God IS good!

Olivia requested an additional song at bedtime tonight. Since I had already sung to her, prayed with her, put her blankie over her, and rubbed her back, I told her no. However, I gave her permission to sing to herself (aren't I altruistic?). As I walked out of her room, I could hear her sweet little voice softly singing, "God is so good...God is so good...God is so good, he's so good...to...me."

A little background:

We've been singing that song a lot recently. It started with a trip to the grocery store several weeks ago. As we were leaving, I mentioned that I was thankful that God gave (gives) us enough money for food and the things we need...and then I started singing "God is so good" in the Cub parking lot. Since then, we sing it often and with purpose. We frequently sing it as we reflect on the events of the day, usually at bedtime, as I am reminded of what a blessed life we have. I so want to raise a grateful child! I want her to be thankful for everything we have...while not giving her everything.

No es bueno

Olivia and I came zipping home at 7:00 tonight from an evening of swimming at the pool. Antsy because 7:00 is my bedtime target for her, even if we usually miss, I called Evan to let him know we'd be home in a few minutes. He told me he had just pulled a pizza out of the oven, so I asked him to cut up a piece for Olivia and have it and her milk ready for us when we rolled in. He had dinner set up on the porch when we arrived.

I've had better pizza. This was Mexican frozen pizza - cheddar cheese, sausage chunks, green onions, diced tomatoes atop a tangy not-quite-tomato-sauce-but-not-exactly-taco-sauce-either paste. Pie and I were both hungry enough to eat the first several bites without complaining. However, around bite five, she dug in her heels and started refusing the stuff. I didn't push it, mostly because it didn't seem healthy enough, in my opinion, to force it on her. Also, my red, green and brown rejects were conspicuously scattered across my own plate. I gave her a banana with peanut butter and a dish of yogurt and strawberries to round out the meal instead.

When Pie was done, I cleaned her off and started to remove her bib. It was then she spied something peculiar in the pouch of her vinyl bib. "Poop," she declared. Sitting in her bib was a lone sausage ball.

Not too far off...

I heart Grandpa

After bath time the other night, I grabbed a clean onesie for Olivia to wear with her pajama pants - yes, she's old enough to be wearing pajama pants to bed, but still babyish enough to pair them with a onesie. As soon as she spied it, she said "I love Grandpa shirt!" (Blue onesie with 'I love Grandpa' stitched on it)

"Do you love Grandpa? Grandpa loves you. You have two grandpas."

"Grandpa Jones and Grandpa Jim," she replied. It surprised me how quickly and accurately she recalled this.

"You have a great grandpa, too - Great Grandpa Bauman. He's Mommy's grandpa. Mommy had another grandpa, too, but he's in heaven. You have another Grandpa in heaven with Jesus, too. You'll get to meet Grandpa Dahlen and Great Grandpa Dahlen in heaven someday. They will be excited to see you!"

Olivia listened to what I said, processed, and then said "God's friends."

Friends of God, indeed.

1, 2, whatever

I took Olivia to her first play last week. It was a kid-friendly, condensed version on "Annie." On the way to the play, I gave O a heads-up on what to expect: clapping, lights-out periods between scenes, laughing, quiet listening, etc. I told her we would be watching kids perform a story, to which she said, "I'm a kid."I confirmed, yep, she was a kid.

O: You're a kid, Mom.

Me: Nope, I'm a grown-up.

O: I'm a grown-up.

Me: Nope, you're a kid. You won't be a grown up until you're 18. That's a long time from now because you're only two.

O: (her word-for-word answer) I'm one, Mom. (only the "duh" is implied...)

I guess "rounding up" doesn't work for a 23-month-old.

BTW, she did great during the play. She became immediately obsessed with the dog, Sandy, played by a 10-year-old girl in a dog costume, and asked, "Where'd the puppy go?" every time dog-girl left the stage.

Olivia was whining while I was rinsing dishes this morning. She wanted to be held or played with and didn't want to wait for my kitchen work to be done. She sort of slipped on the rug and fell in a heap at my feet. "I bumped myself!" she whined. Not wanting to play too much into the drama, but also wanting to acknowledge her, I asked matter-of-factly, "Where should I kiss you?" Expecting her to say "my head," she surprised me with "In the playroom."

Several of our family members, myself included, are fighting colds right now. It just seems wrong to have a drippy nose and sore throat in August. Yesterday, I took Olivia and her cousin James to story time. While in the car, Jimmy let out a major, juicy cough. Olivia congratulated him with, "Good cough, buddy!"

This morning's breakfast conversation:

Olivia: I'm getting married.

Me: You are?! To who?

O: A nice boy.

Me: What's his name?

O: Jesus is a nice boy.

Me: Jesus is nice, but he lives in heaven. You can't marry him (as if that's the only reason that arrangement wouldn't work.)

O: Great-gram lives in heaven.

Me: Not yet. She'll live there soon, but not yet. (We had had that conversation last week.)