Happy Veteran's Day

 I don't come from a heavily military family--but I am grateful for the military men in my life. Both of my grandfather's served in WWII. My dad's dad (left) was a radio clerk in Australia; my mom's dad was a Marine in the South Pacific (where he fought at, among other places, Guadalcanal, and was among the first marines to go into Nagasaki after the peace treaty). I love and admire both these men a great deal--and wish I could still tell them that. Maybe someday.

(Incidentally, these photos are courtesy of Andrew's school project--if he hadn't come home pestering me to know about veterans in our family, I wouldn't have, in turn, pestered my parents for pictures. I'm so glad I did!)

News from the week.

Evelyn informed me, "Mommy, I like a boy and he likes me." Apparently one of her preschool friends held her hand in gym. Not two days after that, a mom of another preschool student told me she thought her son had a crush on Evelyn because he talked about her all the time. Should I be worried?

Speaking of my charming children, today was the primary program. I love the primary program. I love listening to my children sing their guts out. I'm not quite sure I love the fact that Andrew doesn't seem to know the difference between singing loud and shouting. He told me afterwards that he wanted to make sure everyone could hear him.

They could. Friends who were sitting in the back of the chapel told me afterwards, "I could hear your boy."

Otherwise, I was proud of both of them. They sang with vigor and vim; they threw themselves into hand motions (when appropriate); and Andrew knew his part really well. I realized that we forgot to work with Evelyn on her part when, half-way through her single sentence, she turned to the leader who was prompting her and said "What?" in a loud stage whisper that made everyone giggle. Evelyn was probably the only sunbeam who sang all the songs. She also danced along to the music. She blew me a kiss. And she tried to wink at me.

I love my kids.

Oliver (and hence, his dad) didn't go to the program. But we love Oliver, too. I took him in to the doctor's for a diaper rashy thing that won't go away, and, of course, they weighed him. He's up to 13 lbs 7 oz. I know you're probably sick of the weight updates, but it's still such a miracle to me that my tiny, fragile baby is now a fat, healthy boy.

And look! He's starting to push off his tummy. (The little bit of spit-up by his mouth is also appropriate, since we call Oliver the "spit-up man" since he spits up with alarming regularity. The spit up doesn't, however, seem to affect his growth, so we're told not to worry about it).