my handsome grandson with Steph and Christopher

While on holidays, I had no computer access. I went through Roman-picture-withdrawal. At home I can hardly pass my computer without looking at Roman's pictures. I got home last night and immediately went to get a Roman fix. I wasn't disappointed. I smiled and smiled. These are some of the latest photos from Stephanie.
Roman sleeping contentedly.
Aren't they lovely? Stephanie and Roman.
Uncle Christopher (my son) and Roman.

Appaloosa

When Christopher was 4 or 5 we saw a bunch of horses on a ranch. He excitedly uprighted himself in the car to take in the view. He loved horses eventhough he wasn't terribly familiar with them.

Among the horses there was a black and white spotted one. Christopher yelled, "Woe look! There's a 101 Dalmation horse."

Shark

Today Rachael had cat food samples to deliver with her papers -- 2 cans per house to be exact. It was a sizable increase of work.

Deborah was up for the challenge and Rachael promptly hired her to assist. Deborah isn't the most work oriented child I've seen. Matter of fact, I praised her ridiculously much just to get her to complete the task. But admittedly, it was indeed a task for such a little one.

I sat in the van musing as I watched them. (Yes, I did a bit of help myself, but someone had to drive.) Deborah had on a sundress that I made for her last summer. She's grown a lot this year. As she struggled with her bag of cat food cans, I couldn't help but smile. Her dress is approaching mini-skirt length, her flip flops looked a bit floppier than they should, her skinny legs reminded me of toothpicks. It was hot and her hair was sweaty and sticking to her head. She has a bit of sunburn and her red face glowed with heat and beads of perspiration. She walked clumsily with her heavy bag of cat food. She was really quite cute to watch.

Rachael who is a wonderful paper delivery girl, would stop every so often to wait for her sister. At first she seemed annoyed with Deborah's speed, but before long it appeared as though she realized the burden her little sister was carrying. After a while Rachael was waiting for Deborah to catch up without the annoyed sighs and rolling eyes. She even suggested that Deborah sit in the van for a rest while she delivered both the cat food and papers.

I was proud.

Deborah is my youngest and watching her get so big is frequently sending me down memory lane. Watching her today, I kept thinking about Christopher and his little boy ways of years ago. What a wittle cutie he was.

He took a big fall when he was 3 and knocked out 3 teeth. That left a pretty big "blank spot" in his mouth for 4 years. He developed a unique mouth and lip movement to fill that empty spot. His lower lip seemed to pass through the gap with every word he spoke. Three of course is an odd number, so the lip went kind of to the side as it passed through the blank spot. It was an interesting lisp. (Lisp isn't an accurate description, but I can't think of one that's better.)

Along about this same time, he developed a shark fascination. He ordered shark every time we ate out. Thinking it was cute, I played along and whispered "chicken nuggets" to the waitress.

Watching Deborah and being reminded of Christopher, I sat in the van trying to move my jaw and lips to imitate the way Christopher said, "shark." I never was pleased with my imitation -- fortunately I don't have three teeth missing. But I enjoyed the mental pictures of Christopher saying "shark" that funny way he did so many times in so many restaurants.

Backwash

When Stephanie and Christopher were 8 and 4, we took a road trip from Edmonton to Cranbrook, a bit of a journey. Along the way we'd buy treats for them to keep them occupied. One particular time Stephanie got a pop and Christopher chose something else.

When he finished his treat, he asked Stephanie for a drink. She kindly obliged. He took a hefty drink and returned it.

With marked annoyance she complained, "Ugh, gross! Look at all that backwash. Who would want this?"

Seizing the opportunity, Christopher optimistically piped, "I WOULD."

It was funnier than it appears in writing.

A Handsome Man

I thought I'd share some pictures of my handsome son. He's my only son and that makes him very very special - and did I mention handsome?

These are some of his senior pictures, taken by my niece Mindi. I wish you could see them all. They are great! But these are my favorites.

Christopher's Prom

Christopher and Whitney sittin' in a tree.....

Aren't they gorgeous?

