French Stew

This morning we all woke up in a good mood. Four and LuLu came into our bed and lounged, cuddled, tickled, and asked to be tickled. After M got out of the shower, I made a comment about how incredibly hungry I was -- rode 45 miles last night, 26 of them at an average speed of 26.7 mph, and had NO ice cream (my one true love besides my wife) before going to bed. Anyway, I didn't think much of it, but shortly after the munchkins dissappeared. As I walked down the hall to find out what trouble they had found, I couldn't hear exactly what they were saying, but there was defiinitely a spirit of cooperation. I could hear LuLu saying, "Allright." and "OK." I summoned M to see and hear. We tried to observe stealthily, but were busted.

"Mom, Dad, I made French Stew!" proclaimed Four. They had just about every mixing utensil out -- wooden spoons, wire whisks, BBQ brushes, etc. -- and were using them to stir together in a pot cantaloupe chunks, peach slices, and raspberry yogurt retrieved from the refrigerator. I was very impressed with their selections and how well they went together. I went to take a taste. First bite, delicious. As I'm putting the second bite in my mouth, Four starts reciting the ingredients. "Cantaloupe, peaches,..." I bite into something with a more dense consistency. "...yogurt,..." I'm thinking maybe cheese? "...and BUTTER!" I had to find a napkin.

A while back fellow blogger Philip over at The Blue Sloth, wrote a post that began with the question, "What makes your heart soar?" I think of this question often. Usually when the moment I'm in makes my eyes well up with pride, love, and admiration. This was one of those moments. Other recent moments have included watching Four thrive in his swim lessons that make most children cry, watching Four smile from ear to ear at soccer camp, watching LuLu gently push an infant buoyed in a inflatable swim boat around in a pool.