Pleasant days

We’ve had a great few days.  I may be starting to get the hang of having six children in the house, including four boys who like to overturn livingroom chairs and set them up at opposite ends of the room and play soccer with the nice upholstery as goals despite the fact that we have a completely bald front yard for that. 

Last night, at bedtime, I found Yosef and Fisseha on all fours on the carpet facing each other across a wide arched doorway from which they’d hung a small heavy rubber ball on an elastic string. Their game, they explained, was half-Ethiopian and half-invented. You had to bat the ball back and forth using only your head or your feet, the latter requiring you to roll onto your back and kick.  Amazed, I said what any mother would say at this moment:  “Fantastic!  I love it!  Now go to bed.” 

Last night Daniel shyly came to me in the laundry room holding up a fairly new pair of jeans and sadly saying, “Too short, Mom.”

“Really?” I said.  “Your new jeans?”

“Yes Mom.  See.”

They were too short.

“Daniel, good grief!”  These were the 32/30s.  “Was your father a very tall man, Daniel?” 

“Yes Mom, very tall.  Anybody need something reach very high they ask.”

“How tall?  As tall as Lee?”

“More tall.” 

“As tall as Seth?”

“More tall, Mom.”

“As tall as Ralph?” (Our six foot-five inch cousin.)

“Same same, or maybe big.”

“Daniel, you’re going to be really tall!” I said in amazement.

He dropped his head shyly, surveyed his front.  “Body no grow.  Only legs grow.  Shirt good.  Pants no good.”

“Daniel, you really should learn to play basketball.”

“No Mom.  Soccer.  Tall good soccer.”  

I’m glad Daniel’s going to be very tall.  Height will make him more of a force in the world.  And soon he will be able to replace the burnt-out recessed kitchen light bulbs without standing on a chair.