The Murphy Revolution

Neels has been reading the Illustrated Classics version of Dickens'  A tale of two cities, which introduced him to an exciting new head-removing tool: the guillotine. Naturally he felt the need to build one himself.  When I walked out into the yard today, I encountered a revolution:

Devan: Neels, may I chop your head off?

Neels: No, I want to chop my own head off.

Devan: Please!  You’ve already chopped yours off several times.  May I please have a turn? 

(One has to appreciate the civility of their bloodthirsty conversations.)

Neels: OK… just once.  But don’t hurt me!

Neels’ head rolls with appropriate sound effects and the look on his face becoming less civilized by the second.): Owwwhhyeeey you hurt me!! Now I am going to chop your head off!!! 

Devan (calmly): No… I have a white shirt on.  I’d rather you not.

Neels (hot from excitement of having just lost his head): Oh come on!  Who cares about a white shirt? (Who does indeed?)

Devan (effectively diverting attention to another victim): Why don’t you chop Martin’s head off?

Neels (taking the bait WAY too easily): OH yeah!  Martin!!!!! Come here! Where’s Fritz? He’s next! Pieter? Where are you?

And so, by lunchtime, I had at least 4 headless boys running for food in order to fuel yet another Murphy revolution.  But the one with the white shirt… he of course made sure to keep his head.  It is called First Born Invented and Executed Democratic Autocracy.

celebrating belonging

But when the time arrived... God sent his Son... 

so that he might redeem those of us who have been kidnapped by the law. 

Thus we have been set free to experience our rightful heritage... 

fully adopted as his own children...

God sent the Spirit of his Son into our lives crying out, "Papa! Father!" 

- Galatians 4:4-5 MSG

J.I. Packer explains: "In adoption, God takes us into his family and fellowship -- he establishes us as his children and heirs. Closeness, affection and generosity are at the heart of the relationship. To be right with God the Judge is a great thing, but to be loved and cared for by God the Father is a greater." [Knowing God]

Therefore this Christmas we celebrate again

Jesus coming 

to redeem and adopt

us

into His family:

Respect your elders or else...

I was cleaning out some old folders on our computer and unearthed this video clip I received in an e-mail several years ago. Do you remember it? It was funny then,  but having reflected on the unstoppable and often sad and lonely reality of aging and the elderly this past year, I find it even funnier now.  The consequences for not respecting your elders could be costly  - especially for the ego of the arrogant.

redemption

Conversation with a Surgeon about a Little Boy's Broken Finger.

The finger, he said, is pretty messed up...

We humans, I heard, are pretty messed up.

It's broken, he said, it's worse than we thought...

We're broken, I heard, we're worse than we thought.

There is hope, he said, for healing of course...

There is hope, I heard, for redemption of course.

But growth, he said, may be crooked or odd...

And growth, I heard, refines the crooked'n odd.

And numbness, he said, cannot be ruled out...

but numbness, I heard, afflict even th' devout.

Yet movement, he said, should be fully restored...

There's movement, I heard, when the Spirit restores.

The whole finger, he smiled, is but part of his story...

The whole story, I smiled, is redemption, His glory.

watercolor

(nearly) Fingerless Fritz

I'm not sure what it is with Fritz and fingers, but it appears that he is determined to lose some.   And I guess being the last of five boys, he considered being the first to visit the ER a worthy contribution to a rather dull (:-o) family life.


So while investigating the extreme limits of a rocking chair's "rock",  he actually found that vital tipping point... to the detriment of a fingertip that bore the brunt of the impact and thus burst open(!) Skip the next 2 sentences if you have a vivid imagination and are sensitive to graphic descriptions. Devan described it afterwards as resembling a pull-tab soup can - half opened with the  contents spilling out. To me it resembled a weeping 3-petal tulip, and all I wanted was for those leaves to close back up and be bulb-like again!


If indeed angels are assigned to individual human beings, I suspect that boys need at least 2 of them at all times.  Our friend Chris chuckled with Scott and me (after the dust had settled and the blood had dried) as we imagined the possible conversation between Fritz' winged guardians yesterday morning: 


 "Angel Alert!  He’s going down! Every wing in position to buffer fall!"

Crash!!!!!!!!!!

"...Uh-o… who was supposed to cover the hands?!!"

"You were!"

"No, you were!"

"No I wasn’t – I secured his feet!"

