Holy Moley!

As anyone who lives in Texas knows, there are only a few weeks of honest-to-goodness spring squished between the chilly winter and the hundred-degree days of summer. An all-too-brief respite between raucous late-night thunderstorms that send you searching for the local Doppler radar and the blistering days when you can’t touch your steering wheel or send bare-legged children down playground slides. During one of these precious few mornings, when the temps were pleasantly cool, school was still in session, and the community pool was not yet open, it was peaceful as I rocked on our porch swing and watched JJ and Buddy play in the backyard.

I was sipping my second cup of coffee when JJ came running up to me, exclaiming, "Holy moley, Mom! Holy moley!” I wondered, How in the world did she hear that expression? I mean, the kids haven’t watched reruns of the old Batman TV show—not that I know of, anyway.

I peered into her outstretched hand to discover—a roly poly. Aha! A “holy moley.” Sweet JJ, she was so excited that I didn’t have the heart to correct her.

Flash-forward to Mother’s Day. (It’s already 91 degrees outside.) My mom gave JJ a small, round plastic case with teeny-tiny slides inside, called a “Pill Bug Playground”—only she crossed out “pill bug” and wrote “Holy Moley Playground.” JJ gleefully took it into our backyard and soon unearthed two “holy moleys”—ready for their new digs. JJ took them everywhere with her that day—in the car, in the living room, even in her bedroom while she napped, so “Emmy” and “Somersault” could nap with her (totally enclosed in their little plastic case of course—eew!).

It's fun to watch how much JJ delights in her prized “holy moleys.” How precious to realize that somewhere under all her boundless energy and curiosity and excitement and joie de vivre, there is a very tender heart.

Holy moley! It sure does make this mama proud.