"Mom, pull my finger"

I never set out to raise a Girly-Girl. I was never one myself, so why raise one. That said, I certainly didn't set out to raise a Grody Girl. (Sidenote: Is grody even a word outside of the late 80s/early 90s? And if it is, is that how you spell it?) Regardless, it appears that I indeed have a Grody Girl on my hands.

Tonight when I was helping Sweetie put all of the crayons back in the box, she turned to me, held out her finger with its 1/2-painted pink nail, and said, "Mom, pull my finger." I looked at her a minute, calculating. I know what's supposed to happen when I pull her little finger. But does she know what's supposed to happen when I pull her finger? And if she does HOW does she know that?! So, I tested the waters. I pulled her finger. And, yes, she certainly does know what's supposed to happen.

So, being the pillar of manners that I am, I coughed and ran out of the room before I could break out laughing at the shock of my little 3-year-old Sweetie moving wind on a wim. I returned promptly, of course, telling her that I had to leave because of the stink and because people do not like to be around other people who cannot control their bodily functions (or, in this case, those who can control their bodily functions all too well).

Upon further thought, I didn't even need to ask who taught her this new skill: J, now to be called, He Who Is Undermining My Manners Lessons (HWIUMML)

And lest you think this is not a big deal, I will only briefly mention the dried nose-pickings we found on the wall when putting her to bed last week. She apparently sees no problem in trying to fill the small indentation in the wall near her bed.

Well, Grody Girl, be gone! I am setting out to reform the little missy ASAP. Of course, I may first need to deal with HWIUMML himself. Wish me luck! And, just because I can't resist, here's my soon-to-be-reformed-Grody Girl. Today's thankful 3:
1. New scholastic books to read.
2. That clean-child smell when they're fresh out of the tub.
3. My girl, grody or not.

Thank you, Barney.

Tonight I was flying solo at dinnertime. I dished up the kids' plates, got everyone butter, salt, pepper, more water, more milk, and another napkin and had just settled in, lifting my fork to take my first bite when Sweetie spilled her juice. Actually "spill" doesn't do it justice. It was more like the juice knew I was going to take a bite and it erupted out of the cup.

As I was on my hands and knees cleaning it up, Mister said, with shock in his voice, "Mom, Barney was right! Moms do do a lot for kids!"

Maybe if Barney can raise such impromptu awareness in my children, I need to rethink my aversion to large purple dinosaurs. . . .


Nope. It's still there. But thanks anyway, Barney. I needed a little validation tonight.

Today's thankful 3:
1. a quiet house
2. tight bedtime squeezes
3. talking with J while we did the dishes together

What is it about the Olympics . . .

. . . that makes me stay up until midnight every night watching, even when I know I have to be up at 5:20?

. . . that leads to head-rushes, impromptu gymnastics routines, and loud thumps coming from upstairs:

. . . that persuades me it's a good idea to up my speed on the revolving stairs at the gym this morning? (Too much leftover adrenaline from watching yesterday's women's marathon?)

. . . that causes my children to summersault willy-nilly around the family room and leads Sweetie to claim, upon watching the women's gymnastics floor routines, "I can do that!" (This from the child who cannot manage to make it through a meal without knocking her drink to the floor and cannot manage to carry her dinner plate to the sink without sending the uneaten peas to all corners of the kitchen).

So what is it about the Olympics that makes us look at the best performances, the best athletes in the world and think that we can do better in our own personal efforts? It seems like with other things in life, when we see others' "bests," we aren't more optimistic of our own abilities. Instead, we're harsher with ourselves--why can't I do that, be like that, sing/play like that, look like that, earn that, learn that. Well, whatever it is about the Olympics, I love it! (although I could do without the midnight hours. . .)

Beginnings and Endings

I've never been good at either. I'm a status quo kind of girl. Here's hoping Mister can manage them a little better than I've been able to. So far, the outlet looks good:

The First Day of School--Mister, kindergarten; Sweetie, preschool

And the requested "First Day of School" Cake. (Cranked out very quickly--darn that Mrs. Turtle in the Franklin Goes to School book we read last night, making her son his own fly pie as a first day of school treat. Way to put ideas in my kids' heads!) It's supposed to look like a book, so squint a little, please.

The Last Brother/Sister Bathtime
Yeah, yeah, so maybe this ending should have come earlier. But I just couldn't bring myself to cut off the fantastic foam creations or the scuba diving expeditions and other such fun. Privacy schmivacy (in the past, that is). So here they are with their secret agent rubber duckies who have wisely doned foam suction cups to scale the slippery tub walls. Sorry, secret agent ducks, you'll be swimming solo from here on out.

Today's Top 3

1. Bedtime cuddles, with Mister recapping his school day: "he said, . . . then she said, . . . then he did . . ."
2. Giggling with my kids at Shel Silverstein's CD of "A Light in the Attic."
3. A monsoon! Love the lightning.