There once was a little girl...

There once lived a little girl named Hannah. She was a cute fat little baby and loved by her whole family. She was all their baby and they dragged her around as their little toy and friend. She giggled and cooed, and followed along with the loving abuse. When it was time to eat she got special baby food, finally something of her very own, but when mommy turned her back, the loving sister who was supposed to be helping would instead be heaping all the yummy plums and peaches into her own mouth. Poor Hannah was left with the strained green beans. But Hannah knew she was loved, that this "over-attention" was nothing to resent, she loved her many older siblings and the love they offered her. When it was time to stand on her own two feet, she couldn't, her little feet turned in and walking was hard. But there were so many footsteps she wanted to follow in. She didn't give up, she'd climb up onto her broken little feet and slowly, slowly follow after her brothers and sisters.
That little girl grew up into a beautiful woman, and all the brothers and sisters were in awe. Was this our little baby that we dressed up in silly clothes and dumped mud on her head as she smiled along? She, of course, was still loved by all and quickly and easily a man came into her life. He was struck by this woman, no longer a fat baby with broken feet, and took her into his arms. They married quickly and he stole her up as quick as a wink to the other side of the country. With all her happy memories as a baby, she wanted babies of her own, and her little Emma was born. Not the baby of the family, but the oldest, the one to set an example for the rest. And what an example she set. Sweet warm eyes, beautiful golden hair, and soft and loving to everyone she met. She was patient with the "over-attention" she got from doctors, because they gave it in love and she smiled along. And then both she and Hannah were asked to set an example for everyone. Neither were babies now, though Emma was young. Emma was asked to go and to serve others with an undying love, and Hannah was asked to give up her baby so she could go fulfill this calling. They looked into each other's eyes, both babies, both women as their tears mixed together. They said yes.
The brothers and sisters stood in awe as she grew older than all of them. Her grace and beauty shined like heaven. Could this be our baby? She's so brave, so strong. We want to be like her. As she walks we try to follow, but only on broken feet.

Mommy, Do you like flours?

So Monday morning is always my cleaning day, but when it comes I sometimes need a bit of coaxing. I told myself it would be easier to clean after the babies go to sleep so what's the harm of turning on a movie, dozing for a little while and then clean for the rest of the day. I FOUND OUT THE HARM!!!! I knew for a while they were watching the movie because they'd hit me or sit on my head from time to time, then all of a sudden it stopped. Ah peace, a few minutes sleep won't hurt! After ten minutes I wake up with a start. I haven't been beaten by my kids for a while, what's going on?! They are not in the room with me, so I hop up quickly and try to navigate myself through the delirium. I find Baby Jane in the kitchen on the table tearing all the berries off my holiday centerpiece, but still no Clark. And then I see it... A trail of flour toward the pantry. There he is in all his glory (I mean Naked) basking in a 50 lb. bag of spilled flour. I mean he's swimming around in it, nothing could be more beautiful for this little three year old. I restrained the fury because of the hilarity and quickly grabbed the camera. Once the pictures were snapped I accepted that it was time to get on task, and I was rewarded for my laziness with an extra two hours of cleaning to make up for the ten luxurious minutes my son bathed in flour.