Lydia was just combing Hannah’s hair a little bit ago. She sighed in exasperation. “Your hair is really frisbee,” she informed her.
We’ve been having the devil’s own time clearing our lawn of dandelions. (Actually, I think everybody should quit stewing over the pretty little flowers, and just live and let live. But, no; the editors of Better Homes and Gardens, and those of like ilk, would have us crawling around on hands and knees, wielding those maddeningly dull dandelion diggers, creating blisters all over our porcelain lily-white Victorian paws.) But the neighbors on either side of us have emerald-green lawns, with nary a trace of yellow. Yesterday, one neighbor lady politely asked Keith if we were going to spray the back yard with weed killer. I think what she wanted to say was, “SPRAY YOUR YARD AND QUIT SPREADING THE LITTLE BLIGHTERS INTO OUR LAWN!”
I used to wonder why they were called “dandelions”, since they were neither dandy nor lions. I’ve figured it out: when you don’t mow for 1 ½ weeks, they grow six feet high, thereby creating a dandy jungle for lions.
Hester has been practicing writing, and can write quite a few words. She brought me a page she’d filled with writing: “What is this word?”
“I don’t know,” I replied truthfully.
She studied it a moment. “Do you think it’s another language?”
And then I asked her if she knew what kind of water was in the ocean. “Oh, yes!” said she, nodding emphatically. “The really splashy kind!”
Caleb Daniel is seven months old already. Lydia, who will soon be three, was looking in a baby magazine the other day. “Oooh,” she exclaimed, “these babies are so cute! Do ya want to order another one??”
She says the funniest things. After our last snowfall this spring, the big kids had been laying down in the snow, moving arms and legs back and forth, making angels. Lydia, who'd been watching them out the front window, suddenly flung herself down and flapped her arms and legs madly. We all stared. She jumped up and smiled at us. “Now I’m an angel!” she informed us.
Keith is just finishing eighth grade. He’s already entertaining fond dreams of Ford Rangers, or Explorers, or Mustangs. In nine months, he’ll have a learner’s permit.
Lydia and Hester are the best of friends. I’m afraid Lydia will be quite lost this fall when Hester goes to kindergarten. But Caleb will be crawling by then, and she is pretty attached to her little brother. “Caleb really likes me,” she said. “That’s because I’m such a sweet little thing,” she explained with a two-year-old’s complete lack of modesty.
Caleb is talking. He says “hi” when the kids come home, and “Honnah” and “Tee” (Keith); and today he said “Teddy” quite plainly. He says “Hettuh” (Hester), “Doetuh” (Dorcas), and, of course, “Da-da!” He sprouted two little teeth without complaint at 5 ½ months.
We live in a location that is the height of convenience--our church school is right across the street. It has kindergarten through twelfth grades. Lura Kay, my sister, is the principal.
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