Little m Long a

He doesn’t miss much.  His ability to absorb a scene, noting minute details in just a flash is something to behold.  Zane and I were watching some football this weekend as a father and his six year old athlete want-to-be son are oft prone to do.

At one point during the afternoon a commercial for NFL.com is shown.  In the commercial some guy in an airport is engrossed with his laptop and NFL.com when Marissa Miller (shame on you if you have to ask) comes and sits down next to the guy.  She takes a peek over the guy’s shoulder and rather than acknowledge her, he glares, turns away and shields his laptop.  Marissa smiles, rolls her eyes, lifts up her cover issue of SI and begins reading.  (It was over in a matter of seconds.)

Excerpts of the conversation that followed…..

Zane:  Dad, why are there girls in Sports Illustrated?

Me:  Why wouldn’t there be girls?  Girls play sports, too.  Why do you ask?

Zane:  But that girl.  She wasn’t playing sports.  (Oh…..Now I see.)

Zane:  Why do they have one with just girls in it?  (Referring to the Swimsuit Issue.)

Me:  Buddy, trust me.  One of these days you are going to appreciate that issue.  Really.  You will look forward to it.

Zane looked at me, cocked his little head to the side and thought for a second.

Then he laughed and said, “Dad, you’re so crazy!”

I file them in like little ducks.  Everywhere.  It’s a scene of repetition, an endless replay loop of loading and unloading, filing in and out from car to door and back again.  I’m kind of used to it now.  It’s commonplace.  This morning I had some information to pick up from the church office.  I’ve been conned into leading the 3-4 year old class at this year’s Vacation Bible School.  (God bless my mother-in-law!)  And so each morning next week I’ll be leading a group of 3 and 4 year old children in their daily Bible School activities for St. Mary’s Catholic Church.  It’s kind of funny.  My sister-in-law said, “Wait.  Aren’t you Methodist?”  “It’s worse than that,” I replied.  “I’m Baptist.”

So as I pick up my information packet this morning the woman at the church office proclaims, “My, don’t you have a lot of helpers.” To which came the following responses:

Zoë:  I help a lot.  I made Daddy’s coffee this morning.  (She did.  And it was great.  Irish cream–freshly ground beans.)

Zane:  I help, too.  Sometimes I make the coffee.

Zia (speaking in her loudest outside voice that begs to be heard above the clamor or four siblings):  I don’t do anything.  I’m just cuteness!

She’s got a point.