Thursday, June 30, 2011


Lately, I've gotten to the end of the week and thought, "Wow, what a great week we had. ... Uh, wait, what exactly happened this week?" It's nice to just be left with a general sense that all is well instead of a weekly accounting of horrors and inconveniences. Maybe it has to do with my age. See, I turned 37 this week. I'm officially on the downward slide to 40. My memory isn't what it used to be. Or maybe it's just that I've finally grown up and let go of a lot of what used to annoy me.

Boy, that was a long childhood.

Speaking of which, the older kids have taken an interest in the rules suddenly. My bossy first born has decided that he is the enforcer. 

Stop wasting water, Fi Fi. You turn that water off, Danny instructs his sister.

And Fiona has taken to reciting various rules that she tends to break.

No screaming in the house, she informs in the kitchen. 

No screaming. No. No. No screaming, she mutters loudly while playing with trains. She's giving herself subliminal messages perhaps?

No hitting people, Fi Fi tells me.

No feet on the table, she tells me at the table.

Owen, keep your hands to yourself, Fi Fi says.

No screaming. Again. I wonder if she's talking to me?

I'm so glad that she's finally figuring out the rules. Come to think of it, she's hasn't screamed, put her feet on the table or hit anyone much lately.

Wipe it on your dress. Getting a napkin would have required mommy to get up.
I can't do it, she cries. Finally. A child with some standards. If you'll recall, my son has wiped his nose on my carpets, his underwear (yes, while he was wearing them) and his sleeve.

Fi Fi to the time out chair. You did that with malice and forethought, Jim tells her after she took a swing at Danny's train tracks.

Reason 226 why I'd never make it as a waiter, Jim says as he approaches with a dust buster. Excuse me, sir, are you done? he asks Owen. He then proceeds to vacuum up the rice around the baby's plate.

Guess what I got for my birthday? I ask my sister in Japan over the phone. 
A math book? No, that would be the worst birthday present ever.

You can squirt walls and then squirt us, Danny says of the squirt bottle he picked out as my birthday present. I did recently want a squirt bottle for something; I just can't remember now.

Stop saying stuff, Fiona, Danny says. Can you at least be specific?

Diaper, Owen tells my friend. He had walked up to her and handed her a diaper.  Translation: I require a new diaper now, please, and any old mommy will do.

Your soap car is not an essential bedtime item. Please return to your bedroom, I tell Danny. (For those not fully immersed in the dialect 'round here, soap car is a car that was once filled with bubble bath. Manly bubble bath, that is.)

I'm a big girl to go pee pee in the potty, Fiona says. She's so proud of herself.

That's a barber shop, I told Danny.  It's where people get their hair cut. We were doing a puzzle with a barber shop. He asked what it was.
He thought for a second.
Our house is a barber shop. (His father has always cut his hair. He's never been anywhere else.)

And [God] will take great, great care of you, Jim reads from the Noah's Ark story one night. But you've got to do the work, he adds.
Yeah, I've got a desk, Danny replies.

Shortly after that ...
I'm thirsty, Danny says.
And God said, 'Get a drink,' Jim tells him.

Have a safe and happy 4th of July weekend.

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