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Before performing his daredevil stunts (tonight’s agenda: jumping from the end table to the couch), the two year-old yells, “Super Careful!” I do not think that means what he thinks it means.
Joel: Get me a DRINK!
Me: Hey, you don’t talk to me that way. That’s not polite and you’re not my boss.
Bethany: Yeah. Mommy is the boss of us. And Grandma is the mom of Mommy, so she’s Mommy’s boss.
Wait a minute. . .
#kidlogic
Sometimes I vacuum just to drown out the sound of children complaining/whining/crying/fighting.
#momconfession
Me: The boxes of candy are for your teachers to show we appreciate them. When you get to school, you hand them to your teacher.
Danny: And then they give me something?
Me: Nope. This is just a day to say we’re thankful for them.
Danny: Okay. . . I give them candy and then maybe they will share a little with me?
I don’t think we’ve quite gotten the point yet.
It’s kind of awkward when you’re feeling self-conscious about your blossoming pregnant body and people keep coming up to you and saying, “You’re getting so chubby!” “Look how much you’re growing!” “I could just eat those squishy thighs!” and then you realize they’re talking to the six month-old baby you’re holding.
The Great Idea:
You buy strawberries and angel food cake to make a beautiful dessert for your family.
The Reality:
The kids eat all the strawberries when you aren’t paying attention and you keep grabbing handfuls of angel food cake whenever things get stressful.
#nicetry
It’s great when your child is old enough to make his own sandwich. It’s not great when he can’t remember where he put the peanut butter. . .
A team of ladies are on their way over to help me clean my house. I think this feeling I’m having is what people mean when they say, “like a kid on Christmas morning.”
Josh: Mom, don’t come in the room. We’re making you something for Mother’s Day.
Danny: Not me. I didn’t make you anything. I only make poop.
Sigh. Happy Mother’s Day to me.
Josh (age 7) made me breakfast this morning: taco, apple, string cheese.
#hegetsme
“Mom, you be so proud of me. I got a huge booger, but I didn’t eat it. Not even one bite. I just wiped it on the pillow.”
Proud may be a bit of an overstatement.
Danny (age 5): When I die, I want my bones lay down beside your bones, Mommy.
It is simultaneously the sweetest and creepiest thing a child has ever said to me. And he says it often.
Selling your house = turning into the grumpy curator of your own personal museum. “Don’t touch that!” “Why must you put your fingers on the walls?” “Who has been licking the window?” “No you can’t play with that!” “Just sit in this area and don’t move.”
Some days the baby falls asleep while you’re giving her her bottle. And some days you fall asleep while you’re giving her her bottle.
#oneofthosedays
I just taught the Mennonite toddler how to use a tiny dustpan and broom. The look of joy and understanding in his eyes was a sight to behold. His ancestors would be proud.
#embraceyourethnicity
(looking through his coins)
Josh: Mo-om! I can’t find a George Washington!
Bethany: Mo-om! He can’t find Joel’s washing machine!
#soclose
There are terrible ideas I silently tolerate in the name of five minutes to quietly drink my coffee. Like the Play-Doh war happening in the living room right now.
#hearnoevil #seenoevil
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