Thursday, September 16, 2010


A little known milestone ... flying.
It's finally showing signs of fall here—low humidity, a light breeze, cool mornings and crunchy leaves. I'm so happy about the crunchy leaves! The kids and I have been making crinkled leaf soup in the backyard. I'm trying not to hog all the leaves. Owen had his four month appointment this week. He weighed in at 17.5 pounds and is 28 inches long—off the charts for height, actually. When I carry in the front carrier his legs hit my knees as I walk. Danny is hanging in there at preschool. It's very strange that the only source of information on my son's doings for three hours twice a week comes from, well, my son. In October, we'll have parent telephone conferences, or as my husband calls it the "Yeah, we know" call. As for Fiona, she's saying a lot more, but she also still shrieks like a terradactyl most of the time. She said her first whole sentence this week. It's our first entry, in fact.

Get off of me. Fiona told Danny this two days ago. I think she can hold her own. In fact, she bit him on the cheek this morning. He went to preschool with a bite mark on his face. I'm expecting a call from DSS any day now.

No, you can't do that. That's where the Lorax pops out. Danny was genuinely alarmed at the prospect of Daddy pouring stump killer into all the unsightly tree stumps in our yard.

I'm a pain in the butt, Danny told the cashiers at Target. If I gave a crap what they thought, I would have put the comment in context for them. Of course, I care what you think so ... after the fifth or sixth time Fiona, a k a Jaws, bit him during our Target excursion, I told him to just stop being a pain in the butt and maybe she'd stop biting him. (Yes, I did scold her for biting him, but at some point the kid has got to stop putting his fingers all up in her grill, yo) 

You. Own. Nothing. What my husband frequently says to Fiona when she declares, "MINE."

Danny (while grabbing his bum): It's shrinking. Me: What's shrinking? Danny: My butt. Huh? Turns out that his underwear was stuck in his bum.

NO. Don't pour water on her head. She doesn't like that. Danny sticks up for his sister during her baptism on Saturday. I'm happy to report that she did not bite, kick or hit the priest. She did, however, pop her baby brother on the head in front of the whole church. Like I said, DSS should be here any day now.

Fiona: Daddy! Me: Um, no honey, that's Jerry Garcia. She had grabbed a book about the history of the Grateful Dead. Incidentally, in her little world, all men are Daddy, all women are Mommy, all little boys are Danny (who she calls Nini) and all little girls are Gabby (the name of my dear friend's little girl).

Butterby! Butterby!  Fiona's word for butterfly. Awww. I just love baby words, don't you?

Have a great weekend!

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