Joe was in his high chair. Not eating. I told him to take a bite. He leaned his head against the back of his chair, closed his eyes, and faked heavy sleep breathing.
First of all, when and how did he learn this?!
I said, “Should I take you to bed then?”
Still with his eyes closed, he lifted his pointer finger as in “one minute.”
Seriously, kid? So much for being asleep.
Delicious looking plate of green beans. That I didn’t cook, hence looking delicious. Image by Vu DOAN from Pixabay
When my parents were here for Christmas, Joe said, “I don’t need these green beans.”
My mom, trying to be helpful, said, “Green beans are my favorite!”
Joe said, “You can eat them then.”
Joe loves going outside. The problem is, Read the rest of this entry
Every year we go to my brother and sister-in-law’s for the holiday. Every year we get stressed out and have the same conversation at a frenetic pace.
“We should’ve started the potatoes sooner. They’re not going to be done in time.”
Thanks for the pic Pixabay.
“Where’s the box to carry the food?”
“The ham juice is going to leak when we drive down the hill.”
“What are we forgetting?”
“Did you grab the [fill in the blank]?”
“I think we have everything now. Kids, get in the car!”
“We should’ve left already!”
This year the insanity was punctuated by Read the rest of this entry
Last week I wrote about my failed attempt to get serious writing done at home. The following week, I decided to venture back to the library.
Instead of sitting in the back corner in the section marked “Silent Zone,” I found a more central area, not directly under the AC, that was, at least initially, quiet.
Then someone I couldn’t see carried on a phone conversation at full volume. Minutes later, a librarian, of all people, explained to a patron the organizational system of the book stacks at even greater volume. And finally, an older gentleman asked if the seat next to me was taken. When I said no, he responded, “Now it is,” and plunked down with a waft of week-old body odor, dropped his pile of newspapers next to him, then crinkled through them one by one, all the while taking rattling breaths that twice made me check to be sure he hadn’t actually fallen asleep and was snoring. Read the rest of this entry
This may come as a shock to readers, but my two-year-old is not fond of napping. When I announced naptime, he hid behind the Curtain of Invisibility.
To prove their love and devotion, my kids will often let me sleep with stuffed animals carefully chosen from among their vast stores.
It’s a little like paying tribute but without the volcano. One daughter will even hold out the proffered gift, head bowed, and back away, still bent at the waist, arms out. She’s a silly one. I don’t know where she gets it.
Lately the girls have been on a rabbit kick, so the space between Husband’s and my pillows has become filled with Thumper, Hopper, Flopper, and friends.
Five stuffed rabbits, one bear, and one Alf in an apron and chef’s hat.
Husband said, “Why do there seem to be more animals here instead of less?” Read the rest of this entry
On our walks to the mailbox, the neighbor’s cat, Callie, comes out to greet us with a meow. I respond in kind.
Callie the Kitty
Callie often accompanies us the rest of the way to the mailbox, but today, she stopped short.
“You coming, Kitty?” Joe asked.
She merely looked at him.
“Mom, ask Kitty if coming,” he said in his sweet two-year-old way.
And because I speak Cat. Obviously.
What’s a mom to do? I turned to Callie and said, “Meow. Meow. Meow meow?”
Here was her response: Read the rest of this entry
Joe called me into his room after I’d put him to bed last night, asking for a drink of water.
Classic stall technique.
He also held up his finger and said, “Get rid of it.”
As it was dark, I fumbled to find the end of his finger, where, what I thought was a broken fingernail, was hanging off. I easily removed it and tried to throw it in the trash, but as it took several tries to scrape the sticky substance off my own finger, I asked,
“Is this a booger? From your nose?”
Though I couldn’t see his beaming face, I could hear it in his voice.
“I got it myself!”
The last time I removed a booger from his nose, I had to wrestle him into the corner of the couch and use the jaws of life to pry his hands away from his face. (How is a two-year-old so strong?!)
So I said, “That’s good I guess.”
As I left his room, thinking maybe I won’t have to struggle to evacuate his nostrils again, it occurred to me that I had effectively taught my son to pick his nose.
Yep. *I* did that.