My friend Anita shared this:
Last week my youngest two children discovered a fly in the house. Pure terror! One screamed her head off as it landed on her head. Every time it flew by they screamed and cried. I quickly reassured them that he was friendly, his name is George and he is our new pet. Problem solved! Now they look for him, share their food with him and protect him from potential dangers (like Daddy’s swatting dish towel). Not looking forward to the day he disappears.”
I was surprised to find so many people posting on Facebook that Kate Middleton had a baby girl. Do we really care? Although one mom had a great take on the whole thing. Read the rest of this entry
I’d been wanting to cut my hair for a while. The words of an old college chum still haunt me when my hair gets to a certain length: “You have a long face, so when your hair is long, too, it draws your face out more and makes you look like a horse.” Sadly, it seems like my face has only gotten longer with age. So, when my hair gets long, too, I look in the mirror and frequently see Weird Al Yankovic staring back at me, only not being funny and entertaining.
So, the hair had to go. I took a shower one morning and, seeing my hair already damp and straight, decided it was time to take matters into my own hands. I grabbed the hair cutting scissors and was determined. But I hit a snag. Looking in the mirror and operating scissors, or just operating scissors when they’re turned back toward your head is harder than it looks in the movies. I was sure I’d end up cutting at a sharp angle by mistake. So, I called in my daughter. Read the rest of this entry
I rarely visit the PIF facebook page. I know my stuff goes there automatically, and I do nothing more with it. Admittedly, this is probably a bad thing. So today I decided to at least look at the page and was accosted by the large dark gray banner at the top, the one I’m supposed to cover up with a photo. Sigh. I guess I’d better finally do that, I thought.
So I scanned our most recent photos and came across ones from our trip to the Natural History Museum over spring break. The experience for a parent, I soon realized, was not so much about seeing the exhibits as it was keeping the kids corralled. It was all about them. They are so selfish.
It was difficult to impossible to keep them all together, so my husband and I were on zone defense, frequently making eye contact across the semi-crowded rooms and holding up either one or two fingers to indicate how many children we had within close proximity. So long as we both knew how to count to three, we were okay. Read the rest of this entry
by my five-year-old:
“I’m going to lay on the couch for a nap.”
“I’m taking a nap now.”
“This is the last time you’ll hear from me before I fall asleep.”
30 seconds later: 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?
Read the rest of this entry
My seven-year-old was reading about owls out loud, including what they eat. My four-year-old said to me, “So if an owl saw a human it would be like, [shrugs shoulders] ‘Umm. Nah.'”
Where does she come up with this stuff?
A friend posted this on facebook. My heart nearly melted:
Two of my children were chatting in the backyard sandbox. One said to the other, Read the rest of this entry
Getting dressed in the morning in my home doesn’t always happen. The rule is, you must be dressed by lunch, and if the kids are okay with a late lunch then….
Not being a great role model in this regard–I mean, why bother taking off the clothes you’ll just be putting back on in a few hours, am I right?–I tried one day to be better.
“Let’s see who can get dressed first!” I called to my girls enthusiastically.
“I’m halfway there!” I soon announced from my room.
“One more arm hole to go!”
Then, triumphantly, I stood in their bedroom doorway, arms raised, announcing, “I win!”
My half-dressed youngest said disdainfully, Read the rest of this entry