Squeaking or streaking?

I have decided my four year old son, third in the bunch, will hereafter be named Captain Jack, at least for blogging pur

poses. You see, he is a scoundrel through and

 through. But he will also just steal your heart with his charm. And, for me, all it takes is a look.

Last night he forgot to bring his pj's with him to the bathroom before bathtime. When he got out of the tub he remembered. Alas, it was too late. My friend the Vet was visiting for some home cooked food and a small break from studying. (She is a college student who has become not only one of my husband's students, but also a very good friend to me. She is going to vet school in the fall. We are so proud for her.) 

With a guest in the house, I wondered if he would be embarrassed and call for me to get him some "bednight clothes" for him. Nope. He just yelled, "Close your eyes! I'm squeaking!" And he ran through the room with his hands down to cover the essentials. We cracked up to see his little bare bottom, still a little wet, marching up the stairs. My little pirate. He definitely stole the show. 

Moments later he was curled up on the couch with Princess reading a bednight story. The whole scenario forgotten. No embarrassment, no shame, not even remembering his little faux pas. I'm not sure he ever knew how funny we thought it was. 

Wouldn't it be great to go back to that innocence? To be so comfortable with one's self. Don't worry I won't be streaking around trying to recapture that feeling. Haha! But really... to be so secure in the acceptance around you that you knew that even if you made little mistakes or colored outside the lines or forgot your bednight clothes, those who love you would turn their heads. Love and adoration would cover it up, even if you were uncovered. 

I'm so grateful to have someone who does that for me. I am trying to live in that grace everyday. I forget that I have a Savior who covers me. Lord, help me rely on you. Help me stand firm and trust your acceptance and forgiveness.  

The Princess

The Professor and I have one daughter whom we call the Princess. Not because she is all that is stereotyped as being princess-like. She can run with the boys and sometimes even out work the boys. She thinks jokes about bodily functions are funny. She gets dirtier in an afternoon of play than all the boys put together. She wrestles. She is one tough cookie.

But we call her that because she is so precious to us. We call her th

e Princess because we don't ever want her to forget the place only she has in our home. That God made her a girl in the middle of all these boys does not diminish how important she is. It magnifies it.

She is sometimes given over to the drama and will lay her head down on the dinner table and lament about why we have all these boys and why we don't have any sisters for her. Reminding her that God knows exactly the family of which she is to be a part seldom consoles her. These episodes are lessening with each passing year.

Maybe someday she will earn another name by who she is or what she becomes. (Don't we all earn those kinds of names some time or another. Good or bad.) But to us she is the Princess only because of what she means to us. It is not about what she does or doesn't do.