Car Craziness

Driving in the car with these kids is never a quiet experience. More often than not, there's a little humor mixed in.  Why is it that kids say some of the most hilarious stuff when they're strapped into car seats?  Kind of makes me want to bring the car seats into the house.

Kidding.

Sort of.

Lexi, at 5 years and three quarters, (and don't you forget it), is very big into "teaching" her younger sister. Yesterday, this involved peppering her with random questions. I was actually surprised that Caly(3) was getting most of them correct.  "What makes a rainbow?" "How do plants grow?" "What time of day does the sun come up?" When Caly would get stumped on a question of when Lex didn't really know the answer, she'd ask me.  I'd answer and she'd move to the next.

Then she asked Caly, "Where do babies come from?"

Caly was silent for a minute and I held my breath. I'm not scared of that conversation, but I really didn't want to chat it up about how babies were made while driving 70mph down the interstate with a squealing baby and rambunctious toddler in tow. 

Inevitably, they asked me, "Mama?  Where do babies come from?"

"Uhhhhh..."

Then Lex saved the day, "OH! I know!  They come from bellies! Of course!"

Of course indeed. I was 2 seconds away from saying, "Let's ask Daddy when we get home!" Shaun can thank me later.
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Later, as we drove through my parent's neighborhood, Lexi commented at how all of the houses were made of brick.  Caly agreed, then said,

"Yeah. And that's good. Because, you know, then the Big Bad Wolf can't blow them down."

Forget tornadoes and hurricanes, Big Bad Wolf prevention ranks as number 1 importance.  I think she has a future in national security.
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Driving home from places around bedtime usually means that I'm hoping, praying, and trying to get those kids to just STOP. TALKING. FOR. ONE. STINKING. SECOND. AND. GOTOSLEEP.

Because they will talk and talk and talk and talk and talk and keep themselves awake.  It's like a ninja skill.

The car had settled into a relative silence and I peered back into the rear view mirror to see who was asleep.  No one, but hey... oh well.  Soon.

Then Sayer spotted Shaun driving in front of us and exclaimed, "MOMMY!  Dat's Daddy's car! Dat's Daddy!  Let's go TACKLE HIM!"

I said, "OK, um, maybe when we get home? We're driving!" 

Of course, when you're 2, that is so not a problem, "No, Mama!  Let's go tackle him! WIT OUR CAR!"

Yeah, he's totally not allowed to drive.

Bedtime Prayers

Our usual bedtime routine with the kids goes something like this:

1. Girls in bed.
2. One of us (and sometimes Sayer too), will go in there to sing and chat with them for a few minutes. Then we leave them to chat together until they fall asleep.
3. One of us, (and the baby too if Shaun isn't home), heads to Sayer's room to hang with him til he drifts off.
4. Baby either put to sleep or put down if he's sleeping.

This only takes about 6 hours.

Not really.

Most nights.

Anyway, the other night, Sayer had finally nodded off as did Z, so I slipped out of his room to put Z down and snuggle up with my gigantic bowl of ice cream. But walking by the girls' room, I still heard talking. No one was screaming and it sounded remarkably amicable, so I decided to eavesdrop via the baby monitor.

They were chattering about baby dolls and the next day's plans.  Finally, Lex said, "Ok Caly, I'm tired. Let's go to sleep."

Of course, Contrary Mary Caly wasn't having much of that so she started to sing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star." Loudly.  I started to head in to tell them to pipe down when Lex said excitedly, "Oh! Caly, let's PRAY!"

Caly said OK and immediately launched into the sing-song "Thank you Jesus, thank you Jesus... for our FOOOD... for our FOOOOOOOD. And our many blessings, and our many blessings... AAAAAAH-MEN. Ahhhhhh-MEN!" that they learned in church.  Lex waited patiently for her to finish and then said, "Ok, my turn!"

I turned the monitor up to catch her words, thinking she'd probably have something sweet to pray about.

"Dear God... Please make Caly be quiet. Amen."

There was actually a beat of silence.

And then, inevitably, a small voice started again, "Thank you Jesus..." and was quickly followed by, "Oh, CALY!"

(Sometimes I wonder if even God has the power to quiet that small ball of mischief).