"Not my fault, I held his head." 
"Oh dear... we better head on over to the ER and make up for this or we might just have our wings clipped!"

But despite our musings about imaginary heavenly panic, we vividly experienced the Lord going before us and holding everything together - specifically the finger and especially the mom:

We unknowingly ran to the wrong ER door, (it actually was the ambulance door), but as we realized our mistake and changed course, an EMT took pity on us and ushered us right into the heart of the ER, bypassing the waiting room.(!)

Dr. Bryon Frost (a friend) attended to Fritz. Our nurse, Shelley, is a mother of 4 with a little boy Fritz' age (a great comfort to a guilt ridden mom), and Dottie was available to comfort and care for the other boys at home. 

A mere 4 hours later we returned home with 12 stitches and a boy who... still acts very much like a boy.  He lost neither a beat nor a finger.  It is his mother who is still missing a few beats... and she sincerely hopes that The Fritz will not find life-as-the-caboose too dull too often...

Update (one week after incident): We found out today that the distal phalange (very end- bone) of the afflicted finger is actually broken... "crushed and kind of split down the middle" our hand surgeon friend informed us. There is also a slight possibility of sensory nerve damage. The good news is that The Fritz' age puts him in the "close-enough-to-creation-to-self-correct" category and the best treatment is to just let it be.  The bad news is that The Mom is shaken all over again!

During a recent visit to the hardware store, our "Bit of Hot Lava" was determined to convince Scott of his need for a new screwdriver.  You must understand at this point that this little boy already is was the owner of several screwdrivers. SEVERAL.  Being the wise man that he is, Scott was not swayed by the begging, puppy-like brown eyes framed by freckles and a reddish mop of hair.  Instead, he reminded Mr. Hot Lava about all the screwdrivers-in-residence waiting at home.  To which came the reply: "Well, you see.... I actually do not have them anymore... Mamma took them away."
Wise man: "Well, I am sure she must have had a very good reason for taking them away...?"
Hot Lava:" Wellllll, it all started when I used that one screwdriver as a dagger to attack Devan."
No Comment.
No new screwdriver either.

Mr. Hot Lava in Greek Warrior attire with alternative weapon in hand. 

And on the 7th day you will... erupt.

It is Sunday morning. There’s a kind of hush all over the world… all over the world except in the Murphy home.  The Tribe is dressed for worship and are supposed to be on the couch, semi-quietly occupying themselves so that their parents can become suitably clad as well. 

The “semi-quiet” part of our instruction to them was apparently sufficiently vague in nature, resulting in liberal interpretation, evidenced by the cry that soon stormed our way: Daddyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!!!!!!!! He hit me in the eye!

Scott (usually the more compassionate parent) responded with little interest or sympathy: Well, y'all are playing rough and that’s what happens when you play rough.

The "injured" boy, surprised and slightly taken aback, replied: OH no, we are not playing rough!!  We were just being volcanoes and the volcano just happened to explode at the wrong time!

With that he makes a one-eighty and speeds back to the “semi-quiet waiting area” with a: “Here I come, guys!  I’m a bit of hot lava!”

It is Sunday Morning.  There’s a kind of hush all over the world… except in the Murphy home where erupting volcanoes are ushering in the Sabbath.

(My sincere apologies to the unfortunate Sunday school teachers who had bits of hot lava on their hands for one long hour!)

Childproof?

Our home has been childproof for 8 years now.  Or so I thought.  You see, being a slow processor, it has taken me these last 96+ months to realize two seemingly obvious realities:

1)      childproof and boy-proof are 2 entirely different concepts

2)      1^st born boy-proof and 5^th born boy-proof are not comparable ideas

It all started when The Fritz decided to enroll himself in The Congaree Boys School.  His application was of course denied, but he keeps showing up nonetheless.  He has been expelled to his bed on several occasions, but some other boy (who is not coming forth) showed him how to escape.  So now we have to manage The Fritz ON our school table way too often.

 On one of his table expeditions, he got hold of this very interesting thing.  No-one noticed until… until he came to show us his sharpened fingers.  HIS WHAT?  Yes, he sharpened both his index fingers.  No cry, no alarm, no considering it a bad idea after sharpening the first!  Just a mere interested expression of “look at this odd red fluid dripping from my most useful exploration digits.”

