God’s presence

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Haircuts and X-ray Vision

October 10, 2010 | No comments

Every four weeks, Squirts and I head to Shannon’s place to get our hairs cut. Since Squirts started going to a salon instead of the local SuperCuts, we haven’t had any complaints from him on hair cut days. It may be that as one of the first clients in the shop, Squirts has the undivided attention of Shannon (or as Squirts has named her, “Queen of the Hair Place”) and two or three other ladies who happen to be in that early. I’ve heard that little boys don’t like to have their cheeks pinched and be fussed over—you couldn’t prove it by my kid.

On the other hand, it could be that our monthly ritual also includes a stop at the donut shop after our hair cuts.

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Weeping and Gnashing

September 19, 2010 | No comments

As I enter the door to pick up Squirts from “school,” I find him playing in the large gathering room with other kids. He looks up, smiles and runs to give me a hug. All smiles and laughs today.

Before we head home, I say we should check his folder in his class for any important notes from his teacher. As sure as we forget to check the all-important folder, we’ll miss the message telling us every child should bring a lunch or our enrollment fee is doubling.

Squirts stops smiling.

“OK,” he says, “but don’t look at the board.”

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There Are No Ifs

September 12, 2010 | 3 comments

This summer, Squirts, DeDe and I had the opportunity to join our church junior high group at a swim night during their summer mission trip. We found ourselves at a small Southwest Texas community pool situated next to a mobile home park featuring a sign that read, “All trailer park children under 12 must be supervised.”

Needless to say, we wanted to fit in so we tried to keep all of our children supervised as well.

As we entered the pool area, Squirts eyes lit up at what must have been the tallest diving board he’d ever seen. I estimate the board to have been nine or ten feet high. If you ask Squirts, “It was 13 or 14 feet. All the way to the sky!”

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‘Tis the Season

August 29, 2010 | 3 comments

The other morning, after Squirts ate his breakfast, I set his clothes out and told him it was time to get dressed while I went to get ready for the day. About 30 minutes later, I returned to the living room and – Squirts was dressed. Shirt, underwear, shorts and socks! Hallelujah!

Don’t get me wrong. This isn’t the first time that’s happened. But no matter how many times it does, I’m still haunted by the days we battled to get the boy dressed every day. Here’s how the playback of those days runs on the screen in my mind, backed by the flashing lights and music of the Little Einstein’s:

While the child is distracted by educational TV, we strategically lay out a clean set of clothes for easy reach; then with ninja-like agility, dad makes a sneak attack from behind sweeping the child from his feet and pinning him to the floor; mom swoops in and deftly removes the pajama bottoms with one hand while reaching for the clean underwear and pants with the other; with little more than a look, parents make a tag team reversal and mom pins the boy while dad quickly replaces the pajama top with a crisp, clean t-shirt; with a high-five and a “Hoo Ya” the child is dressed and released.

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