18 years ago today.

February 20, 1989

I have humbly observed that every mother thinks her pregnancy, labor and delivery is the only one the world has ever known. Logically, women know otherwise, but when it comes down to the bare bones, yes, she alone has experienced true labor and delivery.

I have tried my darndest not to be that kind of person. Not that I'm not that kind of person, I actually am. I clearly believe that MY pregnancies, labors and deliveries are really much more significant and colorful, than anyone else's. However I have tried not to act like that is what I believe. When women sit around and talk about dilation, mucous membranes, episiotomies, stitches, ripping and tearing, I have, for the most part, let them have their moment of fame, pretending that I actually believe that their's, not mine, was the more interesting. Today all of that changes. This is my blog.

18 years ago today, I had a baby. We named him Christopher Michael. (Stephanie wanted to name him Christopher Robin after the boy in Winnie the Pooh).

It was one of those dreadfully long pregnancies -- 14 or 15 months, depending on my mood. He was due on February 12. On the 13th I cooked up a plan to make him come on my birthday (14th). I went to WalMart and bought a bottle of castor oil. That choice was one of my many poor choices in life. All evening and into the next day I heaved and poohed, heaved and poohed. I vowed if anyone suggested castor oil ever again that I'd slug 'em.

I threw up enough to recycle the castor oil 17 times. The slime that I projected out of my being was, as you may have guessed, very oily. I threw up in the living room, several times, hence the stain right in the middle of the living room carpet. We never got it out. Oil does not extract nicely from carpet.

I was committed to Bible memorization throughout my pregnancy. I laid in the bathtub every night reciting and/or practicing long passages of Scripture. I worked on Deuteronomy 28, but never mastered it. I mastered Psalm 23 and Psalm 121.

Stephanie's labor had been long, laborious, and unpleasant. Being the wise woman of 23 that I was, I contrived a plan to outwit the system. I planned to stay home until it was time for him to come. I had not enjoyed the prolonged naked exposure the first time around and thought I'd circumvent a lot of that this time.

I went to great lengths to make sure things went just right. I pre-admitted myself. (Does that hospital still have that idiotic system of making a woman in labor sit there in admitting filling out insurance documents?) Well, they were only going to abuse me like that once. Second time around, I was wiser. I was totally prepared.

It was a Monday morning and I was scheduled to be induced at 7:00. At 5:00 I woke with a bang -- a big contraction. Being a reasonable woman, I went and showered, rolled my hair, put on makeup, barely able to stand for the pain.

Since I was supposed to be induced at 7:00, my mom phoned to check on me. When she learned I was in labor she came over. The contractions were very powerful and about a nano-second apart, yet I was committed to not be at the hospital before 7:00. Humbly, Mama suggested several times that I re-think my plan and head to the hospital.

Kent showed up at 6:50 and I laid down in the backseat of my little station wagon and away we sped. The pain seemed unbearable. I began quoting my Bible passages for comfort, getting louder and louder during contractions. "I look up to the mountains--does my help come from there? My help comes from the Lord, who made the heavens and the earth? He will not let you stumble and fall; the one who watches over you will not sleep. Indeed, he who watches over Israel never tires and never sleeps...."

When we got to the hospital I told Kent to go in and tell them I was pre-admitted and I wasn't coming in till my bed was ready. (Yes, I really said that.) Kent knew enough not to argue with a woman growling Bible verses. He left me there in the car screaming Psalms 23. "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul.Yeah, though I walk through the valley, thank you Jesus..."

Inside the hospital, Kent told them what I'd told him to: I was pre-admitted and I wasn't coming in until there was a bed ready for me. The nurse said to Kent, "Mr Rose, that's not how we do things."

Wisely, Kent said, "then you go tell her." The nurse came to the car with a wheelchair and away we sped again. Within 7 minutes I had a boy.

Without contest that delivery was my fastest. It was intense, but there's a lot to be said for brevity.

