Faith, Doubt, and a 4 year old
Mariel asked in the car on Friday a very good question.  "Why doesn't God give warnings, Mom?"  she asked.  "Like if bad guys are going to kill people or something.  Why doesn't God give a warning?"  Darn good question, kiddo.  As parents we give warnings all of the time, which is I am sure what she was thinking about.  If our kids are going down the wrong road, we give a warning to help steer them back.  But sometimes we don't know that it is the wrong way, I guess, and maybe even the most attentive parent can misread a situation.  But Mariel is in a stage of certainty: there is a God, and he is all knowing.  Which means that she wonders why he is not warning the bad guys (as in: this is a BAD choice. don't do it.) or the people getting hurt (as in: you might get hurt today if you go to X place.  go somewhere else!)  Why are there no warnings for people caught in floods, in car accidents, in wars that they have nothing to do with?  I sure don't know the answer. 
This week a dear, dear friend of mine (a wonderfully loving woman the same age as me, with two small children, married to another dear friend) was diagnosed with Stage 2 non-Hodgkins lymphoma.  She went in to the doctor on Tuesday because of veins that had popped up on her chest.  A rapid fire chain of tests, CAT scans, biopsies, and appointments later, she was diagnosed with cancer.  By Thursday they were ready to start her on chemo and radiation as quickly as possible.  This was two days after what she most likely expected to be a routine appointment.  Another woman I know from Mariel's old school, another young woman my age with two small children, was diagnosed with breast cancer last week.  She is also very healthy, no family history or warning signs, and went in to the doctor because she had a milk duct that kept plugging (she was weaning her toddler).  Why don't they get a warning?  Why can't they make a different choice?
So I don't know why God doesn't give warnings.  I told Mariel that God tries to teach us in other ways, by giving us friends and family who help to teach us what is right and wrong and how to be good, strong people.  And that when people make bad choices, God is sad, but he still loves us.  And if people need help, he is always there to love them.  That seemed to be a good answer for her for now, even if I don't feel that it is enough of an answer for me.  What do you say when your children start asking the same questions that you don't know how to answer for yourself?  Like why isn't life fair, or why do people doing everything right sometimes get the worst outcomes? 

Another conversation with Mariel
Patrick really should come home earlier.  He is missing some great dinner conversations. 
Last night, Mariel asked me where water comes from.  Not sure quite sure how to explain the molecular structure of water to a 4 year old, I hemmed and hawed a bit.  She stopped me.  "No Mom, I mean where does it come from?  To get into the house?"  OK, on to civil engineering.  I talked about the water pipes in the city, and water supply systems and how in places where there are not too many people there are usually wells instead. 
"So here we have pipes, but Grandma and Papa don't have pipes to bring them water to their house?"  She asked. 
"Right.  They have a well." 
"That's because too many people are dead in New York,"  she proclaimed with confidence. 
"Ummm... what?  I mean there are not as many people who live there."  I said this and realized that my wording  probably confirmed her theory.
"Right.  Because they died.  See, Mom, its this way." She started drawing imaginary lines to form a map on the dining room table with her hands. "Over here are the dead people.  Over here is where Grandma and Papa live.  So they are alive but the other people are not.  And they don't need water since they are dead, so Grandma and Papa have a well."
At this point I am really not sure of what to say, so I let her keep going.
"And up here, Mom?"  Waving her hands over her head, then pointing back to the invisible map.  "Up here is heaven.  God is up here.  God does not need water either, so he does not have a well or pipes."
Obviously.