Fuzzy Tacos... And Uh... Hi?

Hey there, remember me? Yup, I'm still alive.

And despite my absence in the blog world, my kids have still been doing ridiculous and funny things, so I've got my work cut out for me in catching up.

Most recently, we traveled to the LARGE state of Texas for a little family reunion action, long overdue friend time, and of course, copious amounts of good food. 

Towards the end of our trip, we visted a place called Fuzzy's Tacos.  The kids, being taco fans, were excited.  I, being a food fan, was elated.  Shaun, being a Mexican food fan, was hungry.

Caly (3), ususally our picky kid, was being oddly enthusiastic about this outing, "Mommy! Mommy! Are we at the fuzzy taco place?  Are we at Fuzzy's?" Over and over.

She asked to use the bathroom when we got there, (a habit that drives me bananas... what is it with kids needing to see every public restroom we visit?  Because she sure as heck didn't need to pee that bad).  While she was stalling, (haha, no pun intended.  I crack myself up), I said, "Ok Caly, we need to hurry up so you can eat your dinner."

"Yeah!  I'm gonna eat my taco!  And then I'm going to pet it!"

"What?"  Yes, I know I talk to my food and my kids occassionally follow suit, but we never um, pet it...  Caly looked up and said,

"My fuzzy taco!"

Ohhhhh...

"Er, Caly... the tacos aren't going to BE fuzzy... they're regular (delicious) tacos. Fuzzy's is just the name of the place."

She stared at me for a second while hiking up her drawers... then she said, "OHHHHHHHHHH!" rolled her eyes to the ceiling, grinned, shook her head and exclaimed, "Oh Mama, that's SO silly!"

Yes... yes it is.  But oh my, so is she.

By the way... Fuzzy's Tacos?  DELICIOUS. Feta cheese on a taco! Best idea ever.

When Presented With Options...

I'm coming off of a week of solo parenting the munchkins while Shaun was away on a trip and whoooo boy, I have some stories to tell. The kids were great, for the most part, but apparently reserved their most priceless moments for while Shaun was gone.
Take Caly, my beloved second born. At 3, she's starting to test limits. OK, she's always tested limits. But she's starting to get a bit more creative in her choices.

Shaun re-potted one of our plants in a large floor pot as a last ditch effort to save it from my black thumb. While we've had a couple of smaller plants on the table and on the window sill, this was the first time we had one on the floor and it appeared that the giant pot of black dirt was slightly irresistible to small fingers. So, naturally, we had a few conversations that culminated with, "DO NOT PLAY IN THE DIRT."
 
Of course, it was only a matter of time before we ended up catching someone doing exactly that.  After loading the dishwasher, I noticed that the house was remarkably quiet. I rounded the corner into the living room and stopped short when I saw black dirt sprinkled across the floor.  My gaze traveled the path of the dirt and landed on a very small, very guilty looking 3 year old. As I met her eyes, she slowly put her dirty hands behind her back. 
 
"Caly, were you playing in the dirt?"
 
She waited for a beat and studied my face.  Then...  "Yes."
 
"Oh Caly, why?  You know that you're not supposed to do that. So now, I guess we need to figure out what your punishment will be.  What do you think should happen now?"
 
Her face grew very serious and she focused her big green eyes on me without saying anything.  I waited patiently before prodding her again, "Caly, what do you think should happen now?"
 
And without a trace of guile, she quietly said, "I think you should clean this up."
 
I swallowed hard to keep from breaking into peels of laughter.  It was a long moment before I could say anything at all.  Then, I asked, "Caly, I mean what should be the consequences? Because you didn't listen when Mommy said not to play in the plant? What should your punishment be?"
 
Sensing that she was close to having the upper hand, she took advantage.... grinning her very Caly grin, she reached her hands to me and said, "I think you should snuggle me up!" 
 
I couldn't help it.  I cracked up and gathered her into my lap. 
 
And you know? She hasn't been back into the plant since.
 

OP

One of my favorite books chronicles the (mis)adventures of the U.S. Ski team through a few years during the 90's.  AJ Kitt, one of the better skiers, (arguably the best of the bunch), was a bit of a rogue to the traditional ways of doing things.  Everybody was going to run a few miles and lift weights?  He'd use the elliptical and do some push-ups.

