I bruise incredibly easily; I always look like someone has been beating me. It is because of this propensity for appearing battered (not to mention my fragile disposition) that I am apt to fan myself and declare that I’m a delicate flower.
(Stop laughing.)
So the other day, Otto reports that he was sitting at the table with the kids (I was next door, being told by a new neighbor that she’d meant to bring us some brownies but that they were “still in the box in the cupboard”) (I liked her immediately) trying to get them to finish their dinner. The skies had just opened up, and they were discussing whether or not I could get back home in the rain okay.
Otto told the kids that he didn’t know if I could do it, because I’m such a delicate flower. (I suspect he was telling them “Mama’s never coming back” because if there’s anyone who loves to yank those kids’ chains more than they already do to each other, it’s him.)
“I’m a delicate flower, too!” protested Chickadee—worried, no doubt, that somehow the world had stopped revolving around HER for a moment.
“I’m a delicate weed,” added Monkey, between bites of pasta.
They were all still laughing when I walked into the kitchen, having been rescued from a watery death by the loan of an umbrella.
Happy Love Thursday. May your garden bloom both with what you planted and what just plain decided to grow there, and may both bring you unspeakable joy.
bwahahaha! those darn kids!
it’s so nice to read about all of you being together. happy love thursday.
A delicate weed indeed. I love that kid!
That is a great Love Thursday post.
Laughing through my nose on that one. Monkey rules ;-)
I bruise when I drop a pencil in my lap (ok, not really, but close). SwingDaddy doesn’t bruise until he’s had major surgery. We’re waiting to see how Q turns out. Delicate weed, perhaps?
I’m so used to bumping into things that I don’t even notice anymore, then I wonder where all the bruises came from.
Now I’m trying to think of a suitable delicate weed that Monkey could be.
I regularly find bruises on the middle of my thigh… for years (3 or 4?), I couldn’t figure out where on earth they came from. Then one day it clicked when I tried to turn a corner in my classroom too quickly and hit the edge of a student desk. DUH. Also, there’s constantly a bruise/scrape on my shin from hitting the open door to the dishwasher. Please don’t ask why I don’t just close the door. I don’t know. :P
And your kids are absolutely adorable. I think I shall pack them in my purse and take them with me.
Apparently my garden is FULL of love…I don’t know what half that junk is growing out there, no doubt they are all delicate weeds. Yeah, it fills me with unspeakable joy.
What? You were speaking metaphorically?
Never mind.
Oh, that’s perfect. A delicate weed.
LOL! Good one, Monkey!
Happy Love Thursday to the whole garden…
I’m not sure which is funnier, the brownies being “still in the box,” or Monkey declaring himself a “delicate weed.” ‘Cause a flower would be girly. ;)
Delicate weed — I love your Monkey! He’s so creative.
Monkey shall now be named Dandelion. :)
I think one of the greatest things about having kids is just hearing what comes out of their mouth. :)
Brownies, and weed.
Hmm.
Welcome to the South… ;)
I gotta find a way to use that “brownies still in the box in the cupboard” line. What a clever neighbor you have!