'What does love mean?" she asked

Melía tells us she loves us a lot. Scores of times each day.

And at least as often, we tell her that we love her.

We quite enjoy it, although it might get kind of nauseating after awhile if you were here listening.

"I-love-you-so-much-you-are-so-cute, pweety pie," she'll say to me, rapid-fire. Kisses--wet, wonderful and splattered all over my face--come with the deal.

"I love you so much, my mini-Melía. You are my wonderful, sweet, beautiful princess daughter."

"I love you so much, Bo-Bo." (Bo-Bo? Don't ask me.)

This kind of dance goes on throughout the day, from the first hello in the morning, to the final good-night in the evening. (And on to the five or six loving good-nights she manages after that, before we stop responding.)

But one day, in the midst of one of these syrupy sweet conversations, she asked,

"Daddy, what does 'love' mean?"

I know now that I answered way too quickly, considering that this may be the most important question in the universe. The fact that I don't even remember my answer shows how profanely hasty I was to field this holy inquiry.

But I must have said something like, "Love is sharing, and being nice and good to people, helping them, even when they are not nice to us." (Accurate, but so blasé. I should have spent days pondering it, like I'm still doing with the "When will God rest again?" question.)

What I do remember is her response: "Oh, that's fun!"

I buy that.

Is love easy? Rarely.

But when we manage to pull it off, is it fun? Absolutely, my mini-Melía.

'I wonder how God puts the baby inside,' she said

Thursday I talked Brielle into snagging a Del Taco strawberry shake to share. (This delicacy beats anything Starbucks sells and for well under three bucks.)

It didn't take excessive persuasion. But healthy girl that she is, she was helping me justify the purchase as we pulled out of the drive-through.

"Daddy, this strawberry shake is good for you--a little bit good for you."

"Well, yeah, it does have some good things in it, like protein, and calcium, and a little bit of vitamin C and fiber from the strawberries." (OK, so it is a VERY little bit of these latter--but part of the beauty of this shake truly is how many real frozen strawberries they blend in. You really must try one.)

"I know," she said.

She does, too. We often talk nutrients--and lack thereof.

"But it also has a lot of---"

"Sugar," Brielle finished my hackneyed critique for me. "Yeah." A wistful sigh.

"It has a lot of fat too," said I.

"A lot of people like to be skinny," mused Brielle.

A brief fear that our nutritional conversations had begun warping her body image poked its nose into my chest. "Yeah, they do, Brielle." I clung to matter-of-fact-ness.

She took the topic elsewhere, mercifully. "Pregnant ladies are fat and skinny."

"Verdad, niñita."

"They're skinny on top and they're fat in the middle. Because they have a baby inside their tummy."

I breathed a couple gentle laughs.

"I wonder how God puts the baby inside their tummy." (So much for merciful topic changes.)

"You wonder what?" I asked, feeling suddenly desperate.

"I know God puts the baby in their tummy, but I wonder how He does that."

I considered going there, but decided quickly that I lacked the time and preparation to do so competently. (OK, and I lacked the guts too. But honestly, if holding a cell phone to one's ear is illegal while driving, shouldn't having "the talk" with a 5-year-old be too?)

"That's pretty crazy, huh? We'll have to go to the library and get a book about that."

---

So...any great book ideas, dear friends? Seriously.

Golgotha to Netflix

Brielle was standing by the tub from which she’d just emerged, an angel burrito there in her white towel, hair soaked, when she launched her latest theological-epistemological inquiry.

Brielle: Daddy, how do so many people know that Jesus died but they didn’t see it?

Daddy: Well, the people who saw it told other people about it and they wrote it down.

Brielle: Oh, they wrote it down. (nodding) That’s how they know. (obviously—writing is becoming a bigger and bigger part of her world every day).

Daddy: Yeah, and then the people who wrote those stories down gave them to other people who made them into a book—the Bible. And other people gave that book to us.

Brielle: And then they also gave it to Netflix.

Daddy: (unable to restrain a giggle) To Netflix?

Brielle: Yeah, Daddy, because they made a movie about it.

The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Since college I have been bothered and intrigued by the story of how biblical stories were recorded, preserved, crystallized into a canon and passed on to readers. It is our greatest leap of faith as Christians, I think. We trust that a transcendent God wanted to reveal Himself and relied on human storytellers to set down the truth about Him. Then he counted on history to keep the stories intact, and translators to render them accessible to the common soul. It’s quite a story.

I just failed to take it all the way to DVD.

Questions I asked myself today

Today was one of those Sundays when Rachelle worked, meaning Daddy day care for the girls. Here are just a few of the questions I distinctly remember asking myself today.

• Why do they make toys for children that create more work for the parents than play for the child?
• Why do we buy these toys?
• Are all these pieces necessary?
• Which child wiped the poop on the hand towel?
• Did said wiping occur before or after yesterday’s guests were here?
• Which is the best kindergarten for Brielle?
• How should I balance my time today—getting chores done around the house or playing on the floor with the girls?
• Should I agree to this sparkly butterfly tattoo Brielle is trying to share with me or take a stand for my manhood while risking making her feel rejected?
• What time is Rachelle coming home?
• Does a protein shake with vitamins count as a meal for the kids?
• Are her feet too cold?
• Are they too young to help build the fire?
• Should I wake them up from the nap or enjoy the extended peace?
• Should I stop reading the story to discuss the pictures and throw in some Spanish, or just get on with it?
• What is that smell?
• How much candy have they already had today?
• Do I need to change what I’m eating/drinking, given that they want some of whatever it is?
• Do they need a bath?
• Is that Rachelle calling to say she’s on her way home?
• Is it warm enough to go outside and play?
• Who should I put on time out—the one who hit or the one who provoked it, or both?
• Is silver poisonous?
• To what extent might the 10-second rule be stretched?
• Should I listen to something that feeds my soul, or something the kids like?
• Is this the best way to discipline?
• How did we ever get all this stuff?
• Why can’t I have a bigger lap?
• Could they get any more cute?
• What time is Rachelle coming home?
• How many times have I already asked that?

Who says parenting is not mentally stimulating?