Maybe she should be in charge...
I once read a blog post that made me want to laugh and cry in recognition, all at the same time.  The mom described a half crazed trip to the home improvement store with three small kids in tow and an upset stomach.  She had to make a mad dash to the bathroom, then negotiate how to manage the situation.  She describes sitting on the toilet with an infant on her lap, another child holding her hand, and the four year old holding the mom's purse over her shoulder and watching the whole scene with disapproval.  The mom in question reported feeling (besides generally sick and miserable) sort of disoriented, as though she had become the repentant child and her four year old had become a tiny, angry parent.  I sometimes have moments like that with Mariel, where I wonder if maybe she is (or should be?) the one in charge.   Sometimes these are moments of borderline insanity, others are more heartwarming. 
Tonight we had one of the funny, warm times when she suddenly morphed into the miniature adult.  She, Noella and I sat down to dinner (Patrick was not home yet) and Noella descending into a bad mood. She shoved her plate and cup away and started screaming NO when either Mariel or I spoke to or even looked at her.  I said to Mariel "Lets just ignore her for a few minutes.  You and I can have a nice conversation of our own."  "OK, Mom," said Mariel.  She put her fork down, sat up primly in her chair, crossed her legs and took a little breath.  "So, Mom, how was your day?" she asked in her best tea party tone of voice.  "Can you tell me what your favorite part was?"   She smiled and folded her hands to wait for my answer, looking for all the world like an elderly church lady at a very proper luncheon.
I think my favorite part was that precise moment.

More Breaking News! 

Toddler Likes Books!  Dog Likes Water!

The last time I brought you newsworthy headlines, Mariel actually tried soup.  In more shockingly mundane (for most families) announcements, Noella has actually started to listen to books being read, sometimes even requesting "tories"  before bed.  Before now, her primary interaction with the written word was to attempt to eat, shred, or sometimes hide the children's books that she did not simply grab and throw back at the person unwise enough to attempt to read her something.  So while for most children the act of sitting and listening to even a few pages being read is not unusual, this is a big change around here.  Very exciting. 

In other announcements, Hudson has had a big summer.  She has started to enjoy being in the lake and to SWIM.  Yes, this sounds like fairly doglike behavior.  But, as many readers know, Hudson only barely qualifies as a dog.  Somedays I am close to convinced that she really may be part meerkat or white tailed deer.  After an extended vacation in Henderson and with swimming lessons from my mom (involving bread being thrown in as "bait"), Hudson has joined Marley in enjoying to swim.   Hooray!  Of course, she may have to put her new hobby on hold when she returns to the landlocked midwest in a few weeks. 
PS- My quilt projects are all back on track.  There will be happy babies all around! 

Caution: Perfectionist at work
We have been back home for a week, adjusting to "normal" life again.  Some aspects (farmers' markets, playing with friends, cooking, playing with the girls and their favorite toys, having a nice big house just for the four of us, etc.) are very nice; other aspects are a littler harder to return to (cleaning that same big house, dealing with a garden left unattended in July for three weeks, alarm clocks in the morning, going back to work and so on).
I have picked back up on my quilting projects- currently four baby quilts for various friends underway.  I like to do the same phases of things at the same time; cutting, piecing, quilting, binding etc on all of them rather than doing one quilt at a time.  This week I have been finishing quilting the layers together.  Upon review, after finishing the last with a very nice quilting job, I realized that one poor quilt was not so well done.  Someone (there is no need to place the blame) must not have been paying attention or being careful, and there is bunching, warping of the cloth (I like to use flannel, which is colorful and soft but stretches terribly), and all sorts of other issues.  I asked Patrick if he saw any mistakes, and instead of picking up on what I thought was a glaring issue in one corner, he noticed that there was a block out of place.  Right in the middle.  Shame and annoyance, all at the same time.  
I woke up this morning with the realization that I will (no question) be taking the quilt apart, taking out all of the quilting stitches and unpiecing it until I can get to the misplaced square and fix it.  While I have been assured that the quilt is fine (isn't the hand made look the point of a hand made gift?) I just cannot send this off.  I mean, how can I sentence some poor baby to wonder why they got the POS quilt, when there are all of those other babies out there with nicely made quilts?  Obviously unnaceptable.  You know how particular babies are.
Moral of the story:  In quilting, as in pretty much everything else in life, it is always easier if you find and admit to your mistakes early on.  Fix them then!  Because if you have to go back later, it will be so much harder.  (Secondary moral: Don't marry a perfectionist, because it will make your daily life way more complicated.)