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justice: finn style
We have had a serious problem with ticks this summer. Just short of a plague. And the conversations in our house as we discover these creepy little creepers have been both ridiculous and hilarious. But mostly we just joke about how much we dislike them and the various methods in which we hope to destroy them. (Ticks have made us into a violent family, apparently.) I imagine this talk has affected our children as well, influencing them in ways I was not aware. Yesterday as we loitered around outside while Hannah worked tirelessly on the building of our chicken coop, Piper Finn announced her need to use the restroom facilities…
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Like Mother Like Daughter
As if we need further evidence that Piper Finnian Willow Lacey is my daughter indeed. But here it is just the same. I do not actually care for Oreo cookies. (gasp.) Not the traditional black and white numbers anyway. But ever since some genius in marketing over at the Oreo cookie factory brainstormed the idea of the Golden Oreo, I have been hooked. I could eat the entire bag. I try not to buy them when I will be alone. (I know my own weaknesses – okay?) My favorite part of the Oreo is the white cream center. I have long joked that there would be one simple way to know…
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Oh Finn. You Never Stop Being Funny.
I’m sorry. I try to represent all six of the kids (mostly) equally here. But that’s pretty tricky. Okay. It’s basically impossible. And here I am again. Sharing a Piper-Finn-said-this story. Please accept my humble apologies. A few days ago, at the sink, having not seen a ladybug nor while having a conversation about anything remotely related to insects in general, Piper says: “Mandy is right – ladybugs are good luck.” Still at the sink, washing hands, face covered in chocolate chunk muffin Mosely just made by herself, Piper announces: “Mom, I’m not afraid of hair anymore. I am only afraid of talking toilet paper and walking underwear.”
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The Two Tiniest
Dear Fox and Finnian, Can you please stay small forever? Love, Momma
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is there a funnier age than three?
Not one day goes by that Piper Finnian Willow does not make us laugh. We think she is hilarious. Example One. After a trip to the Goodwill store I required the children to use some hand sanitizer. I poured the goo in Finn’s hands and watched her face change as she began to remember the future flavor of her thumb, post-hand sanitizing. She quickly determined her best course of action and controlled the situation. Finn shoved her thumb in her mouth to “keep it clean” while she scrubbed the rest of the sanitizer on her free fingers smashed up in front of her wee face. Example Two. In the car…
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about last night
2:00 a.m. All was quiet. (As it should be.) And then a cry. A sound of concern coming from a child’s bedroom. “What was that?” I whispered to Kevin. “I think Piper is calling your name,” he said. “No, I think she said your name,” I responded. It’s a game we like to play. The specific name a child chooses to call in the middle of the night is rather significant. It is the difference between staying in your warm bed or being forced to accept your parental responsibility at inconvenient times. We settled back under the covers and tried to ignore the next three mumbled cries. Then a distinct,…
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and now a word from this kid . . . .
Because it has simply been too long. Because my posts have not been all that funny for a few days. Because she is standing near me and asking me what she can do. Because I can. Today, I give you, an exclusive look into the mind of Piper Finnian Willow Lacey, age 3. Me: What should I ask you today? Piper: Ummm. (Thumb lodged in mouth.) I like birds. I want to talk about birds. Me: Perfect. What about birds? Piper: I like birds. Me: Right. What do you like about them? Piper: I like seeing their wings. Me: Where do you normally see birds? Piper: At our house. Me:…
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a first time for, well, everything
I’ve made a lot of trips to the grocery store with many children. (And by a lot – I really mean a lot. As in, if you average just one trip to the grocery store per week since Riley moved in with us, that makes 520 visits.) It is not at all unusual to have five or six kids with me at every Publix tour that I pull. And in all those trips, those hundreds of trips, made with many small children I have never had a child sneak an unapproved item into the cart. I don’t really know why that is, actually. I just know it is not a…
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Just Talking.
Piper Finn: Mom, I don’t want to grow up. Me: Why not? Piper Finn: Just because. I don’t want to. Me: Okay. Stay little as long as you would like. Piper Finn: Mom, I do want to grow up. Me: Oh. Well that was fast. I hope your other life resolutions last longer. Blank stare. Piper Finn: Mom, can you go now? Me: What? Why? Piper Finn: So I can grow up now.
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not from envy.
Apparently we’ve been seeing a bit of green around our house lately. But not from envy. Nope. That would be easier to wash out I think. The funny truth is – I was probably not even fifteen feet away from The Incident As It Occurred. (What does that say about me?) Awww. Shucks. I guess it says that I have more than one kid. That one of those kids left the magic markers out again. And that another one of those kids decided it would be beneficial to her younger brother if he were to receive a tattoo. Because, as she stated, he wanted it. In green. All over his…
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Piper at Play
In this house, I have found that there are many situations in which it is simply best to not ask any questions. The big kids were outside. Fox was taking a nap. I was sitting at the desk, tip-tap-typing away. Piper was playing by herself in the sunroom. I overheard her tiny voice saying lots of “honey” and “sweetie”. “What are you playing Little Willow?” I called to her. “Oh, I am playing that I have two husbands,” she came in closer to explain. “Two? Hmmm. What are their names?” “Big Foot and Big Monkey.” I don’t really need to know any more.
Keep Reading . . .
The Things That We Keep Doing
swimming in the deep end
the burrow: a dining room tour
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Backseat Conversations
A lot of amusing comments are tossed about in the backseats of our trusty Suburban. I can hardly drive for all the laughing. That’s not really true. It would probably be more accurate to say – I can hardly drive from all the crying. Anywho. (Why did I type that? I don’t even like it when people toss that nonsensical word into the empty spaces in conversations.) So. (That’s my preferred conversational pause filler.) Um. Here’s what I heard from the backseat on a recent outing. Piper: I’m making my hair pretty wet right now. Me: (Somewhat alarmed.) With what? Piper: Love. Me: Seriously, are you using spit? Piper: Ummmmmmmmm.…
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the original
It seems as if in almost all cases the original is better than the imitation. Like popcorn. (The real kernels popped on your stove taste better than the microwave variety.) And hot chocolate. (The little paper packet mix has got nothing on heating up genuine milk combined with real cocoa powder.) And the original Chick-fil-A sandwich. (Don’t even get me started on the inadequacies of that spicy version.) I guess Willow feels as if the same concept is true about her toys. Old Eagle is loads better than his new, never-been-loved, duplicate.