His team took to calling him O.P.  This stood for Own Program.  But he got the desired results, so no one fussed too much.

Now, I have three kids, almost four.  My first is a compliant, easy-going kid who, while she's a typical kid and balks at the conventional when it doesn't suit her, generally does what she's told.  

Then there's my second born.  You're all familiar with Miss Caly (2) and her tendency to be... um...  high spirited?  Yeah.  

I sometimes find myself looking at her as she's in the throes of some antic or another and saying, "What. The. HECK."

She's something else.

A few weeks ago, we went to dinner where we ordered a family special.  I figured there was something there to appease everyone... a pizza, breadsticks, a salad and some lasagna.  Caly had recently been making her intense dislike of "Sauce NOODLES" known but I figured she'd eat some salad and bread or pizza crust.

Of course, (OF COURSE), when the meal arrived, she got her plate, looked at it, and said, "But... but Mama, I don't LIKE sauce noodles."  I told her to eat the other stuff on her plate.  And true to her nature, she ate nothing.  But to her credit, she sat somewhat quietly.  After awhile, I tried to encourage her to eat again, but she was having none of it.  So she got Shaun's attention.  "Daddy?  Daddy?  DADDY!?  I don't like sauce noodles!"  He was trying to have another conversation* and took her lasagna noodle and absentmindedly wiped the sauce off with his fork.  He handed it over to Caly who speared it with her fork, looked at it skeptically, and said,

"There is still sauce on my noodle."  And then she put it down.  Shaun tossed her a napkin and told her to wipe it off.  She did for a minute before getting completely frustrated.  "MAMA!  DAAAADDY!  'SCUZE ME! DADDY!! I can't get the sauce off of my noodle!"

Shaun was finally exasperated enough to say, "Caly, I don't care what you do with the noodle.  If you don't want it, fine.  If you want to eat it, I don't know....  why don't you lick the sauce off?"  And with that, he started to turn back around.

What did Caly do?  Take a wild guess.

She sat there for a full five minutes and licked every tiny speck of sauce off of that noodle.  When she was done, she gleefully lifted her forked noodle in the air for all to see before declaring,

"NOW my noodle doesn't have anymore sauce!"

And then she ate every bite.

Own. Program.

*(we're working on the interrupting factor.  She's 2. We have three kids.  We'll get there one day).  

You Know She's My Daughter...

Those of you who've known me for a long time will especially appreciate this one.  Last Sunday, Caly joined the big kids in their class at church, (namely because the child is as stubborn as six hundred mules and charming as a thousand snuggly bunnies and managed to talk her way in to Miss Clare's class).  But by all accounts, she behaved, so no big deal there.

They played charades after a bit and she adapted the rules to suit herself.  When it came time for her to act her animal out, she started mooing.  So Clare guessed, "You're a cow!"

Caly grinned, leaned over with her mouth open and said, "I'm a man eating cow!" and proceeded to gnaw on Clare's arm.

Yes, yes... that's my kid.

Snippets from the 'Ville

Lex (4) woke up yesterday, tiptoed into the living room where Shaun was hanging with Sayer (1) and exclaimed, 

"Daddy!  Last night I actually slept!  I mean, normally, I just close my eyes and pretend to sleep, but last night, I actually slept!  I don't know what happened!" 

Hmm, maybe the Monday crankies are due to all of that pretend sleeping she does.  

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Caly (2) has been fighting off a little cold that's making her nose run.  No other real symptoms, but the snot bugs her. Generally, she asks for a tissue and wipes her nose herself.  Before bed the other night, I went to pick her up to take her to bed and she wrapped her arms around my legs and gave me a hug.  I smiled at how sweet it was.  Then she let go, looked seriously at my stomach and said, 

"Mama, I put boogers on your baby."  

Then she walked away.

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Sayer (1) has learned a new word.  Well, he's known the word for awhile, but he uses it with a vengeance lately.  I'm becoming impressed with the versatility of his uses 

"No!"  "NO."  NOOOOOOO." "No?" "Nononononono!"

