Vingnettes

We stuffed ourselves, like sardines, into the chapel gym to watch Norah's dance recital. Why it was in a chapel, I don't know. Why a much needed stage, which would have worked wonders in providing a way for all mothers, fathers, and extended family to see the preschoolers was absent, is unknown as well. Why the dance music was played on a small boom box in the corner,well you get the picture.
Even among said chaos, Norah did dance.



Although, Norah's displayed talents would be categorized more as interpretive dance moves.



In my opinion, Norah's moves were much more artistic and spellbinding then those taught to her by her teacher.



Lulu has always traveled to the beat of her own drum.



She refused to let a tutu stand in the way of an impromptu performance for a limited audience.



Lulu's loose interpretations carry much further than dance.

I asked Lulu to put her own pull-ups on this morning.



The expected is boring, I like the way Lu sees things.



Frequently, a reoccurring melodrama unfolds in our home. I place all of the children down stairs to play together. I walk up the stairs to mop the floor, to put clothing away, or to make some dinner. Within minutes Abram breaks into a pained cry. As I make my way down the stairs to come to the aid of my baby, I hear Norah scramble to hide under a table, all the while screaming, with the intensity of a wrongly accused woman, "I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING (sob), I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING".



These are the parts that make up the whole, that we call our life.