Thursday, November 11, 2010
Wait, that didn't sound right.
What I mean is that pulling back from our regularly scheduled activities has been a breath of fresh air despite all the coughing and boogers. Monday, we took it easy. Tuesday, Danny stayed home from preschool and we played inside, watched videos and eventually went outside to play. By Wednesday morning, Danny had gotten himself up and dressed, ate breakfast then bundled himself up to go outside by 8:00 a.m. No hounding to get moving, no threats over breakfast, no rushing out the door for preschool, no errands to run. It was just nice. And Danny and Fiona played together as if they might actually like each other. (Next week, I'm expecting World War III.)
And without further ado ...
Mom, come see, there's a mess. Um, I'd rather not. But thanks for the update.
What's wrong, Mom?
You need to sleep, he says, nodding his head.
Oh, if only you all would let me.
I went to sleep and woke up and it's still not my birthday. Ooooohhhhh. It's going to be a long month here. His birthday is December 1.
It's not coming off, Danny says of the bite mark that Fiona left on his hand.
Something's sticking in my butt. It's a pine cone, Danny says. Oh joy. The 4-year-old potty talker has arrived.
Here, Fi, put this in your purse, I say when Fiona brings me her purse. We ladies put lots of junk we don't need in there. At that moment, four scrunchies, a baby sock, a medical receipt, a cell phone, one Sea Band, one pen, my midwife's business card, an expired driver's license, a birthday party invitation, about 10 grocery receipts and some cracker crumbs were floating around my purse.
Owie, you're going to try a little something tonight that we like to call sleeping. It's fun, it's easy and it makes people like you better, 'kay? Good thing babies don't get sarcasm. Or maybe they do. He laughed at me when I said this.
I think my prayers were answered, Jim tells me. ... I got home today and Danny had no voice. Danny, who is incapable of speaking in a normal, non-whiny voice, has been sick with a cold this week. We're so sad for him.
Danny, don't wipe your nose with your spoon. This kid has also managed to wipe his nose on the waistband of his underpants.
Oh, and I just must share this little incident:
I heard Owen laughing hysterically in our bedroom while I was in the laundry closet. I came in to find Owen on his back and Fiona straddling him. He thought it was hilarious. I was terrified. Those two have a little thing going on.