So Alex just walked up to me with something kind of yellow and gelatinous on his finger, said, “Here, Mama,” and waited for me to remove the mystery object from his person.

And without thinking one thing about it, I looked the object THAT I ASSUMED WAS FROM HIS NOSE, transferred it to my own finger, examined it some more, SNIFFED IT, and said, OUT LOUD: “Hmmm. It’s fruity. Guess it’s gummy bears.”

In the interest of clarity, I should point out that it was in fact gummy bears, and not in fact something from his nose.

But still, y’all. Still.

When I was pregnant with Alex, a friend of mine at church – a mama of three boys – told me something that I’ve never forgotten. We were exchanging emails about four months before my due date, and she said, “You’re going to love that little boy with everything that’s in you. But I want to prepare you for something. There will come a point in time, probably when he’s around three years old, when Alex will gravitate toward your husband. It will make you sad. You’ll feel like you’re losing your baby. But it’s the best thing in the world for him…it’s what he’s supposed to do.”

Honestly, I had sort of a “yeah, okay, whatever” reaction when I read the email. Y’all know how it is…everyone has two or four or ten cents of information that they can’t WAIT to share with you when you’re pregnant, and I had gotten to the point where I took everything with a grain of salt. But for some reason, Kathy’s words stuck with me.

The first couple of years of Alex’s life, he was All Mama, All The Time. He loved being with his daddy, of course, and they’ve always had a neat relationship, but he was pretty clear about his preference for mama. And why wouldn’t he prefer me? I am delightful company. :-) When he hit two, I was ready for him to break out of the Mama shell just so I could get a break from All The Clinging, but he’d have no part of it. Mama mama mama – give that boy some mama, because it was the cure for everything.

For the last month or so, though, there’s been a shift. It’s been gradual…Alex wanting to sit by his daddy at supper, or Alex wanting his daddy to unbuckle him from the carseat, or Alex wanting to hold his daddy’s hand instead of mine when he crosses the street. There’s also the constant “Where’s Daddy?” game; Alex requests updates on his daddy’s location at all points in the day. There used to be no mention of Daddy in the afternoons, but now, when Alex gets up from his nap, one of the first things he wants to know is, “Where’s Daddy, Mama? Is Daddy working?” So I’ve felt the winds of change blowing just a little bit, and I’ve been okay with it. I really have.

Today, when we were outside, I felt like I was seeing a boyhood rite of passage in action as I watched Alex follow his daddy around the yard. It was like David suddenly sprouted a 40 inch, 37 pound shadow. If David shoveled dirt, Alex wanted to shovel dirt. If David watered a plant, Alex wanted to water a plant. If David took two steps, Alex took two steps – and Kathy’s email from 3 1/2 years ago played over and over and over in my mind.

It doesn’t make me sad to see Alex gravitate toward his daddy. I know it’s part of the whole “train up your child” process. As he soaks up the love and example of his earthly father, Alex is also creating a frame of reference for his relationship with his Heavenly Father. I get that. I don’t want to do anything to hinder the process. And that part of it – Alex not wanting to be around me as much – isn’t what makes me emotional.

But do you know what does make me emotional? That it’s just so sweet, y’all. Probably one of the sweetest transitions I’ve ever had the privilege to witness. Without going into the whys and wherefores of D.’s relationship with his own father, I will just say that watching Alex with David is proof positive to me that God is merciful, and He’s loving, and He’s gracious, and He’s faithful.

And I am one fortunate mama indeed.

I TiVo Oprah every day. However, many times I delete the episode before I watch it, because I have very rigid Oprah criteria. In order for me to watch a full episode of her program, said program must feature a) celebrities b) books c) celebrities with books d) makeovers or e) makeovers with Nate Berkus, who is dreamy.

However, I have had to make an exception to the rules lately because of an ongoing series called The Debt Diet. Oprah and her team of experts are working with three families to get them out of debt. But it’s about so much more than money. The families are working to figure out why they spend and what their “deep down” issues are that cause them to be, say, $170,000 in the hole – not counting the mortgage. It’s been interesting to see lightbulbs go on with a couple of families, and I can’t wait to see what’s going to happen with them down the road.

The biggest “NO WAY” moment so far was when one of the wives admitted that when she got her bills in the mail, she just didn’t open them. Or she threw them away altogether. But she definitely didn’t bother to pay them, even though she lives in a $300,000 house. When she finally sat down with her financial counselor, it took them TWELVE HOURS to wade through all the unopened mail. TWELVE HOURS. (And by the way, I’m certainly not judging the woman…I admire that she’s being so open about her problems, financial and otherwise. Good for her that she has decided to make drastic changes in order to improve her family’s life. Dave Ramsey would be delighted.)

David has actually enjoyed watching this series with me – and I think most of y’all will be interested, too. So check out this link, get the back story, and we’ll talk on March 24th, after the next segment runs.

