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.
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A Five Year Old’s Movie Review: Legend of the Guardians
Boys’ Night is a Big Deal at our house. At Bergen’s continual request, he and Daddy went to see Legend of the Guardians not too long ago. In his own words, Berg is going to share about the movie with all the owls . . . Hit it, Siskel. Huh? Never mind. Tell me about the movie Berg. I do remember that this owl blended into this black rock. Was it scary? It was scary in one part. Who should not watch this film? Piper. Why? Because it’s too scary. Were you scared? No. Why not? Because it’s not scary at all for me. What did Daddy think of it?…
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I’ll Pay Your First Therapy Session, Son
I might have witnessed Hawkeye’s first discussion in his future therapy session. I should have known. I was warned at the bedroom door by the first sentry. Mosely, with arms flailing the air. “You don’t want to go in there!” As I approached “there” (a.k.a. the closet) I heard scuffling and I felt a hand trying to keep the door closed. However, I am stronger, for the time being, than my five-year-old son. So I pushed through and opened the door. Perhaps I should have heeded all warnings. There was my boy, just minutes ago attired in orange shorts and a camo shirt like some sort of mixed signal for…
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Truth Better Than Fiction: An Example
File this under Random Weird Absolutely Unsolicited Confessions. Bergen: “Mom. One day this summer when we were at the pool we all took turns eating London’s skin.” Me: “Which part of her skin?” Bergen: “Her toes.” Me: “Why?” Bergen: “Because London said it was like gum.” Me: “Did it taste like gum?” Bergen: “No. It didn’t taste like anything.”
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I’m Just Like Bergen
Sometime in the less-than-distant past, this event occurred at our home. It was bed time. Some friends were over. Bergen wanted Nate to fly him to bed like a superhero. (Because Nate can do that, you know.) But Nate was busy. So Bergen began to wait. Impatiently. He cried out Nate’s name. Loudly. Repetitively. Nate told Bergen he would be right there in just a minute. But Bergen didn’t care. He just kept crying out in a sobbing voice, “Naaaay-Aaaate”. Over and over. Increasing in volume each time. Nate was not ignoring Bergen. He had every intention of entering the living room, scooping Bergen up Superman-style, and making a grand…
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I Just Love This Story
There are a lot of things I love about where we live. You know. Pisgah’s beautiful forest. My sort-of-because-my-cousin-Sherry-once-explained-it-to-me relative Carl Sandburg’s house. Hendersonville. (What can I say? Its streets likes my feets!) Downtown Greenville. The vast and varied assortment of fellow homeschoolers. Incredible local theatre in every direction. Target is so much closer here than it was from our former home. All of those things are cool. But that’s not why I really love where I live. I love where I live because our family gets to regularly interact with an ever-changing group of God-fearing, God-loving college students known at our home as simply “summer staffers”. I’ve written about…
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you’re worth it.
love. via sour dough bread.
a little grief. how the time passes.
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poor.
Over the course of today I had the following series of conversations with my son Bergen. (He’s five, you know.) At The Breakfast Table. We sang a song we like to sing every morning after we eat breakfast. (It’s a song I was reminded of many months ago by my sweet friend Rachael.) And it’s a song I have been trying to claim as our family’s anthem. Pure & Holy Passion. I don’t know if I can even imagine a sound more lovely than the voices of my young children singing those true and simple lyrics together of an early morn. Berg loves the song. He grins while we sing…
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if . . .
If you take your six children to a free outdoor theatrical performance of Shakespeare’s MerryWives of Windsor and you realize that although the kids are behaving splendidly, the story line is just not moving along on their level. And it is really hot. And you realize that you actually wish you were sitting somewhere else so you imagine they probably do as well. Then it might be a good idea to take them to another end of the park. Where ducks are your best friends and you get to test your newly acquired skills of holding your breath and shoving your face under water. A place where you can’t help…
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in the name of love
Things I Have Done In The Name Of Love . . . Walked through Goodwill as it was closing (and the employees were announcing approaching closing time over and over) while searching for the new orca whale owned and then lost by one young Bergen Hawkeye Norton. (Yes, that orca whale. He’s had a hard life. And – I looked up the phrase “orca whale”. Saying both is pretty superfluous. They both mean the same thing. Orca means whale. But Berg calls it his orca whale. And I like Berg. So I just plan to call it what he calls it. Because I can.) Searched the kid’s clothing aisle where…
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It’s Not Unusual
I like this house best when it is laughing. And I cannot seem to escape the fact that I live with seven funny people. And I think you might laugh at this little tale as well. One sunny afternoon in our very recent past we set out to battle the heat with two plastic pools. Two plastic pools. (Six kids.) But the kids were satisfied. Two pools suited them just fine. They declared the larger one a pool and the second, much smaller, pool was labeled a hot tub. (Their logic was sound. Less water + sunnier location = hotter pool = hot tub.) I watched them jump from hot…
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Can Someone Please Define Normal?
Yesterday was a normal day. I have a lot of those. I’ll just go ahead and highlight three examples of events or conversations that contributed to the normalness of the day. Just three, mind you. Three examples of normal. (Except maybe I am not entirely sure what normal means anymore. That’s possible. Indeed – probable.) Example One: Disclaimer: Some of my children may be rapidly approaching the age when I can no longer share these stories unless I use an alias for them. So we had better all enjoy this while it lasts.) Piper Finn and Otto Fox were napping. Riley was reading a book. (Wait – that can’t be…
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The Hawke
This is Hawkeye. He needed a haircut. And I had this idea. His name is Hawke, after all, right? The idea actually took several weeks of convincing. Finally, this weekend, somewhat out of the blue, an announcement is made by Hawkeye. “I’m ready for a mohawk now Mommy.” Okay. Okay son. Drop everything. Run to our resident stylist. And one Mythbusters episode later, the hawk emerges. The mohawk, that is. It looks stinkin’ adorable. (Except the wearer is not as fond of the results as the mommy is. Which is a real shame. Since now Hawkeye will not let me spike the mohawk up. And that makes me a little…
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why I love this photo
Because my friend Jane took it with her flashy new Nikon. Because Hawkeye is wearing one of my favorite t-shirts. (You can’t really appreciate it since its view is obstructed, but I know it’s there. It features the band The Who. I picked it up at Target for $2.00. But I like it because Hawkeye calls it his “behind blue eyes” shirt.) Because it is so Real Life At Our House. I mean, seriously. Just look at Hawke’s knees.
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believes.
My day is filled (and I mean filled) with requests to “look at this”. Bergen loves to call my attention to important matters. Such as “Mom, I found Sparks (a much-loved, frequently-misplaced-because-he-is-rather-small stuffed puppy that was once Riley’s).” “Hey, Mom – check this out. One scab on my knee is gone and just pink but the other is still big and puffy.” “Look at this truck – can you believe how high it jumps? Look at it again. It does it every time.” (All twenty-seven times. Yes. It certainly does, son.) “Mommy – watch Flapjack’s eyes in this cartoon. London, can you rewind that? Mommy has to see his eyes.…
