Normal

This is how I spend my Sunday afternoons...supervising littles while they play in the gaga pit.

When they are feeling particularly epic, it becomes the staging field for World War II. They claim allied or axis forces, "I'm England!" "I'm Germany!" "I'm Japan!" and shift roles fluidly to match the actual game play - much the way that the middle schoolers claimed Hunger Games characters last fall.

When they get bored, we play hide and go seek or take them outside to play tag on the play structure. We eat snacks, read stories, have quiet time, and color pictures.

The kids at school make bracelets and weave bookmarks out of plastic canvas from my grandma. They run up for hugs at recess and expect solutions to current problems. We work together to mediate arguments, and they swing their hands in mine like it is the most natural thing in the world - and, occasionally, like they would prefer to never let go.

We play tag and monkey in the middle and pass around a "cheese touch" to kids who don't cross their fingers fast enough. We talk about friendships and behaviors and choices, and then we talk about them over and over again.

My first graders stop talking about Black Ops for long enough to play Batman and zombies and fly imaginary spaceships to Jupiter and Pluto, even though they inform me that, "Pluto isn't a planet anymore. It's a dwarf planet."

And, it's all just a part of the mass of quirks that make up my kids.

My Sunday school kids think that it is Christmas when they get to sit down and write thank you notes or put together little 'random act of kindness' packets, while the sixth graders still break out into the world's hugest grins when we play chase or my dad joins us in a game of keep away.

I have a four year old at church and a fourth grader at school who like to curl up on my feet, purring happily while they take a "nap." They are content to answer my questions with meows and growls and hisses, only resorting to words for more complicated communications.

Certain kids almost always stand or sit on a certain side, M*tt** just in front of me or M*t** on my right, and two of the second graders have verbally laid claim to their "favorite arm."

J*rr*tt fiddles with the can of nasty tangerine air freshener, and J*sh shoots rubber bands at anyone in sight. M*k** pounces me from the back and Cr**g*n from the side. N*ncy and Tyl*r try to sneak up on me, and D*n**l and Tr*v*s fade as quiet as they can to follow in my shadow.

They are bizarrely unique, which, I suppose, in the great mass of humanity, just makes them completely normal.