advent: we will worship.

This week's reading was Luke 2:8-20, the story of the shepherds and the angels. Our characters for the week were the shepherds. It took me awhile to figure out what I wanted the theme to be. On the one hand, I love what this part of the Christmas story has to say about our humble God showing Himself to humble people. However, when I read the story, worship is what stood out to me.

When Luke picks up the scene, the shepherds are just going about their work. It's quiet and still, except for maybe a sheep stirring here or there. And out of nowhere comes this spiritual being (who knows what it looked like; I hate the way angels are pictured as just really beautiful people with wings) who has to first calm their fears before making the crazy announcement: God has shown up in a human body that is hours old and wrapped up in the feeding trough at one of the local inns. The shepherds leave their important work and go to pay a visit to God. They leave, excitedly talking about it and praising God for this great thing He has done in coming, and presumably thanking Him for letting them in on the whole thing.

The man who shared in our church today pointed out that it is God who initiates these encounters. We don't initiate these intimate times with God; He does. Really, what did the shepherds do to deserve witnessing the heavenly hosts' announcement? Nothing. God decided to share the time with them. Of course, they eagerly accepted the invitation to the manger scene and left all the richer for it. God has given us an invitation to an intimate scene with Him as well. In John chapter 1, John says that anyone who accepts the Christ who showed up in the world this way is given the right to become a child of God. We are invited to join God's family. Talk about God initiating an intimate time together! This intimate time is to include the rest of our lives. Of course, we are more intimate with God at some times than at others and we have certain times set aside as "worship times," but our ability to enter into God's presence is much more dependent upon Him than it is on us. We merely accept His invitation, join in the time, and let Him change us through our time together.

I like the shepherds much more than the wise men at this point in my life. When I was in college, I preferred the wise men because I was sick of hearing about how God chose ignorant, inept, people to "shame the wise." I was happy for the example of the people who found God because they had done their homework and followed the conclusions of their studies. They brought fitting, even prophetic, gifts to the little child. They knew their stuff. Now, of course, I am still glad the "wise people" don't miss out on the chance to get to know their Saviour. However, this year, I love that the shepherds did nothing to be invited to the manger and they took no gifts with them when they went. They were not "prepared." (Chances are they did not show up looking like people I would want to handle my ordinary baby, much less put their grubby hands on God Incarnate.) But God, knowing this, was still happy to invite them. That's comforting to me as I'm feeling a little less sophisticated these days and would have to go pay my visit to God -- if not empty-handed -- at least with a second-hand gift. Seeing the shepherds lets me know that God mostly just wants people to come who will appreciate the opportunity to be with Him. This year, let's be people who leave what they'd otherwise be doing because we realize we've been extended an invitation to something really special. Let's worship our God.

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The shepherds wasted no time when invited to the presence of God. They found him just as promised and left the manger praising His name. We are also invited to the presence of God to worship Him and leave with his praise on our lips.

Lord, you have made yourself known to us.
We will worship you.
You come to us even though we are not worthy to see you.
We will worship you.
If you announce your arrival with angels, as you did for the shepherds,
We will worship you.
If you announce your arrival with pain, as you did for Mary,
We will worship you.
No matter how your arrival greets us,
We will worship you.
Because when you show up, we're found empty-handed,
We will worship you.
We have nothing else to give you, so
We will worship you.
We have seen the great things you have done.
We will worship you.
We find you humble, just as you said we would.
We will worship you.
We find you mighty to save, just as you said we would.
We will worship you.
Because being in your presence leaves us with joy;
We will worship you.
We cannot keep these things to ourselves, God.
We will worship you.
In the quietness of our homes,
We will worship you.
In the streets of our city,
We will worship you.
With our voices when they sing,
We will worship you.
With our voices when they speak,
We will worship you.
With our thoughts when we are silent,
We will worship you.
With shouts of joy,
We will worship you.
With tears of pain,
We will worship you.
With our whole lives,
We will worship you.
Because of all you are,
We will worship you.
We give you all we are.
We will worship you.

Last night I had a dream that I was preparing a birthday party for an old friend from elementary school. I lived in Muncie, but it was a much cooler Muncie, where I could ride my bike with Israel in tow up and down (gasp!) hills downtown where everything from the tall windows in the buildings to the sidewalks were being refurbished. In my waking hours, I would never have known a town looking like this was supposed to be recognized as Muncie, though the familiar one-way street patterns of Charles, Adams, Jackson, Main, and Washington should give me a clue.