But my favorite, (yes, there is a favorite way to use the word), is when I ask him where my kisses are.  Instead of leaning towards me with a smooch, he tucks his chin inward, turns his head away, and with a smirk on his face, he says, "Noooooooooo..."  I pretend to be sad and he plants one right on my cheek.  Then he asks to do it again.  

Cuteness.

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"Mommy.  Mommy.  MOOOMMMMY!"  I vaguely registered Caly's whisper near my ear.  Bleary eyed, I peered at her in the darkness and wondered what dark hour of the night she had wiggled her way in between us.  "MOMMY!  Are you s'eeping?"  

I gave her a raised eyebrow and said, "Well, I WAS.  What's the matter?"  She wiggled closer to me, got her blanket and closed her eyes.  "Caly, what's the matter?"  

"Mama.  I am S'EEPING!"   And then she refused to say another word. 

I am SO paying her back when she's a teenager.  

Quite a Sniffer

My 2 year old daughter has a remarkable sense of smell.  There are days when she's the first to notice her brother's um... odor, "Moooooooooooommmy!  I smell poopy!  Sayer has a stinky bottom!"  And alas, she's right, every time. 

I chalked it up to her head being closer to the source of said smell. 

Then she started commenting on other smells.  While she played with her sister in their room, I heated up the oven and made a quick pizza.  Ten minutes into baking, she wandered in, "Mommy?  I smell pizza."  I assumed she had seen my prep or heard me talking about it. 

But she kept it up, often at times that I was 100% certain she couldn't have known about the source ahead of time... like this morning, when I hid in the kitchen and stuffed a chocolate cookie in my mouth.  I finished, washed it down with some milk and rejoined the kids in the living room.  Caly walked by my seat on the sofa, paused, turned back, sniffed and said, "Mommy.  I smell chocolate.  Where's my chocolate? Can I have some chocolate?"

She's like a bloodhound.  Who calls me out when I sneak off for a treat. 

But then there are times when she gets kind of bizzare...  two days ago we were in the car, quietly listening to Christmas music when she pipes up from the back, "Moooooomy...  I smell...  I smell...  I smell elephants."

Even a bloodhound misses the trail sometimes. 

But I'm still totally going to hide a bottle of mouthwash next to my cookie stash. 

Weighty Stats

Took the two littlest kids in for very, very overdue well visits.  I was interested to see how the kids measured up against each other.  My suspicions?  I thought Sayer would at least weigh as much as Caly.

Um, he's got a half a pound on her.  I have two 26 pound children. 

With her 26 pounds and however many inches tall she is, Caly remains firmly snuggled in the 20th percentile.  She's her mother's daughter, through and through. 

Sayer and his 26 pounds obvious tip the 95th percentile for weight.  Daddy's sturdy little man.  But...  his height?  He's just over the 18th percentile.  Kid is a fire hydrant.

Before we had kids, I joked about how Shaun and I were destined to have short boys and tall girls.  Looks more like we're having short kids.  Sorry, honey...  gotta kiss those basketball dreams goodbye.  (Then again, there's always Muggsy Bogues).

Lex gets her checkup in a few months.  I'm not holding my breath that she'll be on the tall side of things. 

Hey, short kids find the best hiding places. 

Is Dat Funny? Momma? Is Dat Funny?

Caly is refining her sense of humor.  She'll say something and out of the blue, she'll ask, "Momma?  Is dat funny?" and giggle at me.  This evening, she and Lex were hiding from Shaun in their pile of stuffed animals under a big pink blanket.  They were silent for about 30 seconds when Caly chirped, "I TOOTED!" I started snickering under my breath.  Three seconds later, "Momma?  Is dat funny?"  And over Lex's indignant yelps, ("SHE TOOTED ON ME!"), we cracked up. 

But then... other times?  It drives. me. nuts. 

She's taken to waiting until she's completely tucked in before telling me or Shaun that she absolutely has to go erm, take care of some heavy business.  With her recent past of having difficulties in that realm, we're not comfortable refusing, so we march her into the potty and sit her up on the seat.  She takes so long, that we generally leave her in there to do her thing so that she doesn't get the satisfaction of chatting our ears off in the meantime.  (Yes, she's mostly stalling, but she ALWAYS produces, so...)   Anyway, after 15 minutes, I start getting exasperated and ask her, "Caly, are you finished yet?"  She always, always, ALWAYS says no.  And I always get frustrated and say, "You NEED to finish.  YOU NEED to go to sleep.  YOU NEED YOUR REST."  And lately, she'll look at me at that point and said, "Momma?  Is dat funny?" 