When Christopher was placed in my arms in the delivery room, all I could say was,"oh my son, my son." I was so happy. My thoughts weren't coherent though. I said the same thing over and over. I felt silly saying it, but it was all that would come out. When I opened my mouth, it would pour out again, "my son, oh my son."

Christopher was a picture of contentedness. I loved showing him off; he made a good impression every where he went. He smiled, cooed, laughed and delighted people wherever he was.

He had the chunkiest, roundest little body making him heavenly to hold. Oh how I loved him.

Oh how I still love him. He's 18 today. Soon he'll finish high school and be moving on to college. He's a good worker, a kind person, still gentle just like he's always been. A perfect gentleman. Now instead of a chunky round baby, he's a long and lean man.

My verse for him is Proverbs 22:23,24 "He who has a wise son delights in him. May you father and mother be glad. May she who gave you birth rejoice." I'm still praying that he'll always be wise and I know that the one who gave him birth does rejoice in who he is.

pokie finger

I just laid with Rachael as I tucked her in. She loves it when Gordon or I do that. Her love language is definitely spending quality time together.

As I laid beside her I wondered a few times if her eyes were open. As I wondered this I remembered a little habit of Christopher's when he was wee. He too liked it when I laid with him. I'd lay very still hoping he'd fall asleep before I left him. He laid very still wondering if I was asleep or awake. Ever so slowly he'd raise his hands to my face and gently stick his finger in my eye to see if it was open or closed.

He was such a wittle cutie.

cute kids

Kids are so cute. Mothers are so silly. I am assuming mothers every where smile at the ways their children pronounce, or mispronounce, words. I've actually never had a conversation with mothers on the subject. Don't you just love when your kids mispronounce words? Doesn't it make you smile from the top of your head to the soles of your feet? It's one of those things that makes mothers mothers.

When Christopher was little, he couldn't say the l sound. His l's all sounded like w's. He was such a wittle cutie. He carried his yewow wasso with him taking wuv and good feewings every where. Until Gordon entered the picture. Gordon began gently tutoring Christopher on luh, luh, luh. All the while I was nearly crying because my baby was about to learn how to pronounce his l's. Soon enough, Christopher grew from a wittle boy to a little boy carrying a yellow lasso. I was secretly annoyed that Gordon had moved Christopher from wittle boyhood to little boyhood.

(Once he made me a picture. I bragged and thanked him for the picture of the dinosaur and he replied, "That's not a dinosaur, that's a wizard." His lizard picture was taped to my cupboard door for months and I'd look at it frequently, smile and think, "That's not a dinosaur, that's a wizard.")

When I was a young girl of 11 or 12, my toddler nephew was left in my care for a while. I took him for a walk. At each mud puddle, he'd say, "wa-wa" and I'd correct, "wa-ter." After a while we came to a puddle and I absent-mindedly said, "There's more wa-wa." Randy corrected, "wa-ter." I had mixed emotions. I was so pleased that I'd taught him something, yet apprehensive that someone might be mad at me. (See, my warped thinking goes way back.)

When I was a foster mom, one of my little charges put the emphasis on the last syllable of necklace and she gave it a long a sound too. Instead of nek-les, she said it nek-lace. I always smiled and never corrected her pronunciation.

I hadn't thought about these things until last night when I once again smiled from my head to my toes. Hannah got a devotion book for Christmas and has diligently journaled in it. One of the questions is about verses that give you inspiration or encouragement.

She wanted to share with me all the verses that gave her inSPIREation. I smiled as she she read verses that spoke inSPIREation to her wittle, I mean little, heart.

A Christopher Moment

Yesterday we recalled and laughed about an incident from years ago. I'm guessing Christopher was around 7.

He made a summer friend named Aimee. She wasn't a very cute girl and was very much a tomboy. They played nearly daily.

After playing steadily for weeks, Christopher overheard someone remark about Aimee not being very pretty. Someone said, "poor thing, she can't help how she looks."

Christopher was very shocked. With great animation in his face he said, "SHE?? You mean he's a girl?"

Handsome Man

This morning I received a load of pictures of the best looking man from my hometown. I've always had a weakness for handsome men and this one has an extra special place in my heart.