This morning, I wake up with a sense of loss. I want everything to be laid out exactly as it is...only better. Better and, as is often the case in my dreams, with everyone in one place.

advent: we will forgive.

If you missed my first advent post, you may want to scroll down and become acquainted with this year's ritual. This week, the scripture reading was in Luke, Chapter 1, where we find Mary's song after the angel Gabriel tells her she is to be intimately involved with bringing forth the Hope of the world. We then flash forward to Chapter 2, where we find Christ being born and put into a feeding trough. Were Mary and Joseph prepared for his birth? Were they really?

When I was preparing to give birth to Israel, there was to be no traveling long distances close to the time of this arrival. Instead, I was to be found doing what most mothers do: nesting. There were showers where many people (you may have been one of them) gave gifts to help me prepare for his coming. We ran pretty close to the wire, but Israel's room was ready for him when he arrived, even though he wouldn't sleep there until a few months after he was born. We had blankets galore and little outfits waiting for him. We had a bathtub especially for his little body and special soaps. We had cloth diapers stacked in the bathroom along with little washcloths and towels. We were prepared. But were we really?

In some ways, I could look back at Mary and Joseph and wonder how they ended up having to put Jesus in a feeding trough in the first place. Didn't they know to expect him any day? Could they not have been a little better prepared? Not even a cloth to use as a hammock or anything? Come on. Maybe they had no choice but to travel at the time they did, but everyone knows to pack for a baby when you get to be a certain size. We are supposed to be prepared for those sorts of contingencies.

However, Mary and Joseph must've had one (or more) up on me. Mary is told she is going to have to carry a baby that will be seen as illegitimate and Joseph is supposed to still go through with marrying her? If an angel told me I was going to have to go through all that, you can bet you would not find me having my own song of gratitude to sing about it. I would be too busy worrying about all the contingencies. At best, my song would be about how great a sacrifice I was making for God. But not Mary. Her song is about the mercy God is having on the world. She praises Him for exalting the humble and scattering the proud. There isn't much in the song about her or what she is going to have to go through. Now, maybe she was like me and had days of grumbling or worrying, but scripture (which typically seems quick to point out people's flaws) doesn't mention anything about it. She was grateful that she was chosen to be the conduit of God's mercy to the world. In some very important way, Mary must've been prepared.

So we come to advent. We think about welcoming our Saviour into the world. Just as when we are expecting a baby, there is much preparation to be done. We need to get his room ready. And where is it that He has decided to come but into our very hearts? We look around and see some serious cleaning needs to be done. There are some old fixtures that need to be replaced, clutter to toss, and excesses to purge. When I see messes like that, it is hard for me to know where to start. Ack! The dust...the clutter...the pile of clothes that no longer fit...the un-made bed with dirty sheets...and the pieces of things meant to be useful that have accumulated everywhere, unused! What's the worst of the mess? I don't know.

When I looked over Mary's song, I noticed the word "mercy" a few times and thought that would be a good place to start. I know the root of Christianity is love and that without love for those around us who we do see, we cannot claim to love God, whom we have not seen. But making a resolve to love more feels pretty ambiguous to me. I often think on it too much and throw my hands up at the mess, saying, "I don't know what it means to love this person right now." If I'm going to really begin cleaning out the mess in my heart, I need some concrete step to take. Mercy is a little less slippery to define in my book and seeing that attribute of God praised in Mary's song reminds me that it is an attribute meant to be mimicked. So this week, in preparation for Jesus's advent, I invited our congregation to begin there by getting rid of that unforgiveness in the corner. Even if it's got a good reason to be there, it's really one of those things that just needs to be thrown out.

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There were many ways in which Mary and Joseph were unprepared for Jesus's coming. However, they did not look over the most important preparation: the preparation of their hearts. Mary was grateful to extend God's mercy to the world. So we, too, can prepare for His coming by extending His mercy.

