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
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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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
I saw them heading up my driveway, a mother and her daughter, most likely. They didn’t carry chocolate or cookies, they carried paper, pamphlets of some sort. As any rational adult would do in this situation, I hid. Unfortunately, the windows along my escape route had sheer curtains, so my best recourse was hiding behind the door, down low because of the glass near the top.
Not my finest moment.
Then my seven-year-old came along. Read the rest of this entry
I’m trying my hand at novel writing. My oldest is eager to read my book. I’ve caught her a couple of times trying to read over my shoulder as I type, but I’ve told her she’s too young for it. At dinner she asked, “Can I just read the parts that I’m not too young for?” I said she can read it when it’s published. She’ll probably have children of her own by then, so it should be all good.
Then my seven-year-old said, “Maybe your book will be made into a movie.”
“That would be great!” I said, impressed that she was looking out for the success of her momma.
But then she added, Read the rest of this entry
It was my fault, really. I spotted the butterfly just standing there on our back patio. I called the girls over to see it. They came on tiptoes. Then they sat in awe and spoke in hushed tones, not wishing to disturb it or scare it away.
Attempts to get them to eat breakfast were thwarted by the mystique of the orange, black, and white. Soon sketch pads came out and whole pages were being devoted to the majesty of the monarch.
Suddenly the silence was broken as one girl called out to me a curt but anguished, “Mom!” I rushed to the scene, sensing the distress in her voice. Read the rest of this entry