Yes, slacking, as usual. Why can't I get into a regular writing routine? Hm. I guess I'll just write random stuff tonight. I don't have anything specific to talk about.
A few days ago, we went to IHOP for breakfast with my parents. On the way, my 9 year old said he remembered when Daddy used to make pancakes for breakfast every Sunday morning. That was our tradition for about 5 years. It's probably one of Ethan's favourite memories of his dad. Then, he said, "Ahhh, those were the good ole days." I giggled. I said we have pretty good days now, too. And I added that I was glad he has such good memories of his dad.
Then, I felt sad, as Silas, who is 5, said, "I don't remember that. I don't remember anything" (referring to his dad). I felt the weight of those words choke me. Silas remembers his dad through his brother's words. And through mine. But there was such sadness in his little voice. It was as though he realized, for the first time, that his memories are not his own. He doesn't remember his dad living with us. I knew this. But I don't think HE knew it.
He's such a smart little whip. Nothing gets past Silas. He's been reading fluently for months. I've posted a multiplication chart on the wall for Ethan's practise and Silas is memorizing it, including how to divide. He thinks every single thing through. We have discussions about mummies and daddies and marriage and how daddies are not supposed to leave. These conversations don't happen all the time, but if it works itself into a conversation naturally, so be it. So, the other day, the kids were talking to their dad on Skype. They chatted, like they usually do, about nothing in particular. It's usually a very short call, as it has lost its novelty on the older two. It's basically the same conversation every day, with no substance. Suddenly, at the end of the call, Silas says, as if it was a post script in a letter, "And remember, daddies are not supposed to leave the mummies when they're married." Just casual. Like he was reminding him that he should brush his teeth or something. I laughed to myself. The response was, "Okay, I'll remember that." Oh brother. I find it funny, though. I told Colin, before we left New Zealand, that he could run from his life and from me, but he couldn't run from God. Apparently, God is using Colin's children. Sometimes I wonder what he thinks when the kids say stuff like that.
Another couple of funnies from Silas. One day last week, I made toasted cheese buns for lunch. Silas finished his and said, "These are easy to make. You just have a bun, put cheese on it, and cook it. I'm going to make these on the very first day that I'm a grown up." I really hope he does.
Another day last week, he came upstairs, after getting dressed, and was completely distressed. He had on a pair of jeans and he was very concerned that the bottoms of the jeans only went to the tops of his socks! Why were they so short?! I laughed. I laughed and laughed and laughed. They were Rory's pants. Same colour as a pair of Silas' jeans. And further proof that my children grow taller, but not very much wider.
And with that, my random thoughts on a Sunday night have stopped. I am working very hard at going to bed earlier, so that is where I will head now. Cheers, all! Have a great week.
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