This my son Christopher and his girlfriend.

Thanks Tonya. You made my day.

Happy Canadian Thanksgiving

Gratitude is the most exquisite form of courtesy. - Jacques Maritain

Today is Canadian Thanksgiving. People ask me often if my countries celebrate Thanksgiving the same way. Yes, they do, but I have to say it's a bigger deal in the US.

In my ideal world, our family celebrates both. Admittedly though, it's unusual for Gordon to have both days off, making it near impossible to celebrate both. Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, and because of that, I do make a bit of effort to pull of two celebrations.

One of our traditions, and one that I look forward to from year to year, is our prayer of thanks before we eat. We go around the table thanking God for the things we are most thankful for. It's simple, but very meaningful.

Every Thanksgiving, I set aside some time to write out things I'm most thankful for. I could write for hours about those things, but I only want to write about one, and it will cover a lot of ground.

I am thankful I'm a child of God. Because I'm a child of God, I cannot lose. Everything that has happened, is happening, will happen is for my good. With each passing day this mantra becomes more solidified in my heart: All things are working for my good. (Romans 8:28) If I really believe this, which I do, how could I be anything less than grateful? It's a spiritual principle that never ceases to awe me.

I'm thankful for all the redemption I've experienced in my life. Again and again I've seen God use the horrible messes in my life to bring me into greater truth and deeper faith. And in many of my personal tragedies I can see clearly in hindsight that God was protecting me from me. Just to name a few:

- Pregnant before marriage at 18. It was to that point the most devastating thing in my life. Now I look back and think "thank You God," because I realize many things I was probably spared. I was on a dangerous path. Through pregnancy, God barricaded that path and I'm so thankful He did. (Bonus, I got Stephanie). But it was one of the darkest, hardest times of my life.

- Bipolar Disorder. Oh how I hate depression, but it's been another unlikely tool God has used in my life to transform me. My weakness and fragility keeps me from taking on too much, which in turn keeps me totally engaged in being a wife, mother, and homemaker. This combination has made for a rich home life. Without the illness, I'd be more likely to neglect my family for something much less important. (To those for whom that was news, medication keeps me on the level).

- Financial problems. From them spawned my immense gratitude for what we have and the recognition that I could have much less and still have way more than needed. Through financial problems I came to see my own materialistic way of thinking and how that mindset is so opposed to gratitude.

- Losing custody of Stephanie and Christopher takes the prize for the most horrific time in my life. I still cannot understand, much less articulate what all happened in the spirit world through that whole process, nor what continues to happen. But again, I see I was protected from myself and Stephanie and Christopher were too. Through that wilderness journey, I lost all control of my life and learned a new dependence on God.

Years ago at a Billy Graham Crusade, pointing to her wheelchair, quadriplegic Joni Erickson Tada, told the crowd, "This is the prison that set me free." That so resonates with me. Losing Stephanie and Christopher, by far the hardest thing ever in my life, was the prison that set me free. God totally broke me and remade me a new person.

- Through all of the above trials, my ugly propensity of pride and arrogance have been weakened. And I admit a humble life is much easier than a proud one.

So today, I again recognize how thankful I am for every thing I've listed above. They were all used to teach me another element of who God is and how much He loves me. He will stop at nothing to bring me closer to Him. Rich Mullins said, "it's the reckless raging fury, that they call the love of God." His love can indeed look like a reckless raging fury. But it's love nonetheless.


PostScript: I had Gordon read this before I posted it to confirm that I wasn't too out on the table. After reading it he said with a grin, "Well if you said too much, it's just one more thing God will use to teach you something." I hope that made you smile.

Stephanie and Christopher

I got this picture off Stephanie's site. I think it ws made this weekend. I love it. It reminds me of years gone by.

Aren't they beautiful?

Christopher's Prom Night

This is Christopher on Prom Night. Please, no jokes about the dog being his date. I could have cropped to little doggie out, but I thought he was cute.

Isn't Christopher handsome? I love him so much.

