Grown-up Time

Once you have kids, even the simplest pleasures will take monumental effort, and even the best laid plans will go to shit... literally.

A few weeks ago we had one of the first truly warm evenings of the season so Jason and I decided after the girls went down for the night we would build a fire in our little backyard fire kettle and relax with a glass of wine.  Oh how foolish we are. 

A few nights prior to this plan being hatched Maggie had started a habit of coming downstairs after bedtime - sneaking downstairs is really more like it - just to relay some insignificant piece of information like, "Mama, I'm sorry."  (sorry for what?  doesn't matter, she's just sorry.... can't get in trouble for saying sorry, right?)  That night Jason asked me, "What if Maggie comes downstairs while we're outside?"  And my answer was, "Well that'll learn her won't it!"  But when will I learn that when I get all cavalier about something I always suffer the consequences.  I am a firm believer in karma and cosmic equality - and "God must have a sense of humor" - that sort of stuff, so you'd think I'd have figured it out by now.

Armed with two baby monitors we head outside and settle in, fire started, wine in hand, and finally I breath the deep sigh of a contented, exhausted mama.  Suddenly one thought comes crashing down on me like a wrecking ball.  "You've GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!" 

Our house is a two story with a walk-out basement so we were sitting on the concrete patio a level down from the first floor when I heard, "Mom, Mama, Mommy!!!!  I've got to go poo poo!" cried from the living room window above us.  And then, "Mama, I have poo poo in my panties, IHADANACCIDENT!!! WAHHHH!"  Not only is she out of bed, but she crapped her pants.  See what I mean?  Cosmic.

I drag myself upstairs and into the house and she's got the saddest look on her face and says, "Mama, I couldn't find you!  I have to go poo poo and I couldn't find you and now I have poo poo in my panties!"  and she's sooooo upset.  The kid does not like to have accidents - in fact she doesn't really like to do anything "wrong", she's quite the perfectionist.

I get her to the bathroom and cleaned up, I tuck her back in and give her some extra kisses, and I'm back down at the fire in a little less than ten minutes.  I know what's coming this time so I'm carefully listening to Maggie's baby monitor when sure enough, not three minutes later I hear the very faint fluttering of blankets being pulled back and three minutes after that, "Mom, I heard a noise," being whispered from the window above us.  Now I breath the deep sigh of a defeated Mama.  "OK Maggie, would you like to come sit with us by the fire for a little while?"

We bundled her up in a beach towel and took her outside where she sat quietly in my lap and watched the fire, periodically commenting on a bird or a bug or spark from the blaze.  We sat like that for about thirty minutes, well past her bedtime, but the longer we sat the better it got.  My sweet Maggie cuddling on my lap in front of a springtime fire is not the worst way to spend a Tuesday night.  So even without my glass of wine and grown-up time, I breathed the sigh of the contended, lucky...HAPPY Mama.  Grown-up time will just have to wait another 18 years I guess.

Gardening

Thank goodness for Granny and her extra big yard.  She is tackling some amature farming this summer and this past week we spent some time helping get everything planted.  Can't wait to taste the fruits of our labor!  Two cute pictures of our farm-hands...

Mothers Day

To celebrate Mother's Day this year we went to brunch buffet with my mom and dad.  It was deeeelicious.  I felt a little bit like a cartoon mom though.  When we came in I got the girls situated, then insisted on taking a picture ("Everyone smile!  Just one picture!"), then hurried off to fill a plate for each girl, then spent ten minutes cutting things up for each girl and making sure they were actually going to eat what I gave them.  I finally went to get my plate and of course by the time I got back both girls needed help with something, anything - just so my food wouldn't stay so hot, they must know mom really likes to eat her food room temperature... she writes sarcastically.  Then I ran around the table about twenty-three times and then, only then, was I finally ready to eat.

It was a little ridiculous, but then again, if I wasn't hopping around after these two twerps I wouldn't be celebrating the day at all!  So THANK GOODNESS I never eat food that would be considered even luke-warm.  And thank goodness I spent the first 15 minutes of every meal running in circles, it helps me keep my mom-ish figure.  And thank goodness I'm not afraid to drag out a camera for every minor event, because if I didn't I wouldn't have such wonderful reminders of my time as a mommy to two of the most wonderful little girls in the world.

So, here's the funny story about brunch.  It's about our comedian-in-residence of course.  Maggie was really excited once she saw the vast variety of food, but she stuck to her favorites and insisted she wanted eggs, sausage, and pancakes.  Trouble was, the one thing they didn't have was pancakes.  I scooped up some french toast, poured on enough syrup to drown a small dog, and hoped for the best.

 Back at the table she immediately pointed to the french toast and asked, "What's THAT!  I want pancakes!" 
Quick thinking Mommy answered, "That's FRENCH pancakes, like Fancy Nancy (children's book) likes!" 
"Oooohhh, that's OK then."  She gobbled them up.  Oh la la!

Don't be so literal

Maggie, "Mom, um, ah, Mom, uh... my Barbie, she, uh, my Barbie..."

Me (in a hurry, on my way to the bathroom), "Come on, spit it out!"

Maggie, "Huh?  I don't have anything in my mouth!"

And yes, I am a bad mother for being so disrespectful to my daughter.  I shouldn't have said that.  I made it up to her by slow dancing with her to Beyonce's "Halo".  Besides, I only think it counts as being disrespectful (to a three year old) if the three year old can actually understand what you're saying.

Princess Bedtime

One last thing to do before bedtime - put all the Princesses to bed....

Bodily functions are NOT funny.... but sometimes they are.

So.... gas. Let's talk about it. Actually, you should be rolling on the floor laughing right now because, apparently, gas is the funniest thing on the planet, and the fact that I wrote the word at all should have thrown you into tear-wiping, belly-aching, fits!

Maggie has three jokes.
One:  "Knock, knock. Who's there? HOT DOG!"
Two:  "Guess what? CHICKEN BUTT!"
And three:  "BURRRPPP! Excuse me!" HA HA HA! This one is her favorite. And I hear it all... the... time. No gas? No problem! That doesn't stop her - she's one of the only three-year-olds I know whose comic forte is sound effects and impressions. She can do a mean impression of the dog... if the dog could talk.
Today she showcased her skill at improv. (and here comes what a 15 year-old Maggie will think is the most embarrassing story EVER! Gawd MOM!)

She was standing in front of me with her pants and panties around her ankles complaining that she got some pee on her panties. Typical end of the world stuff. She's in the middle of whining, "But Mommmmm, my panties are wet!!!!!" when she farted - or rather "tooted", which is what we lovingly and ridiculously call it. She stops mid-sentence and throws her hand up to her face, "Oh! I tooted!" and then turns her naked butt in my direction and says, "Excuse me!" in a deep silly voice.

That's right folks, "Mom, my butt said excuse me because my butt tooted!  Sometimes my butt can talk." And then to further illustrate her butt's vocal abilities she turned her butt toward me again and said, "BURRRPPP, Excuse me!"

Her butt burped. I almost kept it together through the first half of the conversation, but (butt) the second bit killed me!  I guess the preschooler has a decent bit going after all, I mean not many people can pull off a talking butt. Laughed my BUTT off. Ha ha... get it? (clearly I am not as comically blessed as my child)