God, because you have had mercy on the world,
We will forgive.
Because you lift up the humble,
We will forgive.
And because you scatter those who are proud,
We will forgive.
We will be humble;
We will forgive.
Because we made your stay in this world difficult,
We will forgive.
When others make our stay in this world difficult,
We will forgive.
When we don't get the treatment we deserve,
We will forgive.
Those who always find fault,
We will forgive.
Those who are always at fault,
We will forgive.
Those who mistreated us when we were young,
We will forgive.
Those who mistreat us now,
We will forgive.
Those who will mistreat us tomorrow,
We will forgive.
Our parents who mess up,
We will forgive.
Our children who mess up,
We will forgive.
We, who mess up,
We will forgive.
Extending your mercy is hard, but
We will forgive.
Because our hearts are like noisy, dirty stables,
We will forgive.
You chose to dwell in Mary; you choose to dwell in us.
We will forgive.
We will do our best to make our hearts a home for you.
We will forgive.
We recognize your mercy, Lord.
We will forgive.
Help us prepare for your coming. We begin by saying,
We will forgive.

Can you say light?...horse?...dog?...dance?...cold?

Under any normal circumstances, I would never head out in such cold weather (it's in the teens here...) to go on a stroll after dark. However, this evening was the annual luminary walk here in Muncie. This means that there are candles in plastic containers lining the walkways in and around Minnetrista, our local cultural center.

Because of this, we all put on two layers of pants, shirts, and socks, along with hats, mittens, and coats to brave the cold. We even took the dog out for the occasion. There were horse-drawn carriages carting people in coats and a dance team performing to Christmas songs. Israel was amused by the horses, but not as much as Sophie was. He also liked the dance troop, but declined to pretend he could clap for them from inside his mittens. We used the opportunity to practice some of Israel's newer words and gestures (listed in the title), but I don't think his mouth worked any better than mine did due to the cold and it's rather difficult to sign while wearing mittens.

I wish I could honestly say the evening was as happy as this picture, but unfortunately, Israel likes the cold as much as his mom. He could be heard screaming as his dad and I took turns carrying his stiff, contorting body back to the car from the furthest point on our trek. We have since all calmed down and thawed out from the experience and, though it's not representative of our time in some ways, I couldn't wait to use my re-functioning fingers to share this token of our time. The chance at the mood conveyed in this picture will send us into the cold again about a year from now, I'm sure.

advent: we will have hope

This marks the first week of advent. Sunday was the first Sunday of the season, so you aren't too far behind if you've missed it.

We greatly appreciate the season of advent each year as it helps us focus on the reason we have something to celebrate this time of year. By the time Christmas comes, I feel as though I have been waiting for it a long time and am ready to burst. Though, to be honest, Christmas always feels like a let-down after Advent because I'm not at some great party where we all sing songs and dance because Jesus came to earth. No, more likely than not, I'm looking for so-and-so's present and eating food I didn't even have the joy of making. (Pat and I are strange people who actually LIKE the idea of hosting large meals, except for the dishes.) Advent, however, is more what I want out of Christmas...just lacking in full-out celebration.

I love advent because of its paradoxical nature: we look both backward and forward at the comings of Christ. Both comings give us reason to hope and reason for great longing. We see so much wrong in the world and ourselves that the "then and not yet" of Christ fills us with a yearning akin to that of lovers apart. On the one hand, it is wonderful to have as your own a person so worth missing. On the other hand, to know the thing that you miss is more difficult perhaps than not knowing what you were missing to begin with. At this time every year, we take the chance to fully miss Jesus not being here while being entirely grateful that he came in the first place and looking forward to seeing him again.

This year I am in charge of the advent proceedings at our little church. After doing a bit more research online, (if you'd like to see what I saw, go here for a bit of history and here to see a newer take on the church tradition.) I decided to write responsive readings for our youth to lead after an adult shares what that week's theme and character mean in his or her own life. The character for this week was the prophets (we read Isaiah) and the theme was hope. The couple who shared their thoughts are our friends who were able to adopt a little girl this year. They had felt for years that God wanted them to adopt a little girl through no conventional means and they spoke about how being given a promise by God can make you feel crazy and going for years without seeing the promise fulfilled makes you feel even crazier for believing it in the first place, bringing up all kinds of questions about the Promise Maker and the believer alike. However, seeing one of God's promises fulfilled is an unbelievable gift -- much better than you would have dreamed based on the words of the promise alone. God gave us the promise of His Son to the prophets long ago and when we look at the world, we can still have hope because of those same promises. And we know from particular instances (such as theirs) that the way God keeps His promises doesn't tend to look the way we would imagine it to, but is instead a better fit than we could've imagined. If I am ever able to get a copy of what they wrote to share, I will happily share it with you, as it's better written than I can do justice. However, I will share what I wrote on the subject and invite you to read along with our congregation in the coming weeks of Advent.