Growing Up

When my nephew CJ was a small fry, he didn't want to grow up. When asked why, he responded, "grown-ups just sit around, drink coffee, and talk." That certainly didn't look fun to him.

Well, Hannah surprised me yesterday with a not wanting to grow-up comment. "I don't want to grow up," she said. When I asked why, she grimmaced and said, "I don't want to get bum hairs."

Several years ago when Christopher was going through puberty, he proudly showed me his armpit hair. There were 4 or 5, and he started pretending he had named them. Rattling off names as fast as he could think of them, he said, "This is Huey, this one's Dewey, this one's Louie, and this one," he stammered as he tried to quickly rhyme a 4th words, "Is Pubie."

Before he had a chance to amend his mistake, I offered, "I do believe Pubie's lost."

A Memory from 1992

Of all my children Christopher, I think, has the kindest and most thoughtful disposition. The others have developed (or are developing) the same, but it came with training. Christopher seemed to be born with it.

When Maddox Grocery came into our small town of Mena Arkansas, it brought with it my first exposure to generic foods. I quickly discovered we could easily settle for many generic items. I always bought generic cereal. The boxes were yellow with black lettering. The name of the cereal was usually a twist on whatever cereal they were replacing. “If you like Lucky Charms, you'll love these,” the writing said. There were two types I always bought. One was the AlphaBits imitation, the other was the Lucky Charms copy.

The thing with generic, at least back in those days, you really never knew for sure what you were getting. Once both of “my” brands were sold out and I had to make a substitute. The next morning, Stephanie and Christopher were dressing upstairs when I opened the cereal and prepared our breakfast. I was slightly horrified to see that my new cereal looked exactly, and I do mean exactly, like Booper’s generic dog food. I rehersed an explanation for the children and waiting for them to come down for breakfast.

Three-year-old Christopher came first. He sat down in his chair beside mine and stared silently at his bowl of cereal. After several moments he spoke hesitantly, “This looks like Booper’s food.” I whispered that I knew it did, but if we mentioned it to Stephanie she would not eat it, so let’s “keep it under our hats.”

Stephanie came downstairs with her school stuff in tow. She sat down and looked into her bowl. Without a second’s hesitation, her head spun toward me, her brow creased, and she snapped accusingly, “You feeding us dog food?”

I had to show Stephanie the cereal box to make her believe me. As it turned out, it tasted like it was more fitting for a dog than a human. None of us ate more than a half a bite’s worth before I added it to Booper’s pail of dog food.

Christopher is 17

Today is my only son's 17th birthday. Everyone should have someone in their life like Christopher. He brings delight and joy wherever he is. He weighed 9.3 when he was born; a chunky, beautiful, fair-skinned bundle of love. For the first few hours he was naked because the nurses couldn't find a "hospital issue" sleeper big enough for him. Dr Mesko gave the babies he delivered a t-shirt that read "Delivered with Love by Dr. Mesko." From Christopher's first breath, he was too big for that t-shirt. (But I still have it.)

He was a very contented baby who slept lots, was pleasant when he was awake, was easily entertained, and who smiled lots and lots. Everyone loved Christopher. At church, people gravitated to him so they could enjoy he gummy smiles. Mike Holder use to get in Christopher's face and say, "Christopher, get a job," and Christopher would kick and cackle excitedly.

When he was 3 he began developing a fine sense of humor. I'm sure he had heard these expressions somewhere, but one winter day he, Stephanie, and I went for a drive in the country. Christopher said, "Mom, I need to water my horse." Puzzled, I asked what he meant. "You know Mom, I need to make some mud." I quickly figured out he needed to pee.

Around the same time he entered a very pronounced cowboy phase. He took it very seriously, wearing western clothes and boots everywhere. What I wouldn't give to have those little gray boots now. Gordon sent him a lariat and Christopher took it wherever he went. He rode his tricycle down the sidewalk hollering "giddy-up" or "Eeeeeaww" playing like he was roping calves with his new rope.

