Thursday, July 07, 2011


My husband and I have barely spoken to each other this week. It's not that we're on the outs with each other. It's that every time one of us speaks, the children drown us out. It's not that they are continuously loud, either. They actually start speaking or babbling shortly after we open our mouths.

And lately, living with Fiona is like having a carnival barker around the house. How loud is she? The only way to convey just how loud she is in writing is to go beyond bold all caps and actually change font size. And the loud gets louder by the end of the sentence.

I ATE YOUR LUNA BAR [PAUSE] ALL GONE, Fiona informs me. And then she laughed.  She had snuck down during "nap time" and helped herself.

Go away, Fiona, I tell her while I'm in the bathroom. I was teasing, actually. I felt that turnabout was fair play. And she actually "got it" because she smirked and said, No.

I'VE GOT TO GO PEE PEE, Fiona hollers as she runs to the bathroom.

Those flowers are sad, dad, Danny remarks about a stand of withered daisies. They're sad and they're looking right at me, he continues. I guess they were at about his eye level.

I spilled my Fresca. Now I need a ginger ale, Danny tells me.
No, dear, you need a rag, I reply.

He chewed the pavement. Ooph.
When you're having trouble walking through the house, it's time to stop and clean up, kids, Jim tells them. Good rule of thumb.

What's up, scarface? Jim greets Owen. The boy took a pretty nasty spill in the driveway this week.

Are you peeing? I caught daughter peeing on Danny's pee pee tree. Her underwear was still on.

Are you trying to pee in that cup? Seriously? Another of Fiona's pee pee experiments.

Are you trying to ride Bob? She had climbed up on his back and wrapped her legs around his body. And she's strong enough to hold on for a few seconds, too.

Don't ride Bob.
Because he's a dog. I was grasping at straws here.
You can ride dogs, Danny informs me.

Don't pull his tail, honey. 
That's part of his body and it can hurt him.
We can just cut it off. Okay, so empathy is not his strong suit yet.

Look at the time, kids. It's 8:15. Way past bedtime, Jim tells the kids.
No, you turn the clock back, Danny tells him.

What's in your pockets, Fiona? Jim asks. She loves pockets.
My hands are in my pockets, she replied. Well, duh, Daddy
Have a great weekend.

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