"Shy of My Talk"

That's what Alaina said. "But I'm shy of my talk". I know what she meant was that despite all the practicing, and the fact that she wrote (and colored her own talk), she was too afraid to approach the small child-sized pulpit, look up at that huge congregation of scary primary children, and vocalize her testimony. I should have known that would happen, given on most occasions she is too gun-shy to even pray vocally in family prayer. She is much more content to wait til the quiet of her room and do it there. I guess I am ok with that. The part of me that isn't is the proud mamma part. And it isn't so important how that part of me feels as how she feels.

So we made her give her talk in Family Home evening at Mom and Dad's house. She was the star of the show there. She even drilled her audience with questions to ascertain whether they were listening as attentively as they should have been. Baby steps. For all intents and purposes she is still a baby isn't she?

Bedknobs and Broomsticks

I have been trying to figure out a way to ease Matthew into his own bed for a while now. Alaina has grown tired of his tossing and turning, his legs draped over her body as she tries to slumber. She has even acquiesced her own bed in favor of a purple inflatable "Dora" bed, into which she zips herself up each night on the floor to escape the nightly torture her brother puts her through. I often find her pinned up against the wall, cheek plastered to the wall with some help from her drool, and Matthew sprawled out horizontally on the bed. It is rather incredulous how much space his little body can actually cover.



So, knowing of my son's ardent love for "Cars" the movie and all things Lightening McQueen and Mator I purchased a Cars Toddler bed set, complete with a large plush Lightening Pillow. He waffled on the level of excitement he was willing to display about it. But Alaina, knowing the impending freedom and good night sleep that lay ahead of her if we pulled this slieght of hand off, was on board. She is a great little coach, and before long, after several blunt hints at how tired she was, and generous offers to read him a bedtime story, and after I had to pull her out of his bed to let him in, she had her little brother nestled into his new bunk. She decided she would be his roommate for one more night and dragged her raft of a bed into his room next him. They only got out of bed one time. . . . well make that two times for Matt. Because when I went in to check on them I found him on his floor, head nestled in the crook of her arm, and monkey faithfully by his side.

For about two weeks this routine has continued. But somewhere between here and there Matthew is now in Alaina's bed again. This time Alaina has insisted he occupy the space nearest the wall. She usually reaches the land of nod long before he, clinging to the edge of her bed. I was reminded of my torturous existance when Matt was occupying my bed. I thought I would find greater joy in witnessing another deprived of space, but my poor daughter's plight is almost enough to break my heart. I did say ALMOST. Until she starts complaining again, I will let them enjoy that mischevious fun that always accompanies a shared dorm, a disregarded bed-time, and brother and sister's love for late night giggles. And I will try my best to let them enjoy the bedknobs while keeping my broomstick in the closet by trying to keep my cool and endure the constant reminders to keep it down, and go to sleep.