After Gordon and I got engaged, we came to Canada for a visit. We went to Ft Steele to enjoy the western frontier life for a day. Gordon had a "connection" there so Christopher got to sit on one of the gigantic Belgian horses that even I would have been scared to sit on. The horse took one step and Christopher's eyes grew wide and he declared, "Wooooe, this one's a wiiiild one."

When we moved to Canada, he quickly adopted Gordon's fuzzy blanket with a horse on it as his own. To this day, we call that blanket the horsie blanket. At nap time he would curl up in his horsie blanket and when I left his room I'd say "Nappy Noon Christopher." He would counter with, "Mom, cowboys don't say Nappy Noon."

The next summer when he came to visit, I rented some videos about real cowboys. We watched boy cows being made steers (being neutered) and Christopher watched with sympathetic eyes. I explained the process and the reason behind it as best I knew. He took his thumb out of his mouth long enough to say, "When I get my farm, I'm not gonna do that to my cows."

The cowboy obsession is far behind Christopher. Now he drives a hippy van, plays football, leads worship some, plays guitar, and takes kindness and joy everywhere he goes.

I'm thankful for Christopher. I'm thankful I was chosen to give him birth. I'm thankful for the innumerable precious memories I have. I'm thankful Christopher walks with God and desires to honor and glorify him with his life.

Happy Birthday Christopher. I pray it will be a GREAT year for you. I love you.

Birthday Greetings

Today was my big 4-0 birthday. These are my favorite birthday greetings.

My Dearest Neice, On this, your 40th birthday, it behooves me to remind you that although turning 40 seemed to be a black page on my calandar, in reality it turned out to be the most wonderful beginning of a new life. I have lived more wonderful years since 40 than I ever lived before that time. And I trust that the same will be true for you. Just remember that although our Father in heaven gave us our lives, he left it to us how we would live them. So live yours to the hilt. Enjoy every moment. Be happy every second. Savor every experience. And give yourself permission to wallow in joy!!!!!

Hey Mom I think the ultimate valentines gift for you is a calculator.Ya your going to need one to calculate the number of ways your loved. Chris

happy 4othbirthday to you!!!!!! i enjoyed our call last night.. steve goes boy you sure laugh alot.... caleb goes man mom you were soooo loud.... then one time when i was laughing i farted.... oh he loved that one..... hope you had a great day... love debbie

It's been a wonderful day.

Sex in the Country

I grew up in a home where we didn't talk about the birds and the bees. I remember the day I discovered boy parts. I had seen them before, but I remember the day it "registered." Michael and I were in the bathtub. We were adept at changing identities with the help of Palmolive dish soap. With our bubbles we could instantly metamorph into Santa Claus or white haired Brother Bowen at church. When we were feeling particularly risque, we would slap 2 mounds of bubbles on our chests for breasts.

We didn't have "real" bath toys, but made our fun with cans, shampoo bottles, and occasionally a bowl or cup. On the day boy parts registered, Michael and I were playing when I noticed he had something that would go up and down in the bathtub waves. I was mesmerized by his "floaty." Michael noticed I was staring and he gingerly, yet uncomfortably, took the brown Hershey's cocoa can and placed it over his floating part. That was the last bath we had together.

I suppose all little girls are taken aback the first time they see the male anatomy. When Rachael, Hannah and Deborah were much younger, I fostered 2 little boys. The first time they saw Markus in the bathtub, Hannah exclaimed happily and in awe, "he's got jingle bells." Many months later they were exposed to Shaun. Two-year-old Deborah tilted her head to the side and with affection said, "awhh, isn't that sweet."

I have a young cousin who recently saw her grandpa at the toilet. She ran telling, "Grandpa has a tail!" Now when she observes him walking to the bathroom, she follows him and wails dramatically on the other side of the closed door, "I want to see your tail."

We mothers have come a long way in how we tell our kids the "facts of life." I for one am happy we've made this progress. When I was a youngster I was given 2 books. One I can't remember the name of, the other was Almost Twelve. They really screwed up my normal development. After reading those books, I was ashamed to be among the human race; I couldn't make eye contact with a male for fear of getting pregnant; and watermelon became a forbidden fruit.

