creepy dude

We keep our collection of Shakespeare's Graphic Novels in the downstairs bathroom. It seemed a good place to store books that I really want the kids frequently exposed to since they enter the room regularly and quickly become a captive audience.

Yesterday, Aidan came out of the bathroom and began describing to Dawson the book he had been reading while doing his business.

"There is this guy and he is stabbing this other guy with a big knife. There is a whole lot of blood. I don't know what book it was, but it looks pretty good to me."

Dawson replied, "That's a Shakespeare play, Buddy. It's called Macbeth and a king is murdered by a jealous man who wants to become king. The guilt of the murder slowly drive he and his wife crazy, though."

Aidan, who was nodding along said, "That Shakespeare is a real creepy dude. I like him."

summer standard

Our typical summer day.

the normal pile o' towels 

watermelon junkies 

one of the twins (I truly don't know whom) with cousin Sadie

Papaw on baby pool duty

again - no idea if this is Keats or Aidan
(They adore their matching swim gear. I find it quite fiendish.)

Elyas and Nana enjoying the first watermelon of the season

finished with watermelon, Elyas moved onto grass

Dawson before his manly dives off the board

Tucker, enjoying the splashes several of the dads were making off the board during adult swim.

Elyas  enjoying his freedom to move around the pool this year

under control

We find our evening prayers are much easier to accomplish in the boys' room. This way we can place Elyas into his bed and his crib tent is zipped nice and tight, eliminating the need for someone (or several someones) to pray with their eyes wide open while Elyas performs his usual acrobatic, mountain climbing antics. He "holds hands" by placing his palm to the mesh of the crib tent on the inside while another Rutherford hand does the same on the outside.

Tonight, though, Elyas wanted nothing to do with prayers. As I was coaching him along with "Thank you for daddy. Thank you for mommy . . ." his usual parroting fell by the wayside and he simply cried: "More milk! More milk! More milk . . ." while pathetically rolling around in his bed.

Sensing this was a loosing battle on my end, I waved the white flag by simply skipping to the end and saying: "Thank you most of all for Jesus."

Elyas immediately ceased his whining and sweetly said: "Amen."

And so tonight I have learned that self-control for the almost-two-year-old is not quite the missing link he would have us believe.

Sleep tight, Sir Elyas. We're on to you now.