God has given light to the world.
We will have hope.
We live in a world full of darkness.
We will have hope.
When we see problems we can't solve.
We will have hope.
When we see a problem solved.
We will have hope.
When we don't understand why.
We will have hope.
When the bad guy wins.
We will have hope.
Because the bad guy will not win in the end.
We will have hope.
When our friend has failed us again.
We will have hope.
When we have failed again.
We will have hope.
When we see the evil in the news.
We will have hope.
When we see the evil in our hearts.
We will have hope.
Even though the world is broken.
We will have hope.
We know someone who can save the world.
We will have hope.
We know someone who has saved us.
We will have hope.
We know someone who will keep saving us.
We will have hope.
Because we are broken.
We will have hope.
Our Savior has promised to come again.
We will have hope.
Advent happens more than once.
We will have hope.
Like the prophets, we look forward to His coming!
We will have hope.

Ybba Raed,

So my mom tells me I need to be a writer. She is going around showing people my latest blog entry about selling Myrtle (I'm coping, thanks...) and gathering their responses to bolster her position. She then tells me one more reason that I need to be a writer: because so-and-so said so, too.

I was telling this to my English teacher friend today and she said her friend's blog was picked up by a magazine. They now pay him to write the blog he had been writing anyway as his job. Lucky guy. I laughed that someone would only pay me to run 25% of my blog; as cute as Israel is, I doubt the picture posts are of much interest to people who don't know us. Barring the unlikely good fortune of having someone just decide that they want to pay me to write this blog, (and by all means, let me know if you're interested!) I would probably have to do free-lance writing for...someone...or just decide, "Hey, I'm going to write a book!" and wait to see who would publish it. How does one become a (paid) writer? Hmm....

Here is the real snag, though: I don't know what to write about. I pretty much only write when something bad happens to me or when I'm dealing with a weighty issue, so I am nearly completely at the mercy of my life's experiences to come up with material. Supposing I had the good luck of continued misfortune or difficulty, I could write my life as a series of unfortunate events. ...Wait. Already done.

The mere mention of writing as my job gives me a block. Maybe I am a literary hypochondriac who is just always afraid she will get writer's block and, therefore, has it. Or perhaps I am just not the sort of person gifted to think through practical problems. I can only state problems more precisely. That's helpful for as far as it goes, which isn't very far. That said, here is the problem: I don't have any clue who to ask to pay me for my work and even if I knew some options, I wouldn't know what genre of writing to pursue: comedy? tragedy? arm-chair philosophy? poetry? I suppose if one of you wanted me to write about your life, I could start there. (That is, unless some great and horrible thing happened to me tomorrow, giving me a lifetime of material.) Or I could just keep writing about my life as it happens on this blog for the time being.

Or how about I do an entry on here that is a reverse-advice column? How about you give me advice on what to write -- a writing assignment! For instance, my English-teaching friend suggested I write an article on when and for what reasons it is and is not appropriate to pass another car on the right-hand side. Maybe I'll use your idea or maybe (gasp, if you know me well...) I won't have anything to say about it. Maybe someone else will have some thoughts on the matter or maybe you'll decide to take up writing about it on your own. Maybe it will give me some good practice writing and some direction on what (if anything) to do next. That's what I'll do: write a reverse-advice column. ...Wait. Already done.

the car, the companion, and the chrysalis

Given that my treasure lies in heaven, I have a hard time explaining to anyone (even myself) my strange attachment to certain fixtures in my life. Take, for instance, my old, sheet-covered couch. I will not get rid of it. I suppose I could find another couch that comfortably seats 4 and fits under my windowsill, but it would have no personality and I wouldn't like it. It did not come from the beloved old intern house, where it made its way from the porch to the living room to my very heart. So there is my couch. I will refurbish the whole thing (pricey, I know) before I will kick it to the curb.

But today I sold one of my beloved possessions. Pat and I agreed at some point that it was the best thing to do, both for us and for the person who bought it, but somehow I don't really remember why. I know I decided to do it (finally) in order to make dealing with its parting easier, since I know the day will come sometime. I went forward with the deal in many ways just to know I could do it.

