Angels. They were everywhere this month: they could be found hugging lamppost - lighting up the way into town (or at least into our town), they adorned Christmas trees, they hovered over nativity scenes. Children turned into cherubs with halos and all as they sincerely echoed the song of the heavenly hosts at Jesus’ birth. We thoroughly enjoyed them.
Our home also vibrated with some angelic activity this Xmas season. Early one morning, Scott was surprised to find an angel in a 5-year-old body adoring our Xmas tree. It was a real angel – with white wings and… completely n u d e. He turned into a boy when he realized he was discovered.
Another angel swept through the house as a mighty warrior. I mistook him for a boy running around with a sword, destroying my delicately placed Christmas décor. (Nothing stays “placed” for very long in a house with 4 boys anyway – why was I so ridiculously meticulous in my placement anyway?) I tried to convince the sword-bearer that angels do not carry weapons: they’re cute and sing - quietly. I was (more than) willing – for the sake of a moment’s peace - to endorse the current popular depiction of angels as cute chubby cherubs quietly and orderly fluttering about. Ahhh but he quickly reminded me that angels often instill fear and probably look more like this:
ps: Scott wants to know if the loss of Martin's wings is incentive and evidence enough NOT to have yet another chubby cherub? (sigh)
Our home also vibrated with some angelic activity this Xmas season. Early one morning, Scott was surprised to find an angel in a 5-year-old body adoring our Xmas tree. It was a real angel – with white wings and… completely n u d e. He turned into a boy when he realized he was discovered.
Another angel swept through the house as a mighty warrior. I mistook him for a boy running around with a sword, destroying my delicately placed Christmas décor. (Nothing stays “placed” for very long in a house with 4 boys anyway – why was I so ridiculously meticulous in my placement anyway?) I tried to convince the sword-bearer that angels do not carry weapons: they’re cute and sing - quietly. I was (more than) willing – for the sake of a moment’s peace - to endorse the current popular depiction of angels as cute chubby cherubs quietly and orderly fluttering about. Ahhh but he quickly reminded me that angels often instill fear and probably look more like this:
Another error I made regarding angles came in the form of our (cute chubby) youngest cherub, I mean child. If you know Martin at all, you know that he is probably the sweetest, cuddliest, best natured, most charming, easiest baby yet born to the Murphy household. His angelic personality has the potential of challenging the doctrine of depravity! But… to protect me 
against faulty theology, he recently (not so graciously) shed the angel image: with the event of pulling up to standing has come random, annoying ear-piercing expressions of... dissatisfaction? (Judging by his crimson breathless countenance, I am pretty sure it is not JOY he is communicating.) It seems like he found his legs, got a taste of freedom and (blame it on Adam) his wantonness surfaced.
During the day I can still handle his demanding shrieks: ignore it or pick him up (which usually results in The Return Of The Dimpled Smile.) But when he decides to rise at 4am and upset the entire household because it is stand-up-and–scream-time, no amount of remembering “the angel” helps to restore him to his previously suspected innocent status.
Oh, and then there is the “let’s-bite-a-chunk-out-of-mammas-shoulder” (recurring) action (which he does with a roguish smile.) Not deserving of a halo at all.
So as we lament the exodus of lights, decorations and angels, we at least enter the New Year with a fresh dose of reality: chubby (male) cherubs inevitably grow up, lose their wings and halo’s and become… bamboozling mischievous noisemaking (yet enjoyable) boys!
against faulty theology, he recently (not so graciously) shed the angel image: with the event of pulling up to standing has come random, annoying ear-piercing expressions of... dissatisfaction? (Judging by his crimson breathless countenance, I am pretty sure it is not JOY he is communicating.) It seems like he found his legs, got a taste of freedom and (blame it on Adam) his wantonness surfaced.During the day I can still handle his demanding shrieks: ignore it or pick him up (which usually results in The Return Of The Dimpled Smile.) But when he decides to rise at 4am and upset the entire household because it is stand-up-and–scream-time, no amount of remembering “the angel” helps to restore him to his previously suspected innocent status.
Oh, and then there is the “let’s-bite-a-chunk-out-of-mammas-shoulder” (recurring) action (which he does with a roguish smile.) Not deserving of a halo at all.
So as we lament the exodus of lights, decorations and angels, we at least enter the New Year with a fresh dose of reality: chubby (male) cherubs inevitably grow up, lose their wings and halo’s and become… bamboozling mischievous noisemaking (yet enjoyable) boys!
ps: Scott wants to know if the loss of Martin's wings is incentive and evidence enough NOT to have yet another chubby cherub? (sigh)
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