The Woman in Blue

"She's being rude." Jane leans her face to my ear, gestures at a woman on stage.

I nod, furrow my brow. Myra snores on my lap. Jack flaps the sermon outline like a flag. Jane frowns at the woman in powder blue.

The woman in blue huffs and slouches next to her green purse. She makes her words sharp, her chin jutted -- a crisis of faith. A sketch. Jane measure out the woman's gestures, traces the arc of the her eyebrows, and cross of her arms, the staccato of anger.

Her story circles like a raven in flight. Jane watches the trajectory, her lips parted and brow furrowed. The story lilts in softly. Adults clap, nod.

The moment broken, I feel Jane at my shoulder. Oblivious to applause and grown-up nods, she leans to me, face in my ear. "She was the rudest person I have ever seen," Jane says.

On the way to the car she wants to know, "Was that woman just pretending? 'Cause that was so disrespectful."

"Yes, it was a sketch. She was trying to show us what happens when we believe a lie."

"Oh." She steps over a puddle. "I still don't really think it was a good idea to be so disrespectful up there."

The kids and and I trundle over parking lot gravel. I turn her words over in my mind and marvel at how the research is true. Kids internalize what's modeled. The model is the message.

And while I weave the pastor's sermon and woman's sketch together for her to see, it's just a footnote to her.

Gratitude:

1777. A gallery meeting, Jane and Jack quiet at my elbow, how they insist that they love coming.

1778. Jane in the tundra of spelling homework, "I don't know what's come over Jack, but he is being all SWEET."

1779. How Lucy assimilates whole pages of letters and shapes intent to do homework like Jane and Jack.

1780. Her serious voice, "Mom, I put my finger in my mouf, and it hurt. That was a good lesson."

1781. My insistence that the kids fold towels on the couch because I don't like to dry off with dirty towels and Jack's cheerful, "I can dry off with dirty towels no problem."

1782. How Jane and Jack spar over noise levels during school and Jane ends with, "I wanted to say, KNOCK IT OFF, but I knew I would get in trouble so instead I said, Jack I love you."

1783. How when I leave a note on the chalkboard for the kids before bed, they answer with a note in the morning.

1784. Jane resorting to, "I have to tell on you, BOY," when Jack steps on her last nerve.

1785. Taco soup with sausage and cajun seasoning.

1786. Jack's question during math, "What does, DON'T MAKE A PIG OF YOURSELF, mean?"

1787. And how he peeks around the corner at Jane doing spelling, "From time to time can I go see how Jane is doing and tell her GOOD JOB?"

1788. Lucy's conclusion, "Two plus two equals ORANGE."

1789. Jack trying out theology, "Lucy, you are NOT home." How they spar at the kitchen table over who is home and Jack trumps with, "No, HEAVEN is your HOME."

1790. Her follow-up, "Jack YOU can take care of my plate."

1791. How he does.

1792. Raspberry pie, the kind that Gramma makes and ends up in brilliant streaks on Myra's face.

1793. A whole freezer full of farm fresh meat.

1794. Jane's gratitude, "Dear God, thank-you for our family and how I like all the people for different reasons. Thanks that I get to have people that I love in my family. Amen."

1795. Jack's report, "I'm at least a little bit close to God everyday."

1796. The six of us gathered in my doctor's ultrasound room for another peek at sweet baby boy, 26 weeks now and doing well.

1797. Four boxes of hand-me-downs!!

1798. Jack's prayer, "God, thank-you that we have clothes so we can be modest."

1799. Learning the liturgy of going to bed early.

1800. The rest that ensues.

Dinner

"I had a dream Obama came to our house for dinner." I flip a pot-sticker, Lucy perched at my elbow.

"Oh!" she stands straight on the black thimble stool.

"And we had to call him Mr. Obama," I say and flop another pot-sticker sideways.

"Did he really come?" she asks, eyebrows arched.

"No. It was just a dream." I rest the spatula on the edge of the pan, catch Lulie's blue eyes.

She furrows her brow, "If Obama came to our house," she says, "you could call him YUCKY Obama."

She purses her lips. I pause. "No. I would call him Mr. Obama." I carry on as if pot-stickers were the universe, flip and switch, brown each side. "Even though I don't like him," I add. "I would show him respect because he's in charge." We listen to the pop-pop of olive oil sizzle in the pan. "Would you do that?"

I blink, and she nods her head like a giant bell. "Yeah," she says, "I would do what you would do."

We nod, furrow our brow and turn the pot-stickers down to low.

Respect, an anchor.

Gratitude:

1611. How Lucy pats my face while we pray.

1612. How Myra Rosie wears a rubber band around like a silly band to copy the big kids.

1613. Jack's rally, "Let's go outside and play Billy Goat where I'm the billy goat."

1614. How Myra tries to put my hand in her mitten.

1615. How Lucy belts out, "Holy, holy, holy," while she gets dressed.

1616. Jack's prayer, "God, thank-you that I'm healthy and whole."

1617. How Myra giggles when I whisper, "I love you," in her ear.

1618. How she pulls my face to hers, eye to eye.

1619. How she wraps her baby in a blankie and whispers, "Shhhh."

1620. Finding Lucy in the yard wearing Jack's three-sizes-too-big shoes.

1621. How the kids collect bowls full of marigold seeds and sprinkle them gold over the garden. And their explanation, "We were pretending like it was Jesus' body and we were putting spices on it."

1622. Learning about lying and one child's comment, "I was wondering when everyone was going to find out I was lying." And the realization it's actually better when we do.

1623. How Myra hops in my chair, opens my chocolate bar, and takes a good sized sample when I'm gone a moment to discipline Lucy.

1624. Lucy's sing-song voice, "Jack, I've got a good idea for the house." And his reply, "I know, keep it clean."

1625. Her attempt at conversation with Janie, "Jane, are you a pig? I'm a pig."

1626. Learning about the wolf problem in Montana, how they've decimated wild and domestic game, pretty much wiped out local hunting, and Lucy's summation, "We waaaaant the animals so we can shoooot them."

1627. How Myra Rosie pulls my hand to her face after I rub her cheek. How she squishes our faces together when I rescue her from falling off the kitchen bench.

1628. "And then all the people criiiied out to the LORD," Lucy reading her Bible.

1629. Jane's matter of fact, "Did you know that it's easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to go into the kingdom of heaven?"

1630. And her advice to Jack, "Slow and stead wins the race, Jack. Remember SLOW and STEADY wins the race, about the speed of walking."

1631. My Dad and Mom home safe from Africa. Family gathered to see them in at the airport.

1632. Having parents I'm proud of.

1633. Our living room rearranged, wool rug rolled out for the winter.

1634. Jane teaching the memory verse, "Wanna listen to it a few more times? 'Cause I could hear that you were sort of struggling."

1635. Her furrowed brow as I put on make-up, "Momma, I can't even tell when you wear make-up."

1636. Her sweaty curls and flushed cheeks after nap, "I love you more than the other kids," she says, "not 'cause I don't love them, but because you're my mommy."

1637. Learning more each day how to lead these children and follow my husband.