The pictures of sperm resembled watermelon seeds, so I swore off the melon family for a few years. I watched in horror as others ate watermelon wondering if they would become pregnant by the seeds. Far as I know, no one did, but I wasn't taking any chances.

One of those insightful books said to make a baby, a husband and wife lay close to each other (a little understated, don't you think?) and gaze into each other's eyes. The sperm enters the female and joins her egg and a baby begins. After learning that, I developed some seriously darting eyes. I didn't want to inadvertedly gaze into someone's eyes and get his sperm in me.

Years passed and the grossness wore off some and was replaced by curiosity. Lawana, my trusted sister-in-law, became my personal expert. She and I once were at our local country corner store where we saw they had recently added Playgirl to their magazine selection. I was curious and I think Lawana was too, but she was more curious about my reaction than the contents of the magazine.

We stood around waiting casually for the few customers to leave and for Mrs Weatherbe to busy herself with something out of sight of the magazines. When the coast was clear, I picked up a Playgirl thinking I knew what to expect. (Was I expecting to see men and women gazing into each other's eyes?)

The magazine fell open to a very large naked man. Freaked right out, I screamed and threw the magazine. Lawana laughed so hard she shook and Mrs Weatherbe came running. I don't remember what I said to Mrs Weatherbe, but to Lawana I formed a shape with my hands and said, "WHAT WAS THAT?" Lawana still shook with laughter.

"It was huge! Did you see it? It wasn't normal," I declared indignantly, as if I knew what normal was.

Stephanie came along years later and me gazing into someone's eyes had nothing to do with it. I was determined that I would not hand a book to my offspring to teach them about procreation and sex. I would save them from the dysfunction of darting eyes and fear of watermelons.

She was an early bloomer in the awareness department. She started asking questions at 3 and I gave enough information to satisfy her questions but not overwhelm her. When I became pregnant with Christopher, her curiousity grew right along with my belly. I put on a brave front, using words that still make me blush. I was proud of my maturity and wisdom.

The day arrived when she asked, "what do you do with your legs?" I don't know where my motherly wisdom and maturity were in those moments, but they clearly weren't giving me any inspiration. I toyed with telling her that "a husband and wife lay close and gaze into each other's eyes....," but decided it wasn't good to lie.

I've given the same little sex education speeches to 4 other children since then, and never have I been asked, "what do you do with your legs?"

"Well," I began to answer slowly, still quite unsure what was to follow "When you are old enough to have sex, you can take your legs off." She was satisfied, although awed, and I was relieved when she walked away.

Stephanie continued to be totally fascinated with the subject. (I'm sure that fascination is serving her well these days as a newlywed.) She told me a couple years ago as we laughed about the above conversation, "I'm still trying to figure it out what you do with your legs."

When she was 8, Gordon bought me a series called Wildlife Fact Files. I was intrigued and fascinated learning about the different creatures God created. I was thrilled when Stephanie appeared to be following in my interest and began spending hours reading it too. Later I figured out she was only reading the mating and breeding habits of all the animals.

When Rachael, Hannah, and Deborah were a few years younger, we got their first hamsters. Chimpy a girl; Reepacheep, a boy. Chimpy was Hannah's and lived in her room and Reepacheep belonged to Rachael and lived in her room. When we were ready for baby hamsters, we put them in the same cage. For a few minutes we watched wide-eyed to see how babies are made. There were squeels of laughter (from the girls, not the hamsters) and expressions of "oh gross."

Since that little exercise, -- that yielded 8 more hamsters that the girls also watched be born -- the girls have been satisfied with their knowledge and haven't asked many questions.

The other night though, Hannah asked if so many sperm are released at the same time, "what happens if 2 sperm reach the egg at exactly the same time?" I pondered for a second or 2 and then said, "I really don't know, but it's a really good question."

She bounced off the sofa and did a gig like a football player after scoring a touchdown. With her arms raised, she spoke for the sperm, "Tie game, tie game."

I'm so proud of this boy.