It’s fascinating.

Where in the sam hill is Merritt?

She hasn’t commented in TWO DAYS.

I’m considering contacting the authorities.

When I was pregnant with Alex, I tried to do a little wheeling and dealing with God about what I hoped Alex would inherit from me and what I hoped he’d inherit from his daddy (who is in fact David, as this is not a soap opera, and I do not have any Big Surprise Announcements regarding paternity…at least not until the DNA tests come back from the lab).

Oh, I’m kidding.

From me, I hoped Alex would get blue eyes, a curiosity about people, and a sense of self-confidence that is in no way deserved and/or based in reality but has served me pretty well nonetheless.

From his daddy, I hoped he’d get an analytical mind, patience, the ability to assemble intricate toys and shelving units with joy only rivaled by that which comes from the Lord, and olive-colored skin. God laughed at the olive-colored skin tone part and instead made Alex the palest pale in all of paledom, but if he has those other three traits, we’ll be in fine shape indeed.

I also prayed that Alex would get his daddy’s feet. It’s not that my feet are deformed or anything. But they’re wide, and they have arches with the same basic curvature as that large, famous structure that dominates the skyline in St. Louis. It’s hard for me to find shoes that fit, because my arch makes the top part of my foot so high that I can’t fit it in a great many of the shoes I try on. Sister is the same way. We try our best…we cram and ram and shoehorn our way into just about every cute shoe we see…but more often than not, we’re disappointed. Strappy high-heeled sandals? Forget it. I’ve tried…but the only place my foot actually touches the shoe is at the toes. The rest of my foot goes into this jacked up position so that I appear to be either a) readying for a performance from “The Nutcracker” or b) practicing calf-building exercises. To add insult to injury, the straps inevitably cut into the top of my feet as a result of all the cramming and jamming, leaving lovely red and sometimes bleeding indentions where the cutesy cute straps should be.

The good thing about having feet like mine is that those shoes at Walmart? The ones that say “WIDE” on the box? The ones that, if normal-footed people tried to wear them and take more than one step, would fly off the foot at such velocity as to cause injury to innocent passersby? Those shoes fit me great. In fact, just about every time I try on a new pair of Walmart designer footwear, I think, “Hey! These fit me pretty perfectly. I must be Walmarterella!”

Alas and alack, God laughed once more and gave Alex my feet. Wide. High arches. Long like his daddy’s – but nowhere close to narrow. Since we don’t want his toes to curl in on themselves or his arches to start to give way, we have to buy Good Shoes for him. We’ll save the cheap shoes for when his feet are fully formed and we need to teach him a lesson in humility.

Now typically David takes Alex shoe shopping. Apparently the footwear that I find “adorable” sometimes crosses the line into “cutesy,” so David picks out A.’s shoes, which in turn convey the message “I Am A Rough and Tumble Little Boy.” Since all of Alex’s shoes have gotten a little snug as of late, we figured it was time to visit the Local Children’s Footwear Shoppe (in our house we like to pronounce it like “shop-pey,” just for kicks).

Which brings us to yesterday’s trip to the shoe shoppe. After Alex had a near breakdown over the life-altering trauma of having his foot measured, David picked out a couple of styles for him to try. Alex’s size wasn’t in stock in either style, but then D. spied his all-time favorite shoes, only in kids’ sizes. Then the following exchange occurred:

David: “Oh, I didn’t know you had Keens in his size. Let’s try those. I love mine.”
Saleswoman: [look of distaste and shock] “REALLY?!?! I think they look like CLOWN SHOES.”

Please do take a moment to consider all the many reasons why the saleswoman’s response was inappropriate.

I can list a few for you if you’re having trouble. I imagine, however, that you’re already up to at least, oh, 4 or 5. And I’m not saying the woman had to fawn over D.’s shoe selections or anything like that, but it just struck me as an odd choice, dissing your customer’s taste and losing a potential sale. Call me crazy.

David, to his credit, was perfectly well-behaved. He said, “Oh. Okay. Really? Well, thanks a lot for your help,” and proceeded to get the heck out of Dodge.

So ye olde shoe shoppe is out of the running for Alex’s new kicks. Given the width – and the arch – I’m not sure where we’ll go next. Maybe there’s another shoppe with the same brands and friendlier employees. Maybe we’ll luck out at a sporting goods store and find some tennis shoes. Maybe we’ll just let him run around in his bare feet all summer and give him a taste of hillbilly life.

Or maybe we’ll just take him shoe shopping Walmart. At least we know they carry wide ones.

I was only 1 out of 4 on my Idol predictions for tonight, but I can’t say that I’m sad about the results.

So adios, Kinnik Sky, Ayla Brown, Gedeon McKinney, and Will Makar.

We hardly knew ye.