Bergen Hawkeye
Anyone can slay a dragon . . . but try waking up every morning and loving the world all over again. That's what it takes to be a real hero.
-
Hello.
Tetherball. Meet Bergen. Bergen. Meet tetherball. I think you guys will enjoy a long and enduring friendship.
-
We interrupt this season . . .
You already know a little bit about how Bergen plays soccer. (Or doesn’t.) But Kevin posted about it in an even funnier way. It made me laugh. And I bet you will laugh too. Read it here.
-
King of Proclamations
Bergen Hawkeye is the King of Proclamations. (I am confident that he himself would be proclaiming this announcement right now if he knew how to type and could access this blog.) Particularly of the very obvious variety. And no proclamation is ever good enough unless it is delivered at a decibel slightly louder than necessary. Right? Two recent proclamations of note . . . (Outside standing on the lawn with Chris) “Chris, don’t forget. Ticks live in the grass.” and (Sitting in the car chatting with Torrye through the open window) “Torrye – your teeth are attached to your gums!”
-
Soccer – Let the Games Begin!
The season has started. In all its glory. (Okay, there really is not much glory – but the kids sure look cute in their uniforms, Riley is a great assistant coach and Piper is a pretty effective cheerleader.) We’re just at the beginning of the season but it’s funny already. There’s the I-expected-this-but-not-from-you – Hawkeye. He pretty much just wants to drink the water from his cool new officially-sanctioned-by-his-soccer-team water bottle. “Berg, don’t you want to play?” I ask. He answers, “Mommy, I think you should write my whole name, B-E-R-G-E-N, on my water bottle instead of just the B you already wrote.” While everyone is running after the ball…
-
Celebrate Good Times – Come On!
Bergen, that little boy-man, turned five this weekend. Five. One whole hand. And for his birthday he only asked for one thing – monster trucks that could sit on a cake but could later be removed to play with. (Really. That’s what he asked for.) So we went with a theme. There were three monster trucks on his cake. (And he removed them all and played with them.) There was a monster truck race course, complete with bridges, ramps, mud puddles, flags, jumps and a grand finale jump into a swimming pool. (Assembled by our almost-in-residence-birthday-planners Chris and Ben (and Rachael). You might recognize them from other Keigley birthday celebrations…
-
Berg Is All Boy
I cannot say that I remember much about high school biology. (Sorry Mrs. Hendricks, it’s just true – okay?) And my final thoughts are still on hold about the entire nature vs. nurture argument. But this I do know. My son Bergen Hawkeye is all boy. All boy. I have done very little, if anything, to directly influence boy-like behavior in this four year old wonder. I have not personally ever purchased a toy gun for my son. Nor a bow and arrow. Or a toy hatchet or knife or whatnot. (Of course, Berg does own these items. I have just never thought to purchase them.) But, listen (especially…
-
Raising Bergen Can Be So Sweet
What I like about raising my boy Bergen . . . Seeing him walk out of the grocery store holding a bright bouquet of flowers. That wildy enthusiastic four-year-old approaching me with his fist outstretched. “These are for you, Mommy.” Listening to Kevin explain how the idea of purchasing the flowers was completely Hawkeye’s own. And that his little grubby boy hands carried the cellophane wrapped, brightly dyed flowers throughout the entire grocery trip. And all the random times that this little guy just slides up beside me, reaches for my hand and says, “You look pretty today Mommy.” How at night, after I tuck Berg into bed and am leaving his room,…
-
Letter Three (3)
Dearest Sir Will, You are indeed Good, my friend. Today my son is dressed in a dashing ensemble, constructed entirely by items purchased at your low cost store. Yes. I always launder my purchases before allowing them to adorn my precious offspring’s bodies. But I am okay with that. Why would I pay $42 for a pair of size 6 Gap Chinos at the mall when I can acquire the exact same pair for a mere pittance of $3.00 at your casual storefront? I do wish your clothing was sorted more effectively but if it takes me thirty minutes to unearth five pairs of size 5 pants, I’ll spend that…
-
Saints and Sinners
On a ride in the Suburban recently, the kids and I had a pretty heavy theological discussion. “How do we know who goes to heaven and who goes to hell?” one of my deep thinkers asked. “Well,” I started. Like I usually do. A stalling method I think I have perfected but which I know will have a short shelf life. And Bergen jumps in – “I know that. Good people go to heaven and bad people go to hell.” “Well,” I paused again. “That is not exactly true son. Are you a good person?” He nodded his head yes. “Do you ever do bad things?” I probed. Bergen said,…
-
Sounds Logical
I am simply going to record a real conversation that took place earlier today in the confines of our Suburban. London: Who will I marry, Mommy? Me: Oh. I don’t know. I guess you will have to wait and see who God has planned for you. L-: How will I know who that is? Me: Well. In a lot of ways I guess. The young man will be pursuing God. Your daddy and I will like him. Uh . . . L-: So why can’t I just marry Bergen? We’re all Christians. Me: Brothers and sisters just do not get married to one another. Mosely: I plan to marry Otto.…
-
Blame Kevin
Need more proof that the Keigley children have been allowed to watch too much television? Then I submit this little number. Bergen watched London spread strawberry jam on her bagel. He said, “That looks like ballistics gel.”
-
The Sniffing Habit
Bergen has a sniffing problem. Seriously. He sniffs you if he likes you. (I have no reason to make this up.) I get sniffed pretty often. Usually routine, run of the mill type sniffing. My hands. My arms. When we are cuddling – my neck. Sometimes my hair. Just sniffing of the normal variety. Kevin – now that guys gets sniffed. And how! Bergen just hovers around and over (maybe even under on occasion) and sniffs Kevin. Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. For as long as Kevin will allow. (For which he has gained an amazingly high tolerance, as a matter of fact.) Lately he has been experimenting with a new sniffing…
Keep Reading . . .
Cognitive Drawing: A Timberdoodle Review
sixteen. a birthday post.
going dark . . .
-
Bergen’s Choice
We stopped at candy stores. More than once. Each Keigley was allowed to choose one treat. Whatever they wanted. Mosely and London chose cotton candy. (I think they were influenced by the sheer size of the bag. They’re into quantity right now.) I chose a chocolate covered strawberry that was practically the size of my hand. (Maybe I am into quantity too.) Kevin and Riley chose some overwhelming chocolate/ ice cream/ waffle cone concoctions at Ghiradelli’s. And Bergen chose this. Three marshmallows dipped in chocolate then rolled in sprinkles and crushed peppermints and speared on a Mickey Mouse straw. He loved it. Savored it. Slowly eating this masterpiece of tooth…
