Posts Tagged ‘Mostly Wordless Wednesday’

A preschooler with a bow staff is clearly the only logical answer.


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Although the 1/32nd of Irish in me wanted to start the day off with some Bailey’s in my coffee, the rest of me, mostly the stupid peasant-stock German part, realized there were chores to be done and youngins to be tended to. So. No celebrating leprechauns and pots of gold for me, but Happy St. Patrick’s Day to all the Irish celebrating their national drinking holiday.

Now, since I didn’t even tell the kids today was St. Patrick’s Day (am a lazy, terrible mother who didn’t want to have to answer questions about where their presents were because to my kids anything that ends in a formal “Day” means they are entitled to a bag of miscellaneous crap) I will leave you with the photos of Keaton’s outfit yesterday.

The outfit he picked out all by himself.

Pretty nice, no? I mean- he matched his Baby Legs to the KISS shirt his Uncle DCFI gave him in an attempt to man him up, and even completed the rock ‘n roll look by choosing underoos with flaming guitars on them. It wasn’t enough though. After I helped him put it on he said “HEY! WHERE MY BRETTE?!” And after offering him the barrette box he chose to accessorize with the pink and green accent bow.

A bold but wise choice.

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If you ever wonder how the elite in society enjoy their imaginary tea and fishy crackers, look no further…

"You have GOT to try this. It's the absolute best, most sophisticated fake tea I've ever had, dahhhhling".

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Internet, Bill and I are in day 6 of a stand-off.

The stand-off involves this bag.

Innocent looking enough, isn't it?

What resides in that bag is, I’m fairly certain, the messiest poopy diaper on planet earth. We’ve been cloth diapering for almost a year now and really couldn’t be happier with that decision. We use liners that make cleaning up a messy diaper incredibly easy and rarely have to haul one down tho the laundry tub to rinse it off.

This one, though. This one is…icky.

Internet, I had to change the thing in a public restroom with a squirmy 2-year-old precariously placed on a changing station that was NOT suited for a squirmy 2-year-old. Coming home I had to put said squirmy 2-year-old right down for his nap, without the time to clean the diaper out so I helpfully threw it with one hand while plugging my nose with the other placed it on the downstairs landing for Bill to trip over take note of and maybe take pity on me and wash it out.

But he didn’t take the bait. He walked past it and so I took my cue from him and walked past it myself. For 6 days now.

Last night we addressed it.

“So what about that diaper down there?”I asked.

“I’m scared.” He confessed.

“Me too.”

And that was it.

It’s still there.


So...any volunteers? Otherwise I think we're going to have to hire some sort of negotiator.

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With all these decisions we are having to make about Rowan’s big leap into Kindergarten next year, I sort of desperately miss these days:

You know the ones...

where the biggest decision seemed to be...

which shade of pink to dress her in.

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Since the week after Christmas the temperatures have refused to break the double digits here in this glorious state, unless of course you count the windchills which have hung out in the NEGATIVE double digits on quite a few days the last 3 weeks. I’m not bitter. I’m just really, REALLY cold.

For the most part I’m perfectly content to hibernate under a blanket on my couch with the fire blazing and a good book for the winter. Here is where I admit I don’t even own winter boots. I have a pair of fugly fake Uggs I wear when it is absolutely necessary I go outside. Oh, god. That is sad, isn’t it? Now I will probably be so ashamed, I will go out and buy a pair.*

Where was I? Oh, yeah…Unfortunately there are two little people in my house that are all “Magic Fairy Unicorn Snow!” and press their noses and flatten their bodies against the glass in an attempt to find some sort of worm hole that will transport them out into the frigid cold. The only explanation I have for this is that kids are stupid. I mean, did you hear the part about the fire and the couch and the blanket? Fortunately for them (not so much for me or my fake Uggs) the weather warmed up to the high teens to low 20’s this week with the promise of low 30’s later in the week. This phenomenon usually happens every year, close to or in the third week of January and is what Minnesotans call “The January Thaw”. Other people just call it “Still Really Motherfucking Cold”.

Rowan hit the snow running. She LOVES the winter. I tell you, sometimes I wonder if ANY of my DNA made it into her. I suppose she does like to argue. That's definitely ALL me.

Sadly Keaton's short little legs were not at all long enough to walk through the 2 foot deep snow. And FYI? Mittens and 2 year olds do NOT play nice.

He was much happier being pulled along and I can't say that I blame him.

Especially since I didn't have to do any of the work. Rowan loved pulling him. WIN!

Keaton especially loved being pulled in the sled on the pond, giggling when Rowan tripped and fell on her very padded behind. She wants to try ice-skating now, but something about mixing a clumsy 4-year-old and blades sort of makes me light headed.

I think I prefer her to stay in one piece. I've sort of grown attached to her.

All in all it wasn't so terrible being outside. I guess. Whatever keeps them smiling, you know? And also keeps them from getting Jack Torrence syndrome.

*UPDATE! I was totally ashamed and am now the proud owner of seven dollar and ninety-eight cent winter boots that amazingly manage to be uglier than the fake Uggs. I win at winter!

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On Monday Night I took a break from wallowing in sick and self-pity to get out and meet my cousin Erica who was in town for the holidays and she came bearing gifts. And not just ANY gifts. Only the best gifts EVER.

When we were little we would share magazine spread pictures of Brandon, Dylan and David from 90210, probably a little Jonathan Taylor Thomas (JTT!) and definitely New Kids on The Block (I was all about Jordan, I’m pretty sure she liked Donny and I was all EWWWW (and I still stand by that EW)). In the spirit of that, she cut out and laminated (Yes. LAMINATED. For she is that good) this picture for me:


Oh NPH, our adult gay boyfriend. Now where do I display it? In my locker? In the back of my closet so my mom won’t make me take it down? Taped on my nightstand so I can kiss it every night? Frame it and put it on the mantle next to my kids’ school photos? Yep. That last one.

I don’t even know how to introduce her second awesome gift so I’ll just let the picture do the talking:

Spotted Dick: It's English! And Microwaveable!

This has led my 14-year-old self to set this can various places just so I can ask Bill to “Please hand me my Spotted Dick.” or “Can you pick up my Spotted Dick?” or “Quit touching my Spotted Dick!”. Bill says if I don’t shut up then he’s going to throw out my Spotted Dick and that would make me very sad.

Thank you for bringing a little laughter into our sick house, Ms. Peterson, and have a very safe flight back to that place that you live (but is NOT your home because your home is here, dammit).

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