Yesterday Roscoe came home from a three-day youth conference. The kids greeted his return with the same enthusiasm they give Mark. They all crowded around him, eagerly talking over each other to tell him what they'd been up to.
In another two or three years, he'll move out. Right now the thought makes me literally sick to my stomach. I recently heard a mother of a new missionary say that the worst thing about her son leaving wasn't how much she missed him, but how much it hurt her to watch her children miss him. That's how we'll be. The kids look up to Roscoe on so many levels. Today Levi folded up the game board from Roscoe's Lord of the Rings Monopoly game the wrong way and sort of tore it in the process. Roscoe, who likes to keep his things in impeccable condition, had to struggle a moment to not say something rude about it. But his silent disappointment crushed poor, careless Levi, who I think will now work to be even more careful.
Roscoe has many wonderful qualities, but I think my favorite is his enduring airheadedness. For example:
"Mom, do you think I'm old enough to know what a tableau is? A tabloo? A tampoo?"
Turns out the young women at youth conference had tp'ed and, ahem, tamponed the young men's tent.
In other news, I have shingles. Which has been lame, but not as horrible as people's horror stories had led me to believe. Also, Logan fell from our willow tree on Friday night. We think he fell about twelve feet and landed on his tailbone and hip. Nothing appears to be broken, but the ER doc put him on crutches for three days to let everything heal. So it was kind of a rough week medically.