So, today, Myrtle is no longer part of the McCrory family. (Really, she had no last name, but if she did, she would've had to have married into "McCrory.") Myrtle and I have an 11-year history of adventure together. As with many of the best relationships in my life, I didn't really like Myrtle at first. She was neither trendy nor old-school cool; she was a little frumpy and I felt a little frumpy by association. But we went together most everywhere because she was, after all, my first car: a teal-ish green used 1993 corolla with rounded features. She carried me and my best friend on after-school adventures and wasn't hurt at all by the couple of minor run-ins she had with my friends' cars. She hid me when I was late for work and changed into my work clothes on my way down the road. She waited for me to take her to college the second semester of freshman year and she didn't mind the small tear I gave her door when packing my dorm refrigerator. Myrtle moved with me to Michigan that difficult summer and loved that the speed limit was faster up there just as much as I did. She was not afraid when we were lost all alone in a bad part of Chicago on a road trip. She snuck with a small group of my friends to the rock quarry to swim at night. Do not be fooled by appearances; Myrtle was tough.

She was a bit sentimental, though, and proudly wore the good-luck mouse given to me by my friend from Russia. She gently carried Katya (our cat) to my appartment for her first night's stay and Sophie (our dog) back to our house after driving to get her from New Castle. She was soft enough to listen when I cried by myself while driving the roads around Muncie after seemingly losing my future husband. Myrtle heard some of our worst fights before we were married and took my side without saying anything. (I know this because she opened her door for Pat and then took me home every time.) She later proudly drove away, decorated with paint and tin cans on our wedding day.

In latter years, though, she also wore several scars made by people who didn't care about her. I'll admit she was starting to take on somewhat of a victim's attitude as people bumped her in parking lots, bashed her on a snowy night before driving away, and carved a word that I later turned into "Pluck" on her driver's side door. She didn't really say anything about it, but I could tell she struggled with a lack of self-worth as she stopped hiding her age, letting her paint peel and her ceiling material sag. She was starting to let herself go. She was still my first choice for bringing home our new little baby boy and I think we were both glad she made it to see that milestone in our transportation needs. I was willing to stick with her, even when someone stole her ability to play music on our rides together. But when she could no longer clear her back windsheild when it became clouded with cataracts in the wintertime, we both knew she couldn't carry the car seat any longer and her time with us was coming to a close.

So today she became the companion of a 20 year old guy who will hopefully be able to restore to her some of her youthful vigor and bring out that tough side of her. Even though I know she'll have many more adventures in her life with him than she will with me, I felt sad to bid her a fond farewell. I put Armor-all on her interior again and Pat vacuumed her out. I emptied her glove box of the souvenirs we collected (whether we meant to or not) over the years. I took the high school parking passes she used to wear on her rear-view mirror, but she kept the scratch over the passenger side door from moving day. I left her with the door handle broken by someone in need of a ride in hopes someone will be able to reattach it, though I could not.

I know its really silly, but I didn't watch as she drove off. I've had a good deal of fun personifying her over the years and it's funny to think of her as a cranky old lady who cared for you when you were younger. I guess I figured I would drive her until she died. I mean, after all, we came this far. Selling her at this point feels a little like sending her to the nursing home -- not nearly the way you would like to leave someone, even if they've become cranky or feel a little sorry for themselves most of the time. So I didn't watch as she left for what would probably be the final chapter in her mechanical life.

When I've told friends that I sold my first car today, they say, "Yeah. That was a sad thing to do." Perhaps it's a kind of sad thing to most people because it's saying goodbye to a space in which their life has taken place. It's like moving out of your first house. Your family is too big and the house is too small and many days you've hated the cramped quarters and cursed the plumbing, but you also remember the craziness with fondness and are hesitant to leave the landscape of years of your memories. As you close the door behind you, you know you are closing the door on a chapter of your life -- one you won't have the key to open ever again.

Sometimes objects become a sort of chrysalis from which you have to emerge once you've grown so much, so, like the caterpillar in Israel's book, today I nibbled a hole in the cocoon.

