After my grandpa died I wrote my grandmother's eulogy and gave it to her. I thought it was pretty lame that we all sat around saying nice things about a person after they were dead. So that was nine years, five moves and two hip surgery's ago and I am starting to wonder if living the expectancy of someone's death keeps them alive. Lord knows we never leave my 94 year old grandmother's side without a huge hug and breathing deeply of her scent because we know it could be our last.

So last week I told you I would post a little something about Lu – and I am going to keep that promise, because today could strangely enough be her last (here's hopin' this tribute keeps here alive too.)... (Jarod just spent 3 hours playing Legos with Jude... so Bryce - Jude thanks you for that.)

Lucy, like the “perfect storm” is a terrible (meaning awesome) combination of my mother, sister-in-law, and myself. Sadly, we are the three women I know who have given their mother's the most grief in this world. And though Barbara has trained me well not to “speak evil but only good” over my family – there is nothing more depressing than optimism – so I brace myself. I read books like “Are you going to wear that?” by Deborah Tannen (well most of it anyway.) And I catch my words as they come careening toward my mother like a freight train - “Note to self – when Lucy says something that awful in a few years she really means, “Mother I love you but I need MY SPACE... I just happen to need a very large space... ”
We all joked that Bryce was like a Bull in a china shop and it was easy to understand at his size. But Lucy – how can we stand in trepidation of what a 2 year old might do?
I never had a sibling, but I know it is dangerous to compare the two. But that is all we know. Where Jude asked “Why?” continually Lucy answers every question with a flippant “because.” And if you ask again it becomes “BEE – CAUSSSEE.” Where Jude asked “what doing?” Lucy watches for like 10 seconds, then grabs the spoon, shoe, or scissors and says, “Me do... me self.” Where Jude hated going to bed Lucy flies to her bed with her blankie, sleeps well and then lays there for 20 minutes every morning... as if she has to prep herself up for another day being her.
Being “her” pretty much involves being completely adorable when her mouth is shut and she is doing what she wants and being mostly adorable when she is following her brother around mimicking every last word and action (she frequently asks for an i-pod and to play legos and the only princess she knows is princess Laya). She is hysterical as she tries to pick out her clothes (experiencing clothing crises that would frighten a grown woman), eats her food – messily and with such joy - puts on her chapstick, talks on her phone, and changes her shoes 5 times a day. Her adoration for her father and grandparents and little friends bring smiles to everyone's faces.
And then there is the whining – which seems to be the only vocal inflection that God gave her – meaning Lucy has never requested and received anything from me the first time. We have this song and dance of the initial whine request, the follow up asking for a different tone of voice, and the following ten minutes of battle... just to say, “rice krispies please” - before 8 a.m. And the rest of our day follows in suit – battle upon battle – independence forming at the speed of light. We figure we have until Jude is 12 until he is pretty much beyond our influence. With Lu we have until 6 if we are lucky. So she teaches me to pray, pick my battles, and to dispense grace as frequently as I demand it from my Father. It is going to be a fun ride with this little one... and how I pray it doesn't end shortly. I will be a better woman because she exists... I hope she will be because of me... and I will take no offense if we have to live on separate continents to keep the peace.