16 Months, 20 days, 1 hour, and 7 minutes

D: Hunnnnnnry hunnnnry hunnnnry hunnnnry hunnnnry
Parent: Are you hungry?
D: Hunnnnnnnry hunnnnnnry hunnnnnry dwink dwink dwink dwink dwink
Parent: And thirsty?
D: Wgggggggggg wggggggggggg wggggggggggggg wggggggggg
Parent: And you want to watch the Wiggles?
D: (Nods, with entire body)

Cook eggs, meanwhile D points at the stove and shouts: HOT! HOT! HOT! HOT! HOT! HOT!

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

Ouch

Last night, D ran up to give me one of those super-excited, awesome bear hugs. You know the kind that end in a big old bite? Yeah. He just chomped down on my stomach and wouldn't let go until I pried his jaws apart. I don't really understand how it happened, since I have rock-hard abs, and there's just nothing there to grab on to. (Ha.)

Then, at the end of the night, I was helping E pull up her pants after going potty and she jumped up and and whacked her walnut of a head into my face, knocking my glasses off.

Dear Child Protective Services, can you protect me from my children? Because they're kind of kicking my ass. Thanks. Oh. You don't do that? Not even a helmet or something? Crap.

I Be in UR Hed Stealin' UR Geography

This morning, on the drive to work, I heard the radio DJ tell a story about "a small town in Amsterdam." Dumbass.

Child Proofing is Very Important

I've liked to refer to E as "the toddler" and D as "the baby." But now the baby is the toddler and the toddler is the preschooler and who said they could grow up? I mean, really.

But so far the baby, I mean, the toddler, had shown no cracks in his fear-proof armor. Heights? "Bwahaha - I laugh in the face of heights!" Dark? "My eyes are defectively blue. Cower before my bizarre night vision!" Bugs? "I eat them for breakfast!" (Literally, unfortunately.)

That is, until Grandma brought over a wiggly rubber snake. Because boys like snakes, right? Never mind that the toddler, I mean the preschooler was all, "Where's my snake, Grandma?" Anyway, we showed it to Boy and he made this face. The one where you keep smiling even though inside you're screaming. He made that face. Hi-lar-i-ous.

So, naturally, it is now perched on top of the CDs and is so far the best deterrent between him and mass CD destruction. Awesome.

Out Adulted by a Three Year Old

Me: Pick a lane you stupid effing a-hole!
E: What was that, Mama?
Me: Nothing.
E: What did you say?
Me: Nothing. I was talking to traffic.
E: To who?
Me: To traffic.
E: What did you say?
Me: Nothing.
E: Who were you talking to?
Me: Traffic.
E: What did you say?
Me: Nothing. Never mind.
E: What?
Me: NEVERMIND!
E: What did you say?
Me: (Sticking out tongue, making fart noise with my mouth.)
E: You shouldn't do that to me, Mama.
Me: Why not?
E: Because it's rude. You wouldn't like it if I did that to you.

Indeed. Because she *has* been doing it to me. Ever since. Crap.

She Doesn't Have a Middle Name

My maternal grandmother, my only surviving grandparent, is a real sassy bitch. She's witty and tough with a biting sense of humor and a willful spirit.

If you've met me, especially you've bought me a drink, I think you know what I mean.

The other day, the police found her, driving the wrong way down a one-way street and confused, and they called Social Services. My mother really freaked out when she suggested that my grandma see a doctor and instead of her usual, "I don't need to see a doctor! I'm healthier than you are!" she just nodded. And then asked, again, what day it was. They believe she's had a small stroke.

I'm taking my kids to see her on Saturday. Because, even though she isn't sure what day it is, she is sure that she hasn't yet seen my son. And she's right.

Half Days, Two Days a Week

When we started looking at pre-schools eight months ago it seemed like September was, oh gawd, like, SO far away. But here it is. Right here. (Okay, well, it's technically still three weeks away, but that's soon.) And all these years that we haven't ever had a real babysitter or left you anywhere or gone to church are coming back to haunt me because I'm terribly worried.

Mostly because I'm afraid that you'll spend the whole day (and by "day" I mean the 2 1/2 hours you'll be at school) crying. The last time I tried to leave you somewhere, the church nursery, you cried the entire ten minutes I was gone, and then talked about it for the next six months about, "Hey mom, remember that time you left me at that PLACE and I CRIED and YOU DIDN'T EVER COME BACK?" For the record, I did so come back.

I know this is old hat for daycare moms. I know they went through this when their baby was three months old and they went back to work. But I kind of feel like this has been a 3 1/2 year maternity leave and now it's time to let you out in the big bad world.

And it's time. I know.

Also, I'm a little bit concerned that you'll tell people about how you need your soap to sleep because of your bad feet. Because, even for a pre-schooler? That's a little weird.

E Really Loves This Song

E: The more we get
D: Moe!
E: Together together, The more we get
D: Moe!
E: Together, the happier we'll be.
D: Be!
E: Cause my friends are your friends
D: Fwennns!!!
E: And your friends are my friends
D: Fwennns!
E: The more we get together
D: Moe!
E: The happier we'll be.
D: BEEEEE!

Indeed

What?

Ode to My Bangs

I hate you. Die, bastards, die. I can't have you poking my eyes anymore and giving me headaches and making me look at/through you all day long. I can't have that.

But if I cut you, you win. This is why I made Husband swear up and down in 1993 that he would never, under any circumstances, allow me to have bangs ever again. And when he reminded me of that in 2006 I said, "Pssshhh. What-ever. They're cute."

Dammit. I need a headband.