Saturday, July 23, 2011


     When Rooster was born, all of the nurses in the maternity ward made cooing noises at him and commented at how they'd  love to take him home.  He was always being held, always being talked to- I thought this was what maternity nurses did.  When Cricket was born, I learned differently.  He kicked, he squirmed, he screamed when he cried. The nurses wanted no love from Cricket.

     I learned quickly that my two children are very different.  Where Rooster craves quiet places with little interruptions, Cricket wants the world at his feet, ready to be enraptured by his every word.  Pretending that you are listening isn't good enough for Cricket.  He wants you to believe in everything that he says, and he is a very passionate little boy.

     He is the stereotype of a boy.  He loves bugs, mud, fish, farms, any animal that will be still long enough for him to pet them, popsicles, bubble gum, and bare feet.  He is also quite partial to chickens, especially if they will sit in his lap, but if they won't, he's just as content to chase them.  He likes nothing better than an afternoon spent with a water hose.  He doesn't like to wear shirts.  He will never, ever be capable of sitting still.  He is constantly talking.  He baits his big brother and reacts with glee when Rooster attacks him for it.  He really reminds me of the little red-haired boy in that movie, Diary of a Wimpy Kid.  He's also a bit of a Beaver Cleaver.

     Rooster, Cricket, and I have logged quite a few frequent flyer miles in our QuestToMakeTheTruthKnown.  It hasn't been easy on any of us.  We once lived in the jungle for six weeks.  Now when I say "the jungle" I mean we were flown in on a crop-duster of a plane, dropped off in the jungle, and the plane left, taking with it's departure our only means of  returning home.  We were staying in that jungle for awhile.  Rooster, in his overly dramatic fashion, decided immediately that he was going to die.  I must admit that I contemplated my own mortality a bit more often than normal during our stay.  It was hard living.  We both got sick several times.  I'll spare you the details.  But every time I thought I'd had all I could take, here'd come Cricket, bouncing along without a care in the world.  I can't count how many times he asked, "Can we move here?"  If you ask him today, he will readily tell you that it is his favorite place on earth.

     He earned a nickname on that trip.  Cricket the Ev-ng-list.  And he earned every letter of it, even the vowels I didn't type for security reasons.  That kid will stop anybody, anywhere, and ask them if they know God.  He doesn't know all of the answers yet.  Sometimes Mama Jemima has to help him out.  But that kid opens doors.  I've never seen anything like it.  Whatever it was that the nurses didn't like about him in the maternity ward, it sure attracts people now.


Allyson said...

Thinking fondly of Cricket the Ev!

Jemima said...

Thank you Allyson! Did you know it was your husband who first called him that?