Do you hear what I hear?

Danny and I were sitting in the living room catching up after work one day. I had just finished the 750-page, seventh and final volume of a series (you can probably guess which one) and we were discussing the various resolutions of the storylines, and identifying theological underpinnings, and so on when Danny casually stood up and leaned into our bedroom to put the book back on its shelf. Danny closed the door of the room and sat back in the living room rocking chair. All of a sudden there was a loud crash, followed by several smaller thumps and pops, and the sound of shattering glass. Danny and I just sort of sat there looking at each other, neither of us really wanting to know what had just happened.

It was as I had long suspected- that the owners of condo had, whether out of sloppiness or ignorance I don't know, installed those shelves the same way they had installed the towel bars in the bathrooms...which is, without anchors. My father, like Dominic, was always a stickler for the right way to do things. You don't paint over wallpaper. If you're going to install a new dishwasher, make sure you have a way to affix it to your granite countertop. And for Pete's sake, if you're going to hang anything on a wall, use the appropriate securements! When Danny placed the book on the shelf, the weight of it was just enough to cause the single screw in the drywall to tear through the plaster. The shelf plank, which had never been attached to the bracket (?!), slid off the dangling bracket and took with it all the candles and candle holders, and the small collection of books I'd kept on it (I never really trusted the shelf to begin with.) Having been positioned above a second book shelf, it knocked most of the books and photo frames off that shelf as well, before landing on my dresser and breaking the remaining porcelain trinkets, a glass globe, and the glass panes in my jewelry box. Even the mirror that we kept stored under the dresser was cracked, though Danny suspects that it happened prior to the shelf falling.

I think in another time, in another point of my life, I might have cried. But I just sighed and gratefully accepted Danny's offer to pick it all up. Not sure how I got to the point where I could shrug off such a disaster, but I'm sure having had children had something to do with it.

Danny and I celebrated our 7th wedding anniversary two weekends ago. It's been seven mostly blissful years, learning how to put God first in our lives, and watching how that makes us better at loving each other. We're still best friends, the way we started out 12 years ago, when I was just 16 years old. And like the best friends that we are, Danny bought me flowers and a straw hat and treated me to dinner at my favorite restaurant (Texas de Brazil) while I racked and racked my brain to think if there was something, anything, that I had bought for him that I had been saving for Christmas that I could give him now instead. But alas, I was empty handed as we drove to Miami. Instead I pretended that my charm was gift enough and I tried to woo him by identifying false English-Spanish cognates (aterrizando?) and explaining the riddles from my most recent cryptic crossword. It must have worked, because he was smiling all night. I, on the other hand, was blowing my nose all night. In fact, the last three times we've gone to Texas de Brazil, I've been ridiculously sick. Like I-want-to-take-a-pressure-hose-to-my-sinus-cavity kind of sick. Like, please-excuse-my-shnozz-trumpeting-fest-at-your-elegant-meal kind of sick. My track-record is equal to my dentist conundrum. I can tell you the month and year of every dentist appointment I have been to in the past 6 years. Why? Because after each appointment, I have found out within days, that I am pregnant. Who went to the dentist in June? Me. Who's pregnant again? Me. There, I've said it. Now I plan to continue going to the dentist for the rest of my life so this has got to stop. However, heck yes! Baby number 4 is on the way!

I grew up in a family of three kids. I can't even imagine what awaits me, though I know it's from the Lord, so I know it's gonna be awesome. My wake up call this morning: the baby monitor carries over the sounds of Toby's complaintive whining from being trapped in his crib, Noemie singing an impromptu melody of her own creation, Dominic inventing math sums at the top of his lungs, a cacophony that, in my freshly conscious 9 a.m. brain is reminiscent of Scuttle's crooning in the Little Mermaid's lagoon scene. Soon there will be another voice in the mix! But then again... it's 9 a.m. Who could complain?

I love the sounds of our family. Whether it's watching Noemie assess her appearance in the optical store mirrors, thoughtfully commenting, "I look good" with every pair of glasses she tries on, or hearing the disappointment in Dominic's voice as Danny explains to him that his milk changing color after soaking in Crunch Berries is not, in fact, a miracle but a physical reaction, I find myself spending a lot more time these days just listening. There's a lot to hear. We spend the first few years of our kids' lives filling their noggins with the building blocks of thought: language, reason, observation, cause and effect, opposites and synonyms, differences and similarities. Then one day you realize that, like a wind up car, they've taken off, practicing those skills on their own. You'll say something like, "Try not to use 'hate', it's a strong word. Say something else instead." And then later you'll overhear your son explain to his sister, "It's ok. I can say hate. Because I am a strong boy. So I can say strong words." One time while we were driving I got angry at Dominic (probably for taking his seatbelt off). I said to him, "Dominic, when we get home, you are going to be in big trouble." He looked at me solemnly and asked, "Are you going to kill me?" How absurd. It can't be good for my disciplinary edge if I'm laughing at him.

Even my word-less one has been communicating his fair share. I find him throughout the day with things in his mouth: legos, toy tires, chalk. If you say his name with just the right tone, he'll look at you, spit it out, and challenge you with a chin thrust and an expression that reads clearly, "'Sup?"

He may be cute but he's a hoodlum in the making. Watch him throw a bucket of crayons. Is that an expression of gleeful innocence? Nay. The chin nods again. He says, with his mischievous eyes, "Watcha gonna do now, Sucka?" Child, please.

We just finished our week-long unit study on Marco Polo. I made a giant felt map of the world with camels to track the Polo caravan across Asia. We made mosaics when the Polo's arrived in Turkey, practiced some Farsi words in Afghanistan. Dominic took a one-week trial class in Kung Fu.

A week of lessons and all Dominic reports to have learned on a quick survey is that Bactrian camels have two humps and that Marco Polo looked like a girl. Thankfully, he was able to remember just a little bit more when I quizzed him again later.

Espinosa sound byte:

Danny: (seeing an old picture of one of my distant cousins) That's a boy?!

Me: Yes, that's a boy. So was Marco Polo.

Danny: How do you know? Did you meet him?

Me: He had a beard.

Danny: Have you been to Russia?

Me: Marco Polo has.

Danny: Maybe that's why she has a beard.

I love my life :)