No (serious) harm done.  He still has all the important aspects of his fingers – merely missing some skin and nails. Judging by the twinkle in his eye and the perpetual bump on his forehead, I fear a boy-proof environment in this house to be an unrealistic pursuit. 

blessed are the jungle dwellers

Blessed are those who live in the jungle, for they will not have sewer trouble. They may have other troubles, but no congested sewer systems to explode into (yes into) their homes.

Blessed is the jungle dweller because he does not have a concrete driveway on which a child can mar his face. Though they may bust their heads on many other things, concrete it will not be.

Blessed are they who rely on their feet with no other options of transportation. Not only do they benefit from fitness as a natural state of being, the absence of the expectation of an available and operable vehicle eliminates potential locomotion discontentment.

Blessed are those who set traps, hunt and wholly live off the land. While it is true that dinner may not exactly present itself to be killed and cooked when hunger strikes, they are at least likely to creatively fill a tummy without need of a grocery store - and a vehicle to get there.

Blessed are those without watches or calendars, for they are not slaves to such cruel taskmasters.

May I just say: This week I desired to be a jungle resident.

Click picture to enlarge.

Oh the things that we'll learn...

Parenting is a strange season in life – you learn the most unusual things. And I refer to those things that the books don’t even mention - probably intentionally. For who would be “fruitful, multiply, and fill the earth” if we knew all these things ahead of time?

Had there been a booklet: Essential Secret Information – Read This Before Considering a Family, it would most certainly include a section on bunk bed ladders. Experience has taught us that the cute ladder that comes with a bunk bed often causes more distress (for the mom) than it ends up being an avenue for getting a boy into his bed. Be sure, however, that the mother’s anguish is not ignited by the customary climbing of the ladder. (Bunk Bed companies do post all kind of bizarre warnings - on an equally silly sticker that will not come off for anything in the world - about how to climb a ladder.) It is the unorthodox use of the ladder that makes her banish the thing eventually.

You know what I am talking about: the removable ladder doubles as a fire truck, serves as a barricade (and all that comes with the need for such barrier – think war), becomes part of unwanted construction projects, and is propped up against all that is breakable in the house – for gymnastic purposes.

So you will understand that this mother was elated when The Experienced and Esteemed Mr. Wick Jackson (experienced and esteemed especially because he is one of 4 boys) came up with an ingenious plan to reduce motherly ladder-induced stress. He designed a built-in bunk bed (so they cannot tear it down) with a built-in ladder (in order to end and prevent any unsolicited use of such equipment.)

My heart was at ease… but not for long. The unmovable ladder did not meet boy-needs anymore, so they kindly introduced me to another section of the unpublished booklet: Boys and Heights – The Unquenchable Need and Ensuing Deed.

After capturing this clip, I was casually informed that Neels recently flew from the top bunk. I have no difficulty believing it. I am sure it is in the section: Boys and Flight – An Innate Trait. Oh the things we are yet to learn…

Lazy MinneMazy

Lazy Mazy was a bird. Do you remember her? Dr. Seuss tells the tale of this bird who laid an egg but was weary of doing what it takes to see it through to hatching. So she convinced the ever kind-hearted Horton the Elephant to sit on her egg for just a little while so she could stretch her wings for a bit.

So Horton the Elephant sat… and sat… and sat… through various trials and tribulations, waiting patiently and loyally for Lazy Mazy to return. Well Lazy Mazy did not just stretch her wings a little bit – she stretched them far and she stretched them w i d e. She went off on a glamorous vacation and stayed and stayed and stayed, shirking her duty, avoiding responsibility, basking in a liberated life… only to return moments before the egg hatches.

(click picture to enlarge)

Ugghhh - such a devious bird Mazy was. Such a bad mom. Who wants to identify with her?

Well… come to think of it... I do! And so I did. Weary of sitting on a bouncy nest, Scott and I flew off this past week after having implored at least 4 kind Hortons to guard our 5 eggs for a few days.

Now, at the time of departure, I had every intention off doing my duty and returning as promised … but within the first deliciously quiet moments of our escape I changed my mind: I was never, under any circumstances, returning to reality. LazyMazyness was my new real. Only a CrazyMazy would return to a nest brimming with 5 always-about-to-explode boy-eggs after tasting the emancipation of a place where no-one bickers, no-one leaves clean clothes and mud tracks on the floor (and if they do it certainly is no care of mine), and no-one wails because his banana is not served fast enough.

