And Zen What

Three, Four, Five, and Six are at the big table making art and sporadically singing along to Disco Hits ("I Will Survive" is the favorite so far, with "YMCA" a very close second).

They had melted cheese sandwiches (think grilled cheese but without the mess--I wrap the sandwiches in a paper towel and zap 'em in the microwave) for breakfast so mere nourishment wouldn't interfere with the creative process. One-handed eating, no spoons, no liquids, calcium up the wazoo--can't beat 'em.

Every 2.3 seconds somebody pops up and approaches me, telling me about 6 thousand times in the 5 foot journey to "CLOOOOOOSE YOUR EYES MOM!" so as to make the revelation of the masterpiece--"NOW OPEN DEM!"-- that much more dramatic.

The masterpieces are just that too, I gotta tell ya.

At one point, Six is bopping around swinging some small plastic toy part on a string. The bird, who was hanging out on the top of her cage, suddenly took flight. I went to get her and calm her down.

Six came up to me and said, "Ummmm, Mom, um, .... Mom, I, uh, I accidentally scairt her with that thing."

Ok, this is HUGE. Six has never, ever 'fessed up to anything. Ever. Not once. He will deny that up is up and down is down. He will look you sincerely in the eye and tell you that the cookie in his hand isn't there, and he resents--resents!--your invidious innuendo to the contrary.

A completely understandable trait, given his history, and given his profession--being a small child entails a fairly hefty amount of prevarication. The whole point of being a little boy is to push the envelope, test the boundaries, and generally raise a ruckus while giving warm hugs, sweet kisses, and beeyootiful paintings to your mostly amused parental unit.

So I told him how proud I was that he told me what had scared the bird so that I could make sure she wasn't hurt. How proud I was that he had decided that making sure the bird was safe was more important than maybe getting in trouble.

He got a sweet bashful smile on his face, gave me a hug, and walked away with an extra, proud, spring in his step.

Then he called Five a big double-butt smelly cheese boy.

That's m'boy!