Thursday, April 21, 2011


The weather has been fantastic here this week. I've been kicking the kids out into the backyard right after breakfast. They stay out most of the day. By the end of the day, they come in barefoot and half  naked and turn the bathwater gray.

The kids have been rather clingy and literally quite snotty this week, though. My clothes are filthy by the end of the day. Spring colds are the worst.
Mommy wanted a nice photo; they wanted to throw leaves. 

The girl child isn't whining as much during the day and isn't crying as much when we put her to bed. She is actually talking quite a bit more. I feel like we've gotten over a hump. When I told her I was taking the baby to the doctor this afternoon, she said to him:

You're going to get an ear infection. Yep, that's where ear infections come from: the doctor's office. The baby has a double ear infection. The second ear infection this month, actually.

And the four year old just wants me to talk to him constantly. I'm running out of topics.

Mom, MOM, MOM. TALK, Danny yells at me from the back seat.
I don't know what to say anymore! was my exasperated reply.
Say something. 
Something. And he was quiet for 5 minutes. Finally.

Do you see my fingers, mom? Danny asks as he wiggles his fingers under the locked bathroom door. There's really no place left for me to hide.

Hey, they're all still clean, Jim says incredulously as he looks in the rear-view mirror Saturday while we were out running errands. Rainy Saturday + car seat confinement = clean kids for a change.

Stop chewing on the trash can, Owen. This kid will chew on anything these days.

When you're done launching that spaghetti squash from a straw, please bring your plate to the kitchen.

Look, guys, there's a goose in the court across the street.
I got to run him over with my bike.
He's not a good guy. He poops all over. Well, if that's the criteria for flattening then he'd have been a good candidate his entire third year.

Okay, children, I'm turning Sesame Street on, Danny tells his brother and sister.

Ew. Why are you picking your nose with your toe? I ask Danny.
Two seconds later he ate it off his toe. Really. Boys are so gross.

I JUST WHISPERING. Danny said as loudly as he could one morning when he woke up hoarse. 

FINE. No one plays with it. Every toy you fight over will go away today. Got it? And this was Monday morning at 9 a.m. It was looking to be a long week.

They need to light up, Fiona said while jumping up and down in her new sandals. Her sneakers light up, so naturally, all shoes must now light up.

The answer is no. Please accept it and move on with your life. 
I don't want to move on with my life, Danny said over and over while rocking back and forth on the kitchen floor.

And Fi Fi chimed in ...

Move on with your life, Danny, she chanted in that deep voice of hers that makes her sound like a 60 year old German woman who smokes a pack a day.

Why did you [dip your head in a toilet bowl full of pee]? I ask Danny while I give him an emergency bath and shampoo.
I like doing that. It's my favorite idea. Well, it's not mom's favorite idea, kid.

THAT CAR IS GOING TOO FAST, MOM. He really doesn't speak at a normal volume much.
Did he scare your bird away, honey? He had been watching a black bird hop down the street.
Yeah. We got to shoot that car, he says through gritted teeth. Oh, boy. With this broom. It was the closest thing to him. I explained to him that it's the job of the police to catch and give tickets to people who are speeding. So now I fully expect him to start screaming at passing cars about getting a ticket.

You're going to say goodbye, Fiona tells me while I'm on the phone with Nana. What a little snot.

What's Easter, mom? Danny asked.
Well, it's when we celebrate that Jesus died for our sins and then rose again.
He gave me a queer look.
You know how mommy's kitty is dead and buried in the backyard? Well,  Jesus was dead and buried, but he got up and was alive again.
His eyes got big.
He can fix your kitty, he said excitedly. Well, not exactly.

Happy Easter, everyone.

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