LazyMazyness afforded the unconcerned freedom of walking into a “breakables” store without having to fear the inevitable CRASH that would be caused by someone in my party, the luxury of soaking up colors while slouching on a couch in a favorite gallery, the serenity of reading a novel in a coffee-garden while sipping sweet caffeine because I want to, not because I need it to get through the day.

With LazyMazyness also came the joy of conversing uninterrupted with the (rather cute) man I married 10 years ago, discovering with some relief that we indeed still have a lot in common – other than those 5 eggs in the (by now forgotten) nest.

It was bliss. It was beautiful. It was… time to go home.

I sulked. I sniffed. I rebelled. But we respected our faithful Hortons-at-home too much to leave them sitting on our nest ad infinitum. (Though it was a very tempting contemplation…)

Thank you Emily, Nick, Didi and Grandpa for allowing me to be a LazyMazy for a few days! As a result of your kindness and bravery I like my husband, my nest, and my boys better. (And I suspect that my absence was a great source of refreshment to them as well.)

But… I am afraid that I don’t like them quite well enough yet… so… how about you all play Horton again soon… like maybe… next week? Yes??!!

we have a team

Whenever we go out as a family, we inevitably get the “Oh, you have a team!” comment.(Not being super familiar in American sports, I stand confused as to what kind of team we actually have: some people affirm us a basketball team, some count enough heads for a football team and others declare a baseball team. So either The Tribe moves so much it is hard to get an accurate head count, or many of our spectators are not very familiar with American sports either? I guess the former is more probable.)

I, however, usually inform the observer that what we really have is a Demolition Team. My comment is more often than not met with blank stares: A what…? Surely these sweet boys would never… They are too small to swing a tool of mass (I mean much)destruction… Destroy what…? I never explain. If they have not seen or experienced it, no words will convince them. Because you see, our boys do not need tools for mass destruction. They are born already equipped with hands and feet… and that 3 ½ lb thing balancing on top of their shoulders that is occasionally consulted - to determine who wins the “did-most-damage” trophy of the day.

Now in their defense: I do not think they typically plan the demolition. It seems to me that they just find themselves in the midst of it – not knowing how it started, why it started, or who started it. Because put a tool (and I use the term very loosely for anything in their possession is likely to become a tool) in their hands, and you have potential ruin.

Our friend, Mr. Wick Jackson, understands… and he is rooting for our Team! He assures me that this natural tendency towards shattering and scattering [stuff around] is a good thing. It is “By-Design”. It is their job. So he took the title of Team Manager upon himself and volunteered to direct the accustomed higgledy-piggledy demolition into constructive destruction.

He gave them a coach (Coach Glen Head,)

he gave them equipment ( hammers)

and he gave them a playing field (an old brick chimney hiding in the walls of our house.)

The aim of the game was simple: destroy it.

The rules were few: do wear shoes and do not throw bricks at each other.
(click picture to enlarge)

I watched with a smile – the first time ever I watched with a favorable facial expression - as they devastated something. I smiled because my assessment has been right on (and, ahem, it is good for a mother's self-esteem to be right sometimes, regardless of what she is right about): they are professional Obliterators. And I smiled because they were really good at it. And I smiled because it was obvious that they were created to do this. And I smiled because they loved it. And I smiled because the men coaching them enjoyed it. I smiled as they knocked and hammered and banged and thumped and bashed and slashed that chimney down all the way to the dust of the foundation.

And then I stopped smiling.

Game over.

No more chimney.

No more playing field.

Big Problem... they had tasted victory. They had pumped muscles. Adrenaline was oooozing out of their pores. They were hot and wired. They wanted more. Yikes! Now what Mr. Wick Jackson?

We do have a team: a Demolition Team. They’re good, they are ready, they’re available, they’re free – you want them?

The benefitz of The Fritz

The older boys often express how glad they are that we have “acquired” The Fritz.

Here’s why:

I have a feeling that The Fritz is equally happy to have been "gained"... most of the time anyway...

a joyful noise

There were shepherds out in the field, keeping watch over their flocks by night... And suddenly there was a multitude of angels all around them, making a joyful noise!!

Merry Christmas!

Ps: if you are unfamiliar with the unique instrument on the far left, it is called a snorkel.

Never leave a car seat unattended...

You've seen it (and if you're type A you've probably even read it): the "literature" accompanying a car seat purchase. The (ever thickening) Owner's Manual covers every buckle, clip and strap of the device and thoroughly states all kinds of potential dangers associated with the use thereof. But the version I read (yes, type A) failed to mention that it is absolutely essential, of course, never to leave a car seat unattended in the car port. For if you do, it might just become a homemade roller-coaster, compliments of Graco.

