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
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.
Little Joe was so sweetly and lovingly holding a baby doll, hugging and kissing it, I thought, “Awh, he’ll make a good dad some day, or perhaps big brother.”
Then he banged the doll’s head on the ground and yelled, “Ow!” Not once or twice, but three times.
Nice, baby. Niiiice. A few seconds before “Wham! Wham!”
For reasons unknown to me, family members enjoy offering Baby Joseph food and laughing at his complete disinterest in this strange multi-colored stuff we’re putting in our mouths.
My youngest daughter said to him in her high-pitched little voice, “You want chips and salsa, Joe? You want some beer?” (Please note that she was consuming neither.)
But the goofiness doesn’t end there. My oldest spilled dry Rice Krispies on the floor. Did she sweep them up right away? No. She brought out Read the rest of this entry
Step 1. Get water ready.
Step 2. Change and throw away poopy diaper.
Step 3. Return from depositing poopy diaper in diaper pail five feet away only to discover baby has pooped again ALREADY!
Step 4. Repeat steps 2-4, as needed.
Step 5. Remove baby’s clothing and carry to bathroom.
Step 6. Remove diaper, praying there’s no more poop in it. (If not, continue to step 7. If so, repeat steps 2–4, as needed.)
Step 7. Gently slide baby into bath water and begin bathing.
Step 8. Try not to show irritation as second youngest child enters room to “help.” Read the rest of this entry
My neighbor recently told me the story of when her husband was a boy, he saw his dad waxing his Porsche. Ever the helpful one, he decided to pitch in, only he didn’t grab a soft pad to wax with, he grabbed Read the rest of this entry
When she was upset and crying, (I forget about what. It was minor.) she tearfully asked, “Do we have any [sniff] tomatoes?”
Tomatoes? The kid wanted tomatoes to calm herself down! Not a hug from Mommy, not her teddy bear or blanket, not even a bar of chocolate or some ice cream like any normal female.
She wanted tomatoes.
My husband picked four tiny red ones from our plant outside. She was instantly consoled. I wish it were that easy for me.
Then, as if that weren’t weird enough, she put the tomatoes in her milk cup and drank/ate them. Like I said, weirdo. Of course, this is also the child who enjoys drinking grape juice and milk. In the same cup.
She also asserts frequently and with great confidence that the last day of this coming summer will be the best day of her life because then she gets to start Kindergarten the next day. Let’s see how long her enjoyment of school lasts, shall we?
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