and provided easy access to a bowl of oranges and a cup of water.
Meanwhile, Lincoln didn’t have it quite so good. Sid had stolen Sidney to help him pull the grandparents’ well. That is when I realized that besides me, Sidney was the only one in the house trained to clean potties. It would be terribly irresponsible of me to let Lincoln grow up without knowing how to thoroughly scour a toilet, so . . . . .
He showed little enthusiasm for the work. Even when I sang “You are my sunshine.”
While I extolled the virtues of pristine potties and joy in our work, Sid and Sidney came home for lunch.
“Mom, a pipe broke in my face and my teeth are wiggling.” He was so stoic, and there is no trace of the preschooler who fell in mud puddles and laid there, crying inconsolably for mama’s attention.
I told him to wash his face and that his teeth would tighten back up.