Story time with Alex

A pile of clothing, still warm from the dryer, created a mountain on my bed. Scattered hangers littered the room, while Alex was cozily amongst the chaos with his blue blanket stuffed under his nose and twirled among his tiny fingers. SpongeBob Squarepants played on the TV, and Alex said, "Mommy, lay down with me." I just couldn't, not then. I wanted to. The Lord knew I needed to, but there was a pile of clothes beckoning my attention.

So I folded, hung and put away the mountain of clothing.

And, then, I laid down with Alex.

He looked up at me, smiled and said, "Kiss me, Mommy."

So I kissed his tiny cheek, and he smiled.

Then, he said, "Tell me a story."

Translation? Tell him a story. Don't read a story, but make one up.

To grab Lucas' attention, who also meandered in the room, I started out, "Once upon a time, there was a little boy named Lucas ..."

But was quickly interrupted.

"No. Tell me a story about a little boy named Alex."

So I started again. "Once upon a time, there was a little boy named Alex." A grin spread across his face, so I continued, "He was a silly little boy ..."

"No. Tell me a story about a little boy named Alex who lived in a house with his family."

The story started again. "Once upon a time, there was a little boy named Alex, who lived in a house with Jacob, Lucas, Steelie, Henry and Mommy. He loved to play outside with his new horse tire swing and pool. The end."

A smile spread across his face. He was happy. So was I.

I guess it doesn't matter if the story is fiction or non-fiction as long as a mommy and her tiny son are curled up in a big bed just a kiss away from happiness.

Did you really say that?

Out of the mouths of babes.

Yep. That's the story of my life.

With an ever-increasing number of babes, I often wonder what exactly will spill from their lips next.

Take Baby Boy, for example. Always seeking attention, he gets sillier by the day. This week, he's already announced that he wants a parrot for his shoulder. And kindly looked at the baby-sitter's chest and asked her if she was "getting ready to feed a baby too." And that was just two simple statements out a myriad of the ones he's spilled forth in the past couple of days.

To be honest, I never know what's next.

Even Eldest Son has his moments. The hair stylist cutting his hair Monday afternoon mentioned that Middle Son doesn't talk much, but ES does his fair share. His response? "I only talk to people who aren't creepy." She was happy not to be creepy. As for Henry and myself, we buried our faces in our laps.

I've gotten over it being embarrassing, because once upon a time, it really was. ES would open his mouth, and I cringed. While I was pregnant for MS, he asked one of my male colleagues if he, too, was having a baby. Sometimes I could see the wheels turning just enough that I was able to clamp my hand over his lips in time to catch the inevitable phrase -- but that didn't happen as often as I would like.

Now, I just laugh.

I chalk it up to what kids say, and I giggle knowing that they're only little and innocent for awhile. One day, I will wish such honesty would spill from their lips. One day, what they say will no longer make me laugh. Sometimes it'll even make me cry.

So, I'll enjoy it now. Pardon me if I giggle.