Tia, Mago Elf Liam, Nem-nem Niamh, Lil' Bug, and I. (kid names are aliases)
//This cute fella captured our hearts–after he was bound to die by spraying 🙁
Nem cooed at this image. I captured it by moving the spider to the driveway. With the last of his strength he turned toward the sunset, which gave me better light, and since he wasn’t moving, I could set the camera to the nearest manual focus and nudge it as near as possible (angled via tripod mount) to get his eyes in focus.
//Oh this poor neglected blog. And still so many posts at social media I mean to copy here 🙁
But these utterances I feel quite compelled to write down.
Nem, before saying goodnight (with my replies, and the conversation), sadly and very tenderly, almost in tears:
“Dada?”
“Yes?”
“When my tooth comes out, I won’t be able to make the temple with my tongue anymore.”
“Well, you can make it other ways.”
“No, I put my tongue down like this, and that’s the bottom of the building, and the gap in my teeth is that tall, what do you call it?”
“Steeple.”
“So I won’t be able to make that anymore.”
“You know the conference center has a lot of wide steeples. It’s a huge building in Salt Lake where people go to listen to conference.”
“But I won’t be able to make the temple anymore.”
I’ve never known any soul so very sweet and tender. When she hears tragic stories about people, she simply feels their experiences as her own; she is devastated. I have tasted the fruit of the Tree of Life. This little one leads me on to the tree. The fruit is sweet.
Tangent: so much hilarity in videos playing imagination and goofing off with Nem are due here. ASAP…
//Against all odds.
Fabulous photo, Steve.
//Mago wrote this, and permits me to publish it here for your enjoyment.
I couldn’t resist proposing some additions (by simply making a copy of the document and writing them), and he enjoyed the additions, and decided to keep them.
We hope to record it as a very short audiobook to sell.
You may download it freely, at this link here: home.ussins.org/dist/The_Magic_of_Jenkins_Farm.pdf
//I’ve neglected to repay thanks for a certain miracle, so I’m glad that the following, which so easily writes itself, reminds me that I ought to.
Every evening that she can, Nem* exchanges Eskimo and butterfly kisses with me, followed by a (rather funny) thing she calls “Smooshy Eyes,” which is to stare intently into my eyes as she smashes her nose against mine and tilts her head back and forth (and I believe she’s said her Grandma Betsy invented this, though I really wonder), and then lastly, she kisses her hands, extends them toward my heart, exhales as she flutters her fingers, and says “Twinkle Heart! Good night, I love you, sweet every color dreams, I love you!–” etc.
On several occasions as she has done this, she’s added explanations such as: “The twinkles go into your heart, and remind you to love me.”
Me, to Tia, this morning: [Something blah blah frustrated probably unnecessarily unpleasant query something, some other maybe unduly unpleasant query something.]
Nem: (mildly stern) Daddy, stop fighting. Remember: (clearly enunciated) ‘Twinkle Heart.’
I laugh.
Nem: (as in: ‘what’s funny?’) What?
Me: Okay, Nem.
I laugh more.
Nem: What?
Me: That was very good of you, Nem.
Nem: (mildly stern) Twinkle Heart.
I laugh more.
Duly and perfectly instructed, little one.
—
*So nicknamed, and my daughter for whom I wept for joy when I was surprised to learn that Tia would give birth to her, a girl, a little girl sent to me!–and so soon (or at this writing), Nem is six years old!
//Nem shows me little stringy and lumpy bits of dried glue, which, except that they are white, look like grotesque boogers.
Nem: Daddy, look what I found under the glue!
Me: In your nose?
Nem: No, under the glue!
Tia: He’s making a joke, Nem.
Me: Because they look like dried boogers.
Nem: No, I found these under the glue!
Me: I know, I joked that you found them in your nose, because they look like dried boogers.
Nem: Oh.
She offers a little courtesy laugh.
Tia smiles at me.
I laugh.
Nem: Daddy, look what I found in my nose!
She holds up the glue-boogers. I laugh more.
Nem: Daddy, Daddy, look what I found in my nose! Daddy, Daddy!
She keeps repeating things like this. I laugh harder until I’m in hysterics and crying. She tries to tickle me.
Nem: Daddy, look what I found in my nose! . . .
//Every night, Nem-nem (now 5) wants a hug as she goes to bed, and she then methodically, meticulously gives me an Eskimo kiss, and kisses and butterfly kisses on my chin, cheeks, nose, and forehead.
She’ll then always insist that I sing a lullaby, which almost invariably is “[Nem-nem’s] Lullaby,” which is my adoption of Highland Cathedral, as described here (broken links/media at that page as I write this).
She’s taken to correcting Mother, that she should call me Alexander, not Alex, and she can spell that name out.
Speechless.
//Me: “Great Elf William, will you forgive me if I eat downstairs? I want to do some writing.”
Mago looks confused. “Great Elf William?”
“I gave you that nick-name at my blog. I call you Mago Elf Liam.”
“Oh. . . . Elf?”
I laugh. “It’s kinda silly.”
“So does ‘Mago’ mean ‘Great?”
“Yes.”
Indeed.
(He’s halfway to eight, as I write this.)
//A conversation between Nem (now 5) and me, earlier this week:
Nem: “Do you remember your Teacher?”
Me: “No, I went to Kingdergarten for a few days, and decided not to go. And I had school at home.”
“Who was your Teacher?”
“My Mother.”
“Do you remember your Mother?”
“Yes.”
“Then you *do* remember your Teacher!”
//[I have looked up the prefix “septi” since this exchange, and oops!–I was in error. “Septi” is a combining form that means seven, not five. “Penta” is a combining form for “five.”]
Mago, to Tia: You measured Canada?
Me: Yes. It was five.
Mago: Five?
Me: Yes.
Mago: Five what?
Me: Five septiCanadas.
Mago: What’s a septiCanada?
Me: If you take the area of Canada, and divide it by five, you have a septiCanada.
Mago: Wait, so when you were five, you took a map of Canada and measured it–
Me, laughing: No–
Mago: and you drew five lines through it–
Me, laughing: No–
Mago: and you called each one of them a septiCanada?
Me, laughing: No. I made that up just now.
//I don’t know how I missed this Talking Heads song. It’s hard to imagine I never heard it (even for my crowded, unorganized, largely unrecognized collection). One day it just lit me up–even while I’m not entirely certain I understand it.
When my love stands next to your love/I can’t define love/when it’s not love/which is my face/which is a building/which is on fire!
I played it and sang it to the kids and Tia. The kids especially cracked up.
(I later learned that Mago thought I wrote and recorded this song. I wish.)
Just now I had this conversation with Nem when I played the song:
Nem: Sing it!
Me: No, I want to eat.
Nem (cries and pouts) Nooo, *you* sing it!
Me: I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to break your heart!
Nem: Okay, I’ll get ready to laugh.
//As I carried Nem-nem on my shoulders recently, on a walk:
Nem-nem: “All children have toys.”
Me: “No, not all children do. I’m sad about that. And some children have sad things in thier lives. Even so sad that some people don’t want to talk about them.”
Nem: “Like they don’t have computers? . . . Or thier parents don’t have computers?”
Your life is more good than you know, Nem. I’m grateful.
//Mago: I just had an idea for how to find all the animals of one kind. Find a few of them and sample their DNA and then put it into a computer and have the computer analyze it, and then upload it to a satellite that scans the world for that kind of DNA, and it will find all the animals of that kind.
Me: Hmm, I dunno how a satellite finds DNA.
Mago: I dunno. A very advanced satellite.