So busy! We were in Washington, D.C. for almost a week, and work has been crazy, and Bess has been sick…and I’ve had no time to write!
And there’s so much I want to write about, too. Our trip to D.C. provided much food for non-violent parenting thought, I’ve finished two books I want to review (both novels, unusual for me), there have been some interesting articles and blog posts that beg commentary, and I also read Seth Godin’s Stop Stealing Dreams (it’s free, you can download it in every format imaginable here). Alas, all those things will have to wait for another day when I have some free moments to put together a coherent thought.
In the meantime…more funny things my kids have said recently:
- John: “Harry, have you brushed your teeth yet?” Harry: “I brush my teeth on Thursday, Tuesday and Sunday. Is it one of those days?”
- Harry has had a cold, and whenever he sneezes he runs around the house saying “Snot alert!” which sounds like “Snot aloit!” And then, usually, he wipes his snot on my shirt.
- The other day, my mom put Harry in the bath and then went home. When I started taking the toys out of the bath so I could wash him and get him out of the tub, he reprimanded me: “No, Mommy! Oma (pronounced Oooh-ma) put those in here for FUN!”
- Bess wanted Harry to get out of her bed, so she said: “Here’s the rule, no boys allowed in my bed!” I thought this to be a most excellent rule. But then she amended it to “No boys allowed in my bed except Daddy and Evan”. Evan is her friend across the street. This is a significantly less excellent version of the rule. I suspect that we will have to revisit that rule in approximately ten years, specifically as it relates to Evan.
- Harry asked me the other day: “Remember when the police came and Bessie was a little bit arrested?” I still have no idea what he was talking about; I do not recall Bess ever having been arrested, a little bit or otherwise.
- Over the weekend, Harry was supremely uncooperative and I may have become uncharacteristically impatient at a few points in time. After he lay in bed for an hour chatting me up and I was desperate to go to sleep, I may have asked him in a less-than-pleasant tone to stop talking and go to sleep; the next morning, when I needed to go to work and he refused to put his shoes on after approximately seven hundred billion requests, I may have made my request a bit louder. So Sunday night he had one of his epic meltdowns, spearing me with a hockey stick and throwing toys at my head. When I finally got him to calm down, he said: “Mommy, remember when you yelled at me last night? I didn’t like that. And remember when you yelled at me this morning? I didn’t like that either. Now that we’ve had this little talk, I feel much better and now I am sleepy.” And he rolled over. And he went to sleep.