These are my grandchildren, Hadrian and Hannah. Are you surprised I’ve had the fortitude to wait until my fourth post before I’ve written about them? These beautiful children are five years old, born six weeks apart and I was there for both births.
Nearly every Saturday Hadrian and Hannah have a sleepover at our place. The tried and true routine begins with a trip to the park or pool in the afternoon. One Saturday we took the cousins to an outdoor pool where Hadrian spent most of his time using the water squirter that Fred got him to propel water thirty feet in the air. Hadrian loves all things mechanical. He loves elastics, coil door stoppers, and bubble machines.
At bedtime Fred brushed their teeth, and I read them stories on our bed with Hannah on one side of me and Hadrian on the other. Halfway through Hannah’s selection, Riverbank Rumpus, I stopped. “Hadrian, was that you?”
“P.U.,” said Hannah.
“Scuse me,” Hadrian said quietly.
While we read the book he chose, a book about trucks, I smelled another one.
“Hadrian, was that you, again?”
“Scuse me,” he confessed.
The third time it happened, I was reminded of the night his dad went into his bedroom to check on him before turning in. Hadrian was sound asleep, half on, half off his bed. As Jeremy got him comfortably settled a stinky odour arose followed by a “scuse me” from the boy still asleep.
After two stories from the Jesus Storybook Bible, it was time to tuck them into their own beds with kisses and prayers. First Hannah, then Hadrian. That’s when the fourth one silently erupted.
“Hadrian,” I said, “you are a farting machine.”
Both children laughed hysterically.
“I’m a farting machine,” Hadrian said and giggled with delight. “I’m a farting machine!” he repeated with wonder.
I praise you because
I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.