Don't you love this little tune? I'm a Little Teapot. I sang it at my kindergarten graduation forty long years ago. The big boys might be apalled by it, but, let's be real... William and Gabe have four big sisters right above them -- they're going to learn more girlie songs than the first four boys did. It can't be helped.
Trust me, though, these little guys are in no danger of growing up effeminate. One of their favorite things is to dig around outside looking for "ghost soldiers," the maimed and wounded army guys their brothers long ago left buried or dangling in the branches of trees. It's always a big score for the two littlest brothers to find these poor, dirt-encrusted guys. The provenence makes them particularly special soldiers to add to new battles played out by William and Gabe.
No worries, really, big brothers, the little brothers are all boy. They love to "rassle" together in the grass, rolling and squirming until someone comes up crying. (That's how you know the rassle is over, doncha know.) Like any real boy, any stick they find instantly becomes a gun or sword. There's no limit to their courage and daring -- and carelessness, either. So typically male, these traits. Not a single one of my girls is like that, even my biggest tomboys, but all the boys, from the top of the pack to the bottom has gotten into "dangerous-boy-adventure" scrapes out here on the farm. For instance, like their big brothers, the little boys climb up and over and into everything. They have no regard, whatsoever, for gravity.
I had a scare yesterday morning because of this. While the girls and I were in the house doing schoolwork, I heard, somewhere outside in the distance, the boys screaming and yelling. I didn't think much of it at first. They're always screaming and yelling. But, as my ear tuned into the sound, my mother's radar realized it was no ordinary squabbling or playing scream. Do you know that feeling? My adrenaline rushed and my feet were under me in a half second. Following the sound, I skirted out to the backyard, where I found William dangling from his shirt on the four-foot-high fence surrounding Grigio's pen. You couldn't see William's face, because he'd hooked the front of his shirt on top of one of the pickets when he was trying to climb over. But you could sure hear him. He was screaming bloody murder, thank the Good Lord -- because that meant his windpipe wasn't being squeezed. Gabe was standing right behind William, inside the pen crying his eyes out, apparently trapped both by the fence and by his fear for his little brother. But, I had the little brother off the fence, scolded and hugged in a jiffy, and William, being the steam engine that he is was rolling around the back yard in a minute, the whole thing forgotten. Gabe, my sensitive child, needed a little more consoling. But all ended well, thank God.
We owe a debt of gratitude to William's Guardian Angel that he wasn't strangled! The boys are now forbidden to climb over the fences. In theory that ought to prevent any more like accidents. In theory.
It's just a good thing their Guardian Angels can be with them every second of the day.
Which reminds me! Blessings to everyone on this feast of the Guardian Angels! Our gratitude to all of our angels, who are, by name: Matthew, Dorian, Louis, Joseph, Anthony, Mark, Barbara, Angela-Catherine, Lucy, Judy, Augustine, and Oliver. And greetings to the angels of all who visit here today! Gloria in excelsis Deo!