The little white lie.

Hawthorne started dabbling in sports before he could even sit up on his own. Carter would prop him up in the corner of the couch and give him a ball to kick. And Hawthorne would kick like crazy. Then they started laying on the ground next to each other while Carter would throw a ball up and catch it over and over and over and over. Hawthorne would giggle with delight. He started crawling at 14 months, walking at 18 months, running at 18 months and 2 weeks, and smacking a baseball by the time he was 2. At 6, he hits it harder and farther than even the very athletic fourth grader who lives around the corner. Now, he's working on his bunt. He doesn't like to go under water in the pool. He often thinks he can't do something until we show him that he can. Every boo boo is a 15 minute narration. His gift and love is baseball.

I like covertly watching him orchestrate his imaginary baseball games on the deck just outside the kitchen. They are very complex games, with him as the pitcher. There are double plays, fly balls, fouls, stolen bases, strike outs, walks, arguments between the coach and umpire, and of course home runs and grand slams. I imagine there's even more going on than I realize.

I've been wondering recently if Hawthorne's growing knowledge of baseball has led him to realize the benefits of deception. The stolen base, the bunt. The little white lie.

This week, Hawthorne brought in two boards from their fort/swing set that's in the backyard. He said in his usual play-by-play recount of even the smallest event: "Mom, Mom! Look at these boards. I was outside on the grass by the fort looking at a frog that I didn't pick up, and just as I put him down, I mean quit looking at him..."

He pauses for a moment to get back on track. And I remind him of his place in the story: " You were putting down the frog that you didn't pick up."

"No," he says, "I didn't pick him up. So I was stopping looking at the frog when these two boards fell out...of...the...fort! Can you believe that? They just fell."

"After you put the frog down?"

"Yes, right after."

"The frog you didn't pick up."

"Yes. Can you believe they just fell off. Look at these screws poking out."

At least he's not good at lying. And I'm hoping that while I'm still capable of mysteriously always knowing the truth, he'll realize that he doesn't need to lie to me--or at least that it doesn't do him any good because he still gets told, "Hawthorne go flush the toilet/Don't pick frogs up, you'll hurt them/Turn right back around and go brush your teeth for real/Yes, you do have to go to the bathroom/It's time to have fruit since you ate 10 graham crackers that you 'don't know what happened to.'"

My inexplicable powers of all-knowing will be my little white lie.

The real Gumbo surfaces.

Our adorable little Gumbo is starting to show more of his true colors. He has claimed the yard as his and will defend it against anyone daring to walk on the sidewalk. He is stubborn, stubborn. If he doesn't want to go somewhere, he just plops down, and we have to pick him up and carry him. He howls--head tilted up and heart in it. And, he has decided that shoes are a good thing to chew on. The other stuff is endearing. The shoe thing, not so much. I have a habit of leaving my shoes laying around. It's part of me. It could be used in a description of me: You know Jennifer. She loves clothes, is easy to make laugh, collects jewelry and lipstick, is scared of plastic and chemicals, and is always leaving her magazines and shoes laying around.

Guess I have to break that habit for my new little guy.

Well, duh. But still.

Carter said to me this morning, "Jennifer, you can't define yourself in terms of your imperfections. That's no way to be happy." Smart guy isn't he. So much easier said than done.