I've been a little lax on this column lately. The kids are just as funny as ever. I just can't seem to remember or keep track of what they're saying. Fiona is still obsessed with everyone's poop. Danny is still obsessed with NASCAR and rockets. At this point, I blame Owen for my blogging laxity. I spend most of my time trying to keep him from killing himself or mauling his siblings. He's been challenging gravity a lot lately, too. And losing.
Last night, he tripped over his own feet and has a pretty large goose egg on his forehead. He likes to run right up to high ledges at the playground and lean forward, giggling maniacally, while mommy (or daddy) come running. When he wants to get out of his high chair or his car seat, he tells me "Go, go, go." I've gotten really good at dressing a moving target. Maybe I'll put that on my resume.
Why is it recycling, mom? Danny asks about a bottle I gave him to put in the bin.
So they can break it down and use it for something else.
YEAH, like a rocket! Of course, dear.
Where's your shirt, Danny?
I don't need a shirt. I'm using my blanket as a cape. Oh, well, then. Carry on.
She's a bitch, Danny said of the witch on The Wizard of Oz.
No, no, Danny. She's a witch, Nana replied.
Hey, that rhymes. Witch and bitch. They rhyme. Oh dear. On the bright side, he's recognizing rhyming words, so that's good, right?
He was going too fast, I commented to Danny while driving.
Yeah, he might be a NASCAR.
You were being obnoxious, Danny tells me. My crime? He slid off the swing as I pulled his legs to give him a push on the swing. He has such a wonderful vocabulary.
Keep your heads to yourself, Jim told the kids who were headbutting each at the table.
Fi Fi said there was water in this cup but there's not. She was being obnoxious, Danny reported.
Here, you can sweep this up, Fiona says as she drops a nugget into the pile of dirt I was sweeping up.
What is it? I ask.
It might be poop or something, she says, shrugging her shoulders. This is actually her go-to answer for every mystery these days.
They're actually playing together, Jim points out incredulously one evening as Danny and FiFi played quietly.
Don't make eye contact with them, I advised him. It's like waking a sleeping giant.
No more apple juice. You may have water, Fiona.
Five minutes later, the fridge door is open.
Fiona, I said no more apple juice.
I'm getting lemonade, mommy, she says innocently yet with a little twinkle in her eye.
No, you cannot have my popsicle or my blood, niece Mia informs the mosquitoes in our backyard.
Enjoy your weekend. Stay out of the wind.