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We found out big news today about Ginger Snap the bunny: she is actually a he. His vet visit today confirmed that. Bunnies are just so fluffy all over, it's not easy for rank amateurs, as we are, to tell the gender.
Okay, so that meant a trip to the store right after the vet's to change out the pink things he has for more masculine colors. I just couldn't keep carrying a boy bunny in a pink carrier.
And the name has to go. Food names seem too feminine. And Fluff-anything is just too... fluffy.
He needs a tough, manly name now. Something that says he'll stand up to evil, fight for right, and defend the defenseless! Something that puts the fear of God into anybody with ill will.
Bruce Lee? Chuck Norris? Sylvester? Ahhnold? Richard the Lionheart? He is a Lionhead rabbit at least. We'll let you know when we decide what warrior-type name he gets.
Now a parenting question: How can I keep from hitting the ugly I've-Had-Enough Phase every single night?
I guess if my family were robots and automatically, quietly, and faithfully proceeded through bedtime steps in an orderly fashion, maybe I wouldn't hit the ugly phase. But I don't want robots for a family. They have free will.
I'd like them to use that free will to choose to obey me quietly and orderly every night, with a pleasant "Yes, Mom" and a smile. No fighting with a sibling, no fighting with me, no stalling, no lying awake for hours needing everything under the sun. We read a story, we talked, now just GO TO BED.
I don't want to keep going in this vein. It quickly devolves into complaining, and that's not who I want to be.
You know what? I just remembered the verse in Proverbs that says the sleep of a laboring man is sweet. I think they're not being worn out enough during the day through play outdoors, exercise, and chores, though I'm plenty worn out every night.
I'm glad my children aren't Stepford children. I'm glad they are who they are. God created them with individual personalities and talents. It will be exciting to see how they develop and use those talents as they grow.
In the meantime, I take comfort from looking at mothers of older children, my own mom included, and seeing that, yes, they did live through child-rearing; and there is joy to be had just for choosing it through the hard years and afterward.
The days are long, but the years are short. (I don't know who first said this, but I use it all the time now.)
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