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More Evidence
I keep telling you how funny I think my youngest daughter is. And, like everyone in the ten and under crowd, her humor can sometimes veer to the potty variety. (Which, I guess, implies that mine can too, since I am finding these comments humorous.) So. With that said. Here’s the latest. Walking around the house, making a funny face and a slurping noise, Finn declares, “My spit tastes …. ummmm …. pretty good.” After watching her poop disappear down the toilet, she commented, “Aww. That little one doesn’t know where his family is.”
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Knock Knock
Guess who was just introduced to the knock knock joke? Little Willow. Here’s her first attempt. (All delivered with a flourish of her hands and an odd eye rolling type movement.) Piper: Knock. Knock. Anyone Responding: Who’s there? Piper: Pizza. Anyone Responding: Pizza who? Piper: Your wish has been granted.
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about fragility, bravery, a girl and a horse.
I want to tell you a story about perhaps the most frightening parenting moment of my life and the bravest kid I know. We went to a horse farm for a field trip last week. The farm was tidy and organized and smelled of hay and dirt and horse manure and sky and life and my childhood. The kids admired the miniature horses, the black ram and the albino horse that is not allowed to soak up the sunshine for fear of his skin burning. We had been at the farm for maybe fifteen minutes. The instructor asked us to stand in the breezeway while she prepared our handsome steed,…
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three (3).
Isn’t it funny how all of a family’s history can meet right in the face of a three-year-old? On our long drive recently Kevin and I looked at Piper’s face in the rearview mirror and verbally dissected her petite features. A Norton nose. My mom’s jawline. It’s all right there. Aunt Vonnie. Uncle Tommy. In my little Willow. That wee face, full of so many faces she will never even know. All of the people whose blood flows through hers. All of the people who have had a hand in making her – both structure and soul. A whole of so many pieces. An end to something started so long…
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grocery list
It was that time again. Cabinets looking a bit bare. Fridge filled with containers holding leftovers mostly unrecognizable as former food. I needed to go to the grocery store. I always make a list before I head to the store. But today, Piper made the list for me. This is what she said we needed. I wrote it down. As she spoke it. Because that’s how you make lists – right? No editing allowed. I promise. Piper’s List Pizzas 7 bunny rabbits Some peas 6 suckers We need 7 marshmallows Some cantaloupe Some watermelon Cheese Some bedtimes Blankets Pillows Kids Some rings Spoons to mix 7 sugars I’ll see what…
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I Can Tell That We Are Gonna Be Friends
I have long chronicled this relationship. Emma and I joke that we want these kids to get married (in the far far far far far distant future) just so we can have the world’s best photo montage/slide show/blue-ray extravaganza at their wedding. It could be like a feature length film. They’ve been friends. They’ve been enemies. They’ve been in between. Shoot, they have even shared underwear! So it was with bated breath (Not really – I don’t even know what that phrase actually means. Someone else care to look that up for me? Thanks.) that we met together this July Fourth to see how the two two-year-olds would manage a…
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The Best
Piper likes to say, “You’re the best, Mom.” And then she adds, “You’re the best mom in the whole world!” Then I say, “No” and she says, “Yes, you are!” It’s an adorable game. Except she’s wrong, of course. I am not the best mom. Not in the whole world. Not in the United Sates. Not in South Carolina. Not in my neighborhood. (I don’t exactly live in a neighborhood.) Not even the best mom in my own house some days. I am not. In truth, I am only the best mom in my little Willow’s eyes because I am the only mom she has ever known. That’s it.…
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happiness. wisdom.
At the end of this school year it seems that London’s reading skills have finally taken off. She reads everything. All the time. Beckett wore a shirt that had an arrow and said “He did it”. London cracked up and whispered to me, “Mom, I think Beck’s shirt is perfect because it says he did it. And he probably did.” There was a sign hanging in Sally’s laundry nook. “Hey Mommy,” London announced. “I think this sign might be wrong. It says ‘farm’ then ‘dairy’ but it probably should read ‘dairy farm’.” And forget spelling any secrets out loud any longer. “What? It’s bed time?” Or “Hey everybody –…
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The Magic’s In The Music . . .
I’ve been telling you my Little Willow is smart – right? Well. Now she is an accomplished songwriter as well. She wrote this little piece just this evening and repeated it endlessly as she ran circles around our kitchen’s center island. Here goes . . . I love my mommy. I love her more than the most. I love my mommy. She’s great. So far I am loving this melody. Sing it, sister! But then the words took another decidedly different direction altogether . . . And we never say stupid. And we never say hate. Never. Never. Never. Do we say flub-a-dub? Is flub-a-dub a kind word? I think…
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everyone thinks their own kid is funny. so do I.
One kid. Two stories. Because I can. The First. Yes. We are still bribing Finn to use the bathroom somewhere other than her own pull up. After one such attempt (and success!) Finn requested her reward. “I want sad-you-seize.” she informed me. “Sadducees? Like in the Bible?” I asked her. (Hey, she’s like a genius or something. Maybe she had been reading up on the Sanhedrin and stuff. You never know.) “No, Mommy. Sag-you-see!” “Okay, Finn. Why don’t you just show me where these sag-you-sees are.” And she took my hand and lead me to my desk and reached for my container of orange tic-tacs. Oh. Sag-you-sees. The second. Today…
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Little Lions
After some substantial debate as to how spend last Saturday, our family ended up attending a festival held at our daughter’s school. It was nice. We ate BBQ, listened to story telling, looked at a few crafts, petted a goat or three and bounced in inflatable squares of craziness. But one thing we did not do while at the festival was let the kids get their faces painted. There was no reason really. It just didn’t happen. The line was too long or we were too hungry or whatever. I don’t know. But when we got home the kids could not stop talking about how all they really wanted was…
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You Know What This Means
Piper Finnian is finally being allowed to climb into the loft bed in her bedroom. Do you know what this means? It means this little baby girl of mine is less of a baby girl today than she was yesterday.
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The View From Here
Most days, this is what it looks like when I look down.
