Lest you are still feeling dewy-eyed from my daughter's compassion this morning, I have a cure for what ails ya. It's called, WELCOME TO CHICKADEE'S WORLD. You know I love her. I do. I would lay down my life for her, without a second thought. Largely due to the brain damage I have sustained whilst slamming my head into the wall repeatedly. There is no greater frustration than locking horns with the younger version of oneself. Today when we picked Monkey up from school, they were giving out these fiber optic wand thingies to the kids in his class, for some reason. Chickadee's eyes got big,...
I had dreams last night of the children as babies again; at the same time. Granted, they are only 20 months apart, but there's a huge difference between a 2-year-old and an infant. Regardless, in my dream, they were both fuzzy-headed, gurgling babies. As the no-real-plot saga unfolded in my sleeping mind, I was faced with trying to attend to them both, and figure out which one needed my attention more. Although I was undisturbed by their sudden reversion in age, I was overcome with panic about keeping them safe. It was a constant battle to determine which one was more in need of my rescue....
We came, we saw, we sledded. I am old, and therefore I broke my butt. Monkey would only go down the (rather steep) hill if I went with him. I make a lot of jokes about how big my butt is, but I am evidentally a lot bonier than I thought, because having nothing but a plastic disc between me and the hill meant that my coccyx made contact with my brain several times on the way down. Ow. Eventually I was able to talk him into going down with his sister, but then I still had to get to the bottom of the hill to help him back up. About three trips down and up the hill and I was ready to go home. Or...
Number of children invited: 8. Number of children expected: 7. Inches of snow that had fallen by half an hour prior to partytime: 3. Inches of snow that fell during the party: 3. Number of times the plows had been by: 0. Number of cancellations: 2. Number of mysterious no-shows: 1. Number of puddles in my mudroom: 7. Total party meltdowns: 0. Number of times I found myself wishing I'd just planned for only six kids: A billion. Number of times I kicked myself for stressing out so badly over what ended up basically being a playdate: A trillion. Number of candles Monkey blew out: 2. Number of...
Question: How many times can a little girl sing "Away in a Manger" with great depth of feeling but using complete gibberish aside from the phrase "Little Lord Jesus?" (To wit: "I bee-dee, fron lowla gin cry wah dee day! The li-ttle lord Jesus gree fon doo be bay!") Answer: Eleventy trillion. Over and over. For. Ever. Also... Question: Thusly serenaded, where did I leave the box of macaroni I took out for lunch? Answer: On top of the washing machine. Naturally. Hold me.
There are so many jokes that spring to mind, here, but none is as funny as the straight-up truth: The pediatrician's recommended remedy for Chickadee's eczema is to coat her liberally in Crisco after each shower. Crisco. I just did it, for the first time, and it wasn't as gross as I'd imagined. In fact, her parched skin drank it right up. But, still. Ewwww. Although, I am enjoying the ability to threaten to dust her in cornmeal and dunk her in boiling oil if she doesn't behave. In other news, the De-Lurking Day is enjoying huge success, both here and at other blogs. Thanks to everyone who...
Happy birthday to you, you live in a zoo, you're my sweet dear Monkey, and now I'll squeeze you til you turn bluuuuueeeee! Actually, I usually follow it up with tickling him until he pees, but the rhyming, you understand, doesn't work so well with that one.... In a few short hours (I'm writing this Monday night, and setting it to publish at midnight) my baby will be five whole years old. My baby. My last baby. We will run into his room in the morning--as we always do on his birthday--and wake him up with singing. He will slowly uncurl from the little ball he's burrowed into under the...
I have the kids for one day before they go back to Daddy's for the weekend. On the one hand, they've been having a wild and crazy time over there and part of me thinks they just need a day of structure and rest. On the other hand, why should he have all the fun? We're all still in our pajamas, following sleeping late and an elegant breakfast-and-cartoons experience here in the family room. Monkey: I'm thirsty! Me: That's nice. Monkey: Um. Mama, may I please have some milk? Me: Yes, you may. Thank you for asking so nicely. Monkey: You're funny, Mama. Me: Are you going to spill this milk?...
I hope that everyone had a wonderful holiday weekend. We made it through with a minimum of tears--for either me or the kids--and for that I am truly grateful. My Christmas Eve plans ran into a snafu when my destination turned up with another round of the Icky Tummy Bug ("You're more than welcome to come over, anyway..." "Oh, thanks, but I think I'd rather go stick something sharp in my eye"), so I had a quiet evening at home after church. Christmas morning, I slept late, showered and dressed as slowly as possible, and then kissed and hugged my children upon their return home until they...
