Sunday's Toddlers' Trucks and Toes

The air explodes with squeals, giggles, kid calls, and the pitter patter of many feet when church lets out.  6 or 7 toddlers, with 2 or 3 primary aged children, are thrilled at being cut loose from adult restraints.

Our current small membership has recently had a population explosion.  After dismissal, the church house experiences after-shocks of frenzied activity.  It's wonderful!  Innocence and exuberance make the rest of us smile.

Earlier, during services, Jay and I read an interactive book titled Matching Pics Slide and Find Trucks.  Just as he had done on the previous page with a red fire truck,  I slid open an orange tab.  Under it was an orange backhoe and I pointed to the matching orange backhoe on the opposite page.  This precocious 4 y.o. claps his soft little hands and cheers, "Yay.  You found it.  Good job!"  Of course, I laughed at the irony!

After Jay scooted away, Lilly sidled in.  She and Layna got out coloring books and a bag of crayons.   Lilly asks Layna for purple but also wants another color, "Yell-yo" so she returns the purple one.  Polite 2 y.o. Layna says, "Thanks Yill-yee" and adds her little thoughts, "Yill-yee's funny.
It's my col-wer."

Later in the hall, Kit, who has recently been introduced to other churches, and hasn't attended here for a few weeks, peeks from behind his mother's skirt to declare, "This is MY church!"

And then there's Olga, the hair flouncing, confident princess, who gets in the middle of the adults to twirl on the sidewalk, "Do you know why I'm happy every day?  Because everyone tells me I'm cute."

Can't forget Bruce; 2 years old, a bit dutchy in speech, full of vinegar, throws a toy on the top step, looks me in the eye, and with proud clarity says, "TRUCK!"  Well, I sure understood that!

Let's tack on one more little story.  It happens after church-goers break up from eating Mexican fare.  Lilly is playing outside on the pavement, claiming the area, "This is my house.  These are my toys.  Over there is not my house."  Suddenly, she stands stock still and points to the heavens, "LOOK!  It's an airplane with fwashing lights."

At home she rides her Playskool scooter and purposefully drives it over a rock, "I have a flat tire", she states.  Since I'm a good "GwammyPam", I pretend to fix the flat tire.  She straddles it again, goes forward a few inches then parks the right front tire smack-dab on a rock!  "I have a flat tire", she raises her voice.  Laughing, I again pretend to fix the flat tire.

Deciding to get a screwdriver and a box end wrench to tighten the handlebars I head for hubby's tool chest.  Behind me I hear her little feet padding along, and her little girlly toddler voice, "I have a flat toe.  I stepped on a rock."

To make sure I knew, (And I did.  I knew she was threading a story and making connections.) she restated it.  Her dad heard, her grandfather heard, I heard, and the air exploded with giggles again.

"I have a flat toe!"