It got hot, then cold, then hot, then cold. I had a million conversations about how we have to wear long sleeves and pants instead of shorts when it's cooler outside even though we wore shorts yesterday. I remember this frustration as a child. I thought my mother was so unfair because she wouldn't let me wear shorts in April. (We lived in New York.) I get it, now, Mom.
Fiona started getting interested in going potty again, or actually, she's just interested in wearing underpants. She told her godmother this week that she doesn't like the potty. Sigh.
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| Triple trouble |
Danny is on a remarkably even keel these days. (And now that I've said that out loud, he's going to turn into Satan.)
Owen started sleeping a little better as he should; he's almost walking. He's stringing sounds together and even saying some actual words, such as ...
Pizza, Owen said on pizza night. He was peeking over Jim's shoulder while in the backpack as Jim cut pizza. He loves pizza. (Don't worry, we're not feeding him junk food. It's homemade pizza.)
Kiss, Owen said one morning. We were chatting on my bed, our morning ritual, and he leaned in and gave me a kiss. Awwwww. (He's such a baby trap.)
That's not camiliar, Danny says. He was putting two pieces of sausage together.
What does that mean? I ask.
It's silly, strange, weird and not good. Ah, I see.
Owen bit me, Fiona says.
Did you put your hand in his mouth?
Yeah.
Well, don't do that. (Honestly, she and I have had this conversation about 10 times this week. Two year olds are not that bright.)
Keep your voice down, Danny. Owen is trying to fall asleep, I tell him.
I'm trying, mom, but I just can't do it. I knew it. This supports my theory that children have two volumes: Off and Loud.
See, tables and chairs are designed so you can sit and eat over the table so you don't make a mess, I explain to Fiona one morning to blank stares. Are you understanding any of this?
No, she says and shakes her head.
Sit down, I told the kids at dinner one night.
What's sit down? Danny asked. OH ... maybe that's the problem. They don't know what sit down means.
What will happen if you don't eat that and ask for it again tomorrow?
Nothing, he says.
That's right. Mommy's new rule: If you don't eat what you ask for, you don't get it next time you ask. Mommy thinks that is totally fair.
Where do you want to go to work when you grow up? Jim asked Danny one night before bed .
I want to make fast food. Oh, boy. My kid will one day utter the dreaded phrase: Do you want fries with that?
Oh, look, there's tufted titmouse on the screen porch, I told the kids.
Hey, Owie, it's one of your people, Jim said. For those who don't think like a 13 year old boy, he was making a joke about Owie's nursing habits. We're learning the names of birds in our yard. This one wasn't too bright. He was stuck in there for hours, flitting about in the gutters and the underdecking. The kids were just delighted.
Eat off your plate, not off the floor, Jim bellowed at Fiona one night. She had gotten out of her chair and picked up a dried up piece of rotini from under the table and proceeded to eat it. She had a full plate of fresh food in front of her. I am perilously close to just throwing the food on the floor at mealtime.
Have a great weekend.
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