oh blessed beverage who taketh away the nausea of the mama. blessed be your merciful gingerness.

saying goodnight

After laying CutiePieDimpleHead in his cribby, because that's what the child calls it, people, I refuse to add the diminuitive -y ending to a diminuitive bed, I tucked Wee Man into the top bunk.

Give me a kiss goodnight, Wee Man.

No.

Well, may I give you a kiss?

No.

Why not?

My teeth are shiny.

Alright, then. See you tomorrow.

quatre.

Vier. τέσσερα. Quattro. Quatro. Cuatro. 四.

Anticipated arrival: April 7, 2009.

Planned. Really.

Only sick between the hours of 12 p.m. and 12 a.m.

encyclopedia o-tannica

Wee Man, from his car seat: Wook, Sis. The sun is dwiving awong with us.

Miss O: No, Wee Man, that's not it at all. You see, the sun is very far away. We are really driving past the sun, because the sun doesn't move, but because the sun is so big and so far away, and we are so tiny, it looks like the sun is moving with us. But it doesn't. It's not even actually moving. Do you understand now? It's called science. And girls can totally be spectacular at science. Just like boys, but better.

the (mis)adventures of wee man

So there I was, sleeping minding my own business whilst the boys were napping yesterday, blissfully comfortable in myveryown bed under all of myveryown blankets, face down in the mattress. I love to nap. I have loved napping since I discovered napping at the ripe old age of fourteen minutes. I aspire to nap daily. I think about naps. I often am resigned to living vicariously through my childrens' naps, which is a beautiful time of day. Especially if I happen to be napping, too.

Aaaaaahhhhhh, the nap.

Back to minding my own business. I was jarred out of my blissful business-minding by some Wee Man Whining. It has it's own distinct timbre which causes the actual words being uttered during whining to become completely garbled. Very easy to identify. Not so much easy to block out.

I pulled the covers up over my head even farther than before. The whining escalated. Faster than a Ferrari goes from zero to sixty, Wee Man hit Total Flip Out.

It was at that moment I realized the location of the child. He was Totally Flipping Out in the bathroom. And that, people, is NOT GOOD.

So I put on my Grown Up Pants, peeled back the layers of comfort and joy, and plodded to the bathroom. I plodded on purpose. Because Wee Man had started this whole bit by whining, and I was fairly confident that he was not, say, drinking the toilet bowl cleaner. I imagine that one does not exactly whine whilst drinking the toilet bowl cleaner, so naturally he was not in grave danger. Hence the plodding.

I plodded into the bathroom and found Wee Man standing on the Able To Reach The Toilet Stool. With the potty seat around his neck.

That's what I said.

The potty seat was around his neck.

Ours is the fancy Walmart style with the light blue base, complete with handles for those times when things aren't so easy. And a very bland white vinyl padded ring for tiny heinys. When you purchase the potty seat, the blue part and the white part are attached.

The blue part was resting comfortably on Wee Man's shoulders. The white part was wrapped around his face.

And do you know what my first thought was? It was not, How did he actually DO that? It was not, How am I going to get that off him? It wasn't even, Gosh, I hope he's alright.

It was, Camera! Camera! Must. Get. Camera.

My second thought was, I would be such a bad mother if I left him standing there screaming to go get my camera.

Then I paused for a half a moment to try to remember where my camera actually was. It was down a flight of stairs, across the living room, through the play room, out the front door, onto the porch, out the porch door, down the sidewalk, across the driveway, locked in the car, back up the sidewalk, in the porch door, onto the porch, in the front door, grabbed the keys, out the front door, onto the porch, out the porch door, back down the sidewalk, across the driveway, unlock the car, grab the camera off the front seat, close car door, across the driveway, up the sidewalk, in the porch door, onto the porch, in the front door, through the play room, across the living room, back up the flight of stairs, into the bathroom.

Reluctantly I yanked the seat off his head without a visual preservation of the moment.

Buddy, why was the potty seat on your head?

I was twying to fix it.

houston, we have a problem

Miss O is going to start kindergarten in, oh, what's today?, I don't know, but it's soon. It seems, according to the 984,571,084,428,750 page Kindergarten Handbook (oh yes, it's a serious document), that there are a few RULES in Kindergarten.

She is totally used to rules, because, well, I am her mother, and I am the Type-A-Bet-Your-Ass-There's-Rules-So-Quit-Whining sort of loving mommy. She is a lovely and cooperative child, especially when we remember to feed her and put her to bed at a decent hour.

But there is one thing that stands between Miss O and Success In Kindergarten.

Sneakers.

The child simply will not wear them. Ev.ah.

We went school shopping, and she picked out these, which look a gazillion times better in real life. I actually want a pair for me, but thanks to the short people, my feet are elephantine.

She tried them on in the store, and ran around like a happy-footed lunatic, shouting, I LOVE THESE SHOES!!!! THEY ARE SO COMFORTABLE!!!! I WILL WEAR THEM IN MY SLEEP!!!!!!

Great. Quit acting like a nut in the brand new Target for the love of all that is good and pure.

But now, she will not put the shoes on. She says she will not wear them at school. I say, Well, dearest, you have to wear them if you want to play in the gym with the other kids who are wearing their sneakers.

NO.

The rules also say that you have to wear sneakers to play on the playground.

NO!!!! I will just sit there.

Okay, if that's what you choose to do, you will have to deal with the consequences.

FINE. I'M NOT WEARING THEM! (insert emphatic stomp here)

So there they sit, lonely superfun shoes, on the back of the sofa, because that's where everything in my house lives at one time or another.

I'm not going to bribe her, or try to reason with her. There's no point in trying to convince her to wear the sneakers. She'll either change her mind once she gets there, or she won't.

What happens if you fail gym in Kindergarten?

kiss a$$, kick a$$, whatever

My new girlfriend, That Girl, from Hey, You, Remember Me? kissed me square on the booty today, and I liked it. She gave me this:


And now I have to turn around and kiss some other people square on the booty. So here goes:

Jen from Breed 'Em and Weep. This mama has been having a crappy time of it, and that is a total understatement. She's getting a divorce, and she writes about it with such grace and love and dignity. And the writing, people, the writing this woman does is powerful. So if you can't get off the interwebs for 25 minutes a day to read real books, at least go over and read the literature that pours from her fingertips.

Cat, from Pink Asparagus. Because man, let me tell you, that girl has flair. And she likes pink and Tarzhay and accessories. And I heart her haiku.

Next up, The Well-Read Hostess. Because I said so. Her commentary on, heck, anything under the sun is worth reading.

Fourth is one of my favorite smart-asses, The Hotfessional. She's just funny, that's all, and she stalks her across the street neighbors and flips people off during teleconferences, and stalks her neigh... oh, right, I mentioned that. Hotfessional also has alopecia areata and talks about that sometimes, but not in a whiny pissant sort of way. She's brave and awesome.

I'm supposed to give this award to five bloggers, but since That Girl was tagged, and she already tagged Black Hockey Jesus, Maggie, Dammit, and The Mister, I'm going to just stop at four. So there.

And I'm also supposed to say that the Kick Ass Blogger Award comes from mamadawg. So now you know.