Bobby and Daddy

At 14 months old, Israel is trying to say nearly everything. Here is a sampling of some of the words he says the most. ("Please," along with "more" and "eat" are currently signed and can get him many of the things he wants without the need for a tantrum, which is wonderful.) I've been upgraded from "Bubba" to "Bobby" in recent days, which is nice. Israel also understands all kinds of things and can do lots of the things you ask him to do. I'm amazed by this daily. I know this is about the age when nearly all kids seem to make some developmental leap, but it's still amazing when your own child starts communicating with you. (For a good, though redundant, book on the subject, check out Baby Signs by Acredolo and Goodwin. I just realized I sound like one the redundant lines from that book. )

Israel has also become quite the dancer, having learned a spin move to add to his bouncing, clapping, and head-banging. I have yet to be able to catch him in the act on video, though. Rest assured we'll share it with you as soon as I catch it.

Fastest growing McCrory

This afternoon, Pat and I went to our ultrasound appointment for Peanut. We thought you might want to share in the experience.

Peanut was pretty subdued during the ultrasound. (This was a great shift from my regular check-up earlier this week when we couldn't hear the heartbeat because Peanut kept kicking the monitor...probably due to my rare glass of Coke prior to my appointment. Add that to the list of things not to do again.) We were quickly able to get a face shot or two. Here they are.
Of course, Peanut looks like an alien. But there are two eyes and a nose (which looked like Pat's as we saw the image twist and turn and could get a better idea of the 3-D image) and a mouth (which yawned for us), and that 's all good. We saw a backbone and a beating heart and a diaphragm which was fully formed (which I know to count as a huge blessing, since my friend's baby died earlier this year do to complications involving a not-fully-formed diaphragm) and a brain. We saw arms (up by the face in the picture to the lower left) and fingers in a fist (pointed out in the picture to the lower right).
Peanut was all curled up tight for the photo session, as is evidenced in these last two shots. The first here is the profile picture, but the umbilical cord is up by the nose and makes it hard to distinguish the actual face. (The top of the head is on the left and the sticking-up spot is the nose and mouth and umbilical cord.) We decided to find out if Peanut is a boy or a girl. But Peanut was not very cooperative. The tech tried to nudge the legs apart, but they were crossed most of the time, either at the ankles (as in the picture on the right) or at the knees. Peanut also had a hand stuck down there for much of the time when we actually thought we could get a peek. But after some finagling around, a bathroom break, and a few extra minutes of effort on the tech's part, Peanut gave up the secret.
Peanut is a girl! (I'm not posting a picture of that evidence online.)

Before anyone goes out and buys a bunch of pink ruffles, if Peanut becomes a girly-girl, it will not be from our encouragement. And she will be sharing a room with Israel, so we don't need pink for the room. We don't think Israel would appreciate it. (Ahh...the joys of getting all gender-neutral items for your first child!) That said, we did go out and buy a girl's set of onesies to celebrate. Besides, Israel and Peanut will have birthdays opposite each other on the calendar, so only spring and fall clothes will overlap in purpose for them.

We are excited to be having a girl. I know we would be excited to be having a boy for different reasons, but we are actually pretty pumped to be having a girl. We hope Israel likes her. We already do!

The bathtub, the backyard, and beyond

We have been having a great time with Israel lately. He is quite the toddler now and is learning to do all kinds of things. A couple weekends ago, we enjoyed the Indianapolis Zoo and White River Gardens with Grandpa Mike and Grandma Alice. It was a cold day, but Israel didn't seem to mind and I loved seeing his little face peeking out at me all day from under his hat.

At the zoo

with Grandma Alice in the gardens

at the petting zoo

He has been learning all kinds of things lately. He can now give real kisses and will clean up his own toys if he hears you sing the "Clean Up" song. (I was SO impressed and surprised by that one this week!) He likes to brush his own hair and his own teeth and still goes to the potty sometimes (though not when he's sleeping, which is a drag most mornings). He says "mama" now, but after all I've done, he really calls me "Bubba," while "daddy" gets a clear, "Da-da!" He loves trying to repeat whatever you tell him to and babbles to himself constantly. He can communicate when he's "done" eating, when he wants you to turn on the record player (that's right...RECORD player...) which he loves to clap and dance to, and likes to pick out books to read, demonstrating a preference for certain books one day and other books the next. He is fascinated with putting objects inside things and taking them back out and likes playing games mimicking up and down movement. He giggles about things like discovering he can squirt water out of this bath toys and chasing the dog around the house (and he also giggles about seemingly nothing at all). He's a fun little guy who is ALWAYS on the go these days. Here are a couple of examples: