In honor of Halloween, I would like to share our family’s costumes that have been my favorites…
This is my daughter as Jessie from Toy Story II. I know, she’s adorable.
This is my son as Frankenstein. They have a lot in common, what with the stitches, scars and speech delay.
This is my husband. He really
And, here I am as Milk, Gone Bad. Get it? You can tell I’m a chain smoker by the way I’m holding the cigarette backward. Speaking of hands…with palms that large, I should’ve gone as Meadowlark Lemon.
Tell me, boys and girls…which one is your favorite? Hint: Don’t vote for the monkey.
One of my daughter’s traits that I brag about is her sense of compassion. When she was little, she went to preschool with a severely delayed boy. Without prompting by us, or by her teachers, she would seek him out and invite him to play each day. She even offered him the coveted job of helping to pass out napkins on her birthday.
I can’t say my son shares her kind nature. He will
cry when he sees someone else upset, but we really can’t be sure if that’s because he feels sorry for them, or if they’re just irritating him.
But at his school, they are trying to help us lead him down a compassionate road. At least a couple of times a month, my son has been taking canned goods to school to donate to needy families.
At first, he didn’t understand why we were giving away perfectly good peanut butter, so I explained that we were providing food to help people who don’t have any.
Yesterday, I bought these Halloween lollipops to give to some neighborhood kids.
My son saw them and said, “After dinner, I want to have one of those!”
I replied, “No. Those aren’t for us.”
He nodded and said, “Oh! Are we going to give them to people who don’t have any fingers?”
Maybe he’s getting this whole compassion thing after all.
Just over a month ago, I was out of town and my six year old son got sick with a sinus infection. My husband took him to the pediatrician on a Saturday, which meant seeing a different doctor than we normally do.
The doctor they saw is a lovely, kind, intelligent woman, but is that what my kid focused on? Of course not. He instead greeted this complete stranger by saying, “You have a really, really, really, big nose.”
So when my daughter had an asthma attack last Saturday and I had to schedule an appointment with the same doctor, I warned my boy not to say a word.
And I think the kid is starting to comprehend what I’m saying, because as the doctor with the big nose was examining my daughter, I looked down to see my son biting his lips so hard I thought they might bleed.