Our Mutt

The boys are eager for a pet. Unfortunately the low-maintenance kinds (frogs, turtles, ducks) that we have already had do not seem to count. A real pet, I am told, moves about freely on four limbs, reciprocates a boy's playful antics and makes noise.

So we found one. He was rather expensive, but we do intend to keep him for a long time. He is a mutt and we affectionately refer to him as The Fritz. He meets all the specified qualifications* and some more:

moves on all fours*,

responds with joy to energetic boy-action*,

growls, grunts and squeels*

claws, rips and swallows school papers and various craft materials,

chews on books, shoes (Crocs apparently taste best) and USB cords,

hunts for crumbs under the table,

drools and leaves splotches of saliva all over the floor,

has a curly Mohawk to pet,

is adored by all in the house,

and the boys fight over who gets to sleep in his room,

and the boys fight over who gets to feed him,

and the boys fight over who gets to wipe up his drool,

and the boys fight over who gets to watch him,

and the boys fight over who gets to hold him,

and the boys fight over who gets to play with him next...

Ahhhhh what chaotic joy. Four owners. Four personalities. Four better or four worse.

Here's how it is:

Owner#1: Responsible... yet his way is the only way.

Owner#2: Has a different view on life all-together.

Owner#3: Smiles life's troubles away. Beware: smile instantly turns to sword if crossed.

Owner#4: Independent, determined, look-of-innocence (until proven guilty... which he often is.)

Sigh...

At least the Concept of Belonging will not likely be one that The Fritz will seek therapy for in 20 years. He may, however, have to sift through the confusing emotional residue of labels such as "favorite" and "mutt".

grey hair is a crown of splendor...

A bent-over lady wearing a crown of splendor addressed my children in the Post Office. After making eye contact and exchanging a few words with each one, she turned to me and shared: " I have 9 children. When they were young, people would often ask me: 'With so many children you surely must have favorites - don't you love one more than some?'  And I would answer: 'But of course! The one who is gone until he comes back and the one who is sick until he gets well!' "

She walked off with a smile of remembrance and left me with a line to remember and an encouraged heart: she obviously did not merely survive 9 children but grew in wisdom in the midst of it!

The benefit of a brain.

Neels: Look at my "2"!

Mx: I like it.

Neels: Do you want to know how I made it?

Mx: How?

Neels: I used my brain! It is a great thing to have a brain - and to use it!

dinner dilemma

“Barbarian!” it rang through the house, “I’ll chop your head off!” I sighed. They were only playing "ancient history ", but the scene embodied more reality than I would like to embrace. Growing up, I pictured the barbarians of old as vicious human versions of pigs. Little did I know then that barbarian blood actually runs thickly in my veins, and that it would manifest itself in all sort of ways in my own home one day...
For one, we face an acute dinner dilemma. Turn up the volume, click this (sic) and close your eyes. Hear my distress as you listen to the sounds assaulting my ears whenever food appears in on our table...

My newest fear is that no girl will ever want them and that I forever will be stuck with 5 big ol' (potentially headless) barbarians around my dinner table!

A Letter To Winter

Dear Winter,
How true it is that absence makes the heart grow fonder! You’ve been gone less than half a year, and I already miss you dearly.

It is August and your sister, Summer, is in the midst of her annual visit. As always, she brought her customary gifts of delicious fruits, vegetables, green grass, pretty flowers, shady trees and fluttery butterflies. We are very grateful for her kindness. But… she also brought her pe(s)ts. Her visit would be so much more enjoyable without the presence of Mosquito, Fly, Roach and Ant. If only they could be exclusively outside pets… but they are pretty sneaky creatures indeed. This sister of yours is very generous with her warm embrace and I’m sure she means well, but I experience her to be a tad stifling at times. If only Cousin Breeze would come with her more often… he knows how to temper her strong personality to our benefit.
But in all honesty… I much prefer your cold kisses and unobtrusive hugs. You kindly leave it up to me to decide how much of your embrace I care to receive. I suspect you barely blink when I turn a warm blanketed shoulder to one of your icy squeezes. Winter, you are welcome here.

