My Favorite Child

Almost every blog post I write is for me rather than anyone else. This one is no exception. When I look at the landfill like (despite my best efforts) bedrooms my children inhabit, when I find a scatter of DVDs in the family room and books propped open in the living room, when I trip over shoes inside my front door and sticks on my front steps (we enforce a Leave Your Stick at the Door policy), I need to remember just what makes my life with these people so good.

Braeden is my favorite child.

Yesterday some Jehovah's Witness missionaries came to our door. I declined their offer for some tracts. After they left, Braeden asked me who had been at the door. I told him then said they wanted to give me some tracts to read.

He said, "Kind of like, here, you throw this away?"

A bonus of marrying a man who makes you laugh every day is that you end up with children that do the same.

Emma is my favorite child.

Emma is every introvert mother's dream, for she is also an introvert. She and I are the only two at home right now and she's in and out of rooms where I am, needing nothing, bothering no one. I admire her independence and have since she was a toddler.

She also makes me laugh but she's usually not trying to make me laugh, she just does. Here's what she wrote on a recent school paper:

The assignment was, write a short essay that describes Holmes's ability to use deductive reasoning.

Emma wrote:

Believe me, if I knew what deduction meant, I would do this assignment, but sadly I don't know what it means. So I guess I'll just skip this assignment today. Or, maybe I can tell you something else about him...

She went on to write about Sherlock Holmes and to answer the question correctly.

And people wonder why I home school...it's for the entertainment!

Mark is my favorite child.

I have rekindled my love affair with the author Cynthia Voigt, an author I read in my youth. In Seventeen Against the Dealer, Dicey is reflecting on her brother Sammy:

Dicey couldn't ever see Sammy's chunky, sturdy body, even as big as he had grown, without wanting to hug him, and then pound small punches on his shoulder just to feel how strong he was, and then tickle him under the arms to watch his whole body collapse in laughing...

Mark is my Sammy. Through and through.

I love them. Truly.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have some straightening up to do...