Thursday is playgroup day, and the tribe had a merry time playing with all the other tiny people, including some new friends. We scampered home to meet a friend of mine who was in need of some algebraic assistance, and whose nephew is friends with our children. After my friend and I shoveled some lunch into the munchkin mob, we loosed them in the yard with Smudgie to enjoy a beautiful afternoon.
It rained last night, incidentally, rather heavily. Consequently, the concrete birdbath in our backyard was very full of water, which proved quite alluring to two little girls and two wee boys. My friend and I had the kitchen window open as we worked; since Baby Guy was sawing logs in his crib, and Bo and Smudgie were keeping their usual close watch, we peeked out periodically to make sure the children were all playing with a reasonable degree of civility in between deciphering the mysteries of greatest common factors, exponents, and least common denominators.
We had just managed to unravel the last of a mathematical tangle when we heard the shriek from Mr. Man. In his eagerness to scoop the last of the water from the birdbath, he had managed to pull the top of it down onto him; he lay crying, covered from chest to knees by a concrete dome. I rushed down the stairs and into the yard, with my friend pounding behind me, and was greeted by the remarkable sight of Bugaboo lifting the concrete birdbath bowl off her little brother so he could escape. Thankfully, it didn’t shatter, so we didn’t have to pick concrete shards out of him.
I can’t recall another moment when I’ve been so happy to see Mr. Man stand up, with the possible exception of the day when he did it for the first time. That’s a coin flip. At any rate, I swept him into my arms and quieted his sobs with kisses until he calmed, then checked him from stem to stern for injuries. Evidently his guardian angel was nearby today, as he was miraculously unhurt, except for a small abrasion on his chest. He could wiggle, move, grab, run, and scream. The goose egg he raised on his head by face-planting into the molding of the kitchen doorway about fifteen minutes later was the more severe injury, from the looks of it. A few Reese’s Pieces and a cup of milk later, he was fine, if pretty tired from about three hours of constant motion.
After our friends left, and Mr. Man curled up with his blankie for his nap, I sat on the couch to catch my breath. Bugaboo snuggled in next to me, and I remarked to her that I was terribly proud of her for doing such a brave and loving thing when she lifted the concrete bowl off her brother. She smiled at me and said, “I was strong like Jesus is strong, and I love him like Jesus loves me.”
When I teared up, she patted my arm and said, “It’s okay, Mommy. Mr. Man’s okay.”
Today’s prayer: Lord, thank You for Your blessings, who are strong and loving and good. Thank You for the strength and curiosity that get them into and out of trouble, for their quick thinking, for their strong lungs and voices. Thank You for Your Son, who set an example of love for one’s brother that even a four-year-old can understand and follow.