Oh and then there is the laundry catastrophe. Sister Summer is not very tolerant when it comes to laundry, now is she? I made the mistake of neglecting a load of laundry (it sat in the machine for just a few extra hours after washing) and she promptly reprimanded me by adding a moldy smell to the lot. Now how mean is that?! My clean load of laundry all smelly and in need of another full cycle. I mean really – so wasteful (not to mention inconvenient.) But you, on the other hand, are much more gracious – even helpful – when it comes to the laundry monster. Should I forget about a load for an hour and a day, you preserve it nicely and icily without any nosey reminders or reprimands. I like you.

Though your complexion may lack the vigor and color of your sister’s, your spaciousness sets you apart. My children in particular must feel drawn to this simple beauty of yours, for they stay outside persistently during your visits. (Presently I find them under my feet inside much, too often – I suspect Sister Summer and her pets are a little overbearing out in the yard.)

There is also the issue of bedtime… Maybe I’ll appreciate the gift of extra daylight more when our boys are older, but right now Sister Summer stretches the hours of activity beyond my comfort energy zone. Little boys have a hard time heading to bed – never mind actually falling asleep – when the sun continues to smile at them till 9pm. We wind down much quicker and easier when your cool darkness falls on us in late afternoon. Ahhhh, I cannot wait!

But just yesterday I spotted a hint of orange on a persimmon... a sure sign that you will indeed return despite the present persistent blazing temperatures. You and your hot teas and soups, blankets and socks, fire logs and… rats. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about your pe(s)ts… Could I be so bold to ask that you… er… come without them this year? We’re kind of crowded here since boy #5 arrived… so if you kindly would consider it…

Looking forward to you visit,
Affectionately,
me

it takes a village...

Fritz was baptized this morning. For the 5th time, we publicly surrendered a son to our Covenant God, praying that by grace he will some day recognise his desperate need for a Savior and turn to and trust in Jesus for his salvation. As the entire tribe gathered around the baptismal font, Chris, one of our pastors, pointed out that according to Scripture, Scott qualifies as a lucky man, for he has a quiver full!

As we stood there, affirming our faith and promising to raise Fritz accordingly, I panicked. I can’t do this! I have neither the wisdom nor the p a t i e n c e required to raise this little boy – never mind the legion surrounding him – in a way that would glorify God and show them Jesus. I looked out into the congregation and wondered who would see straight through me and notice my internal faltering… But what I saw was a great comfort. There they were: a host of friends who walked with us through the “Dark Ages” of our turbulent courting days, several who promised at our wedding to encourage us and hold us accountable sat in the pews once more, and my eyes connected with quite a few who have been faithfully accompanying us on this joyous yet unsure journey of parenting. Maybe they understood my hesitation?

But my heart settled into a grateful peace as they all rose to their feet and promised to undertake with us the nurture of this child. I am so thankful and relieved that we’re not doing this alone. Jesus has provided all we need in Himself and on top of that He has gifted us with the privilege of a covenant family. He knew it would take a village to raise a child… and a tribe to raise this mom!

My mom is visiting from SA - she is the one who looks like she could be my sister. Fritz is named in part after her late Father.Our friend Nigel was the elder at our side. He and his family has been at our side for many years... in fact, had it not been for his very organized wife who took us under her wing, our wedding would have been utter chaos!

The difference of a syllable

An authoritative source declares July 3-August 11 The Dog Days of Summer. So if you live in the South, you may rejoice with me that the draining heat is almost officially over. (Wat seker beteken dat die Suide van Arika se koue kloue eersdaags ook die pad sal vat?) Never have I been more excited about the approaching change of seasons. The Fearless Tribe (who tend to run around outside shortsleeved and barefooted when snow flakes descend) has been taking cover INSIDE for the last month. Hence the current definitions on our bulletin board: If only a situation was as easily (ex)changed as a syllable!

Anatomy 101

I loved anatomy in college, intently studied the books and cadavers and frankly thought they taught me well… but “they” apparently did not know it all. I recently learned a new anatomical fact: did you know that (some) boys have a button on their ears that they must push before they can hear (a mother's instructions)? Well, one of ours has discovered this button, kindly alerted us to its existence and proceeded to declare his button (unfortunately) out of order!

And I bet you did not know either (or maybe you did) that God made nostrils for the particular purpose of housing fingers. But I was shown - by yet another boy - that the benefit of these convenient holes are not fully experienced unless a third finger is added to the mouth.

Oh those anatomy books are in desperate need of revision - they are apparently SO lacking in essential and useful information!