Noah: "She will love getting splashed! This will be fun!"

Acadia: "NOAH!!!!" Noah: "?"

Acadia: "You are so immature." Noah: "..."

Noah: "I will never understand girls." Acadia: "He is nonexistent to me."

Some liberty has been taken in the dialogue.

Last year Acadia’s nickname was Pink Pants, which changed to Pink Pants Swimmer when she became so great in the water.

This year, she gets to take lessons like Gannon.  Acadia’s teacher has shown her how to use the kickboard to hold her up while she swims. She has shown her how to retrieve a sunken bottle, even when your face might get a little wet in the process. Below is a picture of Acadia helping another student find the bottle.

Here’s another thing her teacher has shown her. The strange allure of navel jewelry.

I think we’re far enough now from the real reverence of Memorial Day for me to post this story.

While much of the rest of the country was observing the day with parades and, well, memorials, for us much of this past weekend was spent with my nieces and nephew over at my Mom’s house. While there, the kids found a dead bird. As a result, the three adults present were witness to a ceremony of delightful solemnity. I have to apologize that I didn’t have my camera during this documentary-worthy event, but in hindsight, maybe it was better that way. Out of respect.

First the five kids (ages 8, 6, 6, 4, 3) examined the poor bird at close range, gently poking it with sticks. Then the oldest carried it around the yard (with sticks) to find a suitable hole in which to inter the remains. They found one, plopped it in, and set about to decorate the gravesite.

The kids arranged flowers, grass, leaves, a brick, an old bird nest, a notebook, and a keychain reading “NC STATE RECYCLES” on top of and in front of the hole. This they did quite reverently, except for the screeching of one child at the appearance of a few largeish beetles from under the bird carcass. That was pretty much the end of that particular child’s involvement in the project.

Then it was time for the actual service to begin. By this point two of the kids had wandered off, and the other three stood in a line, gazing down at the grave. I knew we were in for something good. I waited for what would come next. This is what I heard:

“I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the republic….”

When they had finished, the oldest sort of looked around, wondering what was to come next. Inspiration hit, and he went down on one knee and gestured dramatically to the grave. The other two eagerly followed suit. They said a few words.

“I’ll always remember this bird.”

“I’m sorry you won’t be around to make eggs next spring.”

And a few more oddly appropriate sentiments. Then, the clincher came. The moment that it all became perfect.

It was during the eulogy that the sound of Taps could be heard wafting over the trees.

I joke not. Taps was being played. Somewhere downtown a Memorial Day ceremony was being held at just the right moment. Close your eyes for a moment and picture it. Three solemn children, kneeling, extolling the virtues of a bird they hardly knew, while a lonely trumpet plays Taps. It was almost more than we grownups could bear. I wanted to howl with laughter, but somehow remained quiet enough so as not to disturb the service.

As the small group began to depart, the oldest stood facing my son, a concerned yet resigned expression on his face. He put his hand on Gannon’s shoulder, looked him in the eye, and nodded comfortingly, a gesture that was lost on my son.

At the conclusion of the affair, the gang of cousins went back to playing knights and ladies in distress. (I must say, however, that it was the girls’ dresses that were really in distress. Tulle does not hold up well to hemlock branches and lilac bushes.)

The kids are playing something, happily together in some imaginary world.  It’s fun to listen, while pretending I’m not paying any attention.

Gannon: No no. First we pray, then we cut up the squid, then we each get part of it.

Acadia was rushing ahead, forgetting to thank God for the bountiful repast before them.  Her brother made sure she was reminded.

Toothpicks were inserted into all the fruit and veggies, so that “the mothers won’t have to do it.”

Little nametags were a must. And little cakes.

The little girls didn’t want tea, so we poured apple juice. And they spooned sugar into it.

Mmmm…little cakes. And tiaras. And beads.

Don’t you wish you were a four year-old girl?

Racing past me down the stairs, Acadia yelled, “Quick! Run! Oh, the humanity!”

I can’t give home schooling credit for this one. They’ve been watching Animaniacs.

Acadia has graduated from her speech therapy. It has been determined that she no longer meets eligibility requirements for the program, which is good news for her because it means she’s progressing well. Some days we wonder if it’s not a little too well, when she comes out with things like these:

Mom, that would take a lot of work to clean up Clifford’s poop!

and

I figured out that baby girls come from their mommies, and baby boys come from their daddies.

More insights to come, you can be sure…

Last night I washed Acadia’s hair while she was taking a bath. I was barely touching her head when she yelled, “Ow, stop! You’re pulling my hair!” I said, “How could I possibly be pulling your hair?” Demurely, she answered, “Because, you’re pulling my hair in my mind.“

Our household has fallen victim to an insidious illness that lasts for days. Long, long days. Nights, too. It might be the flu, says Brian’s doctor. We’ll see what the kids’ doctor says this morning when we take them in. I, so far, have remained healthy, despite the lack of sleep and the sympathy symptoms that don’t last.

I won’t disgust you with the respiratory yuckiness that pervades our home, except for this quote from the ever-effusive Acadia:

See? This is the stuff on my eye and when I woke up I couldn’t open them, so… (pause, shrug) I had to eat it! Wasn’t that silly?

Uh…that’s one word for it….

I offered Acadia a cookie. She reached into the jar and said,

“I’ll take two. One for me, and one for myself.”