The measure of a mom ...

An inch.

that's all it took ... I gave him an inch, he took a one-foot fall into a shallow bog at the botanical gardens.

So, i ask, is the "good" mother the one who keeps her child from falling into the bog in the first place by not giving that inch ... or is it she who keeps her wits as she fishes him out, undresses him, removes her jacket, covers him up with it, and then -- after he has calmed -- sits back down to chat with her friend as her son continues to play ... ?

It's a rhetorical question, at least, I don't think it's either/or. It's just a thought. I'm actually rather proud of how calmly i approached the situation. and it did give a photographer a very cute subject (if I do say so myself). Read more!

Places we go ... principles that stay

Wesley and Emily went to the NC Museum of Life and Science today. It's a great place for children. Some of you have been there and seen the butterfly house, the remote control sailboats, the bears, and the giant playground, and can attest to the fun it offers.

Wesley likes to watch the videos of rocket launches and to climb inside a rocket capsule and pretend that he his taking off. "Five, four, three, two, one ... blast off!" he yells.

Today he briefly followed a group of six school children as they looked at native owls, turtles, snakes, alligators, etc. "Oh, wow," he repeated after the six year olds. "Hey, look at that, that's a big snake." Then he'd laugh with them and run to the next exhibit.

We had a lot of fun before returning home and playing with his trains. "Your turn, Mawmaw," he'd say if I hadn't looked up from my book in a couple of minutes. Then he'd take a train and put it in my hand.

The pictures in this post aren't from the museum. Unfortunately, I left the camera at home. Nope, these pictures were taken back in November when Patrick and I drove three hours to take Wesley to Tweetsie Railroad. We sure love our adventures!

He had more fun playing in the leaves and with the Thomas play table than riding a real live steam engine. I don't blame him: It was cold outside and the train was LOUD.

Just yesterday Wesley and I stayed in all day. We didn't even go in the backyard or walk to the park.

Nope, I had to clean.

I was folding laundry when I heard a quiet little voice repeating: "A pure heart. Oh God, my God. A pure heart. Oh God, my God." He mixed up the words a bit, but it didn't matter one bit to me. I beamed and delighted in hearing him spontaneously repeat words from a new prayer.

The actual prayer by Abdu’l-Bahá goes like this: "He is God! O God, my God! Bestow upon me a pure heart, like unto a pearl."

Those moments tell me that his most fun memories fade in value next to his most firm morals. And those, we can offer to him wherever we are.

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