AHHH!  No, little punky one!

Tonight, she pulled a new one.  Either Shaun or I sing to the girls before bed and tonight was my night.  Caly kept interrupting, (which is the fastest way for me to quit singing), and when I reminded her to quit, she paused and said, "Momma?  IS DAT FUNNY?  DAT'S FUNNY!" and then she giggled while saying, "dat's funny!" under her breath.  I have to admit... I couldn't help chuckling.  And she heard. 

"Momma?  Are you laughing?  You laughing!  DAT'S FUNNY!"

She's driving me crazy...  but at least we're laughing on the way. 

Stealth Stealer

Man, I am a BAD blogger.  (My button loving son won't let me near a computer without obsessively whispering, "buuuuutton... BUTTTTTON" and pushing whatever ones he gets his hands on... so, yes). 

Anyway, I check on when I can.  And this story?  This one is too good not to share. 

The other day we had a friend over for a playdate and lunch.  She sat at the table while I puttered around the kitchen after lunch, putting dishes away and the like.  The kids ran around like monkeys, clamoring for attention and getting into everything.  Caly quietly stood next to Heather's seat at the table and after a few minutes, pointed to my not-so-hidden, reserved and coveted halloween themed reeses peanut butter cup and said, "I have that candy?"

I raised my eyebrows and told her no.  No, especially since she ate no lunch at all.  No. 

She stared me down and said, "Yes."

I said no. 

She said yes. 

I said no.  No, NO.  And she got quiet.  So Heather and I went back to chatting and I turned to finish the dishes.  About 10 minutes later, Caly walked back into the kitchen.  Chewing.  She had a mouthful of something and was making a peculiar face.  Concerned, I hurried towards her, thinking she was going to barf, (we have a history now), and got down to her level.  Then I smelled it.

Peanut butter. 

My eyes flew towards the table where my peanut butter cup used to rest.  Gone.  I jumped up and ran into the living room.  The slobbery, shredded, empty wrapper lay on the chair.  My head swiveled back to my daughter who was unconcernedly attempting the chew the rest of her forbidden treat.

"Caly."

"Wut, mama?"

"Is that my treat?"

"Yeds."

"What did mama say when you asked to have it?"

"Mama say no."  She paused to swallow.  "Mama said no treat."

"Ooook, so...  why did you take it and eat it?"

She gave me a look and said, "Because I wanted it." 

Oh.  Um.  Ok. 

"Caly, go sit in time-out until I figure out what to do with you." 

She stuck her lower lip out and trotted to the living room and planted herself in her rocking chair.  Thirty seconds later, she started calling me, "Mammmmma?  Mammma?  I sorry!  I say I sorry for eating your treat!"  I told her to sit there a bit longer.  When I got a straight face finished the dishes, I went into talk to her and she said, "Mommy, I sorry I ate your treat."  I told her that while I was sad it was gone, she was forgiven and she could get up. 

Then she leaned towards me and whispered, "It was lummy!"

Little stinker. 

Kids and Caterpillars

After driving back from Lex's dance class today, the girls pleaded to stay outside and play.  The thought of having to go inside to referee fights, listen to whining and hungry kids, and prepare dinner was making me cranky so I thought about it.  Since the stupid heat was no longer burning my eyelids, I agreed.  When I was getting Sayer out of the car, some movement by my foot caught my eye.  It was the furriest, fastest caterpillar I've seen in our yard since we moved in.  Of course I called the girls over to investigate.

The two littles spent a good amount of time squealing and pointing while Lex tried to coax the caterpillar onto a leaf.  Sayer was particularly interested in where the bug went and followed his sister everywhere, trying to see. 

At one point, it fell into the garden and I truly thought he was going to go headfirst in after it.

After awhile, Lex got brave... sort of.  She'd let the caterpillar crawl on her hand or arm and then she'd start giggling uncontrollably.

And every time she giggled, the caterpillar would slip off onto the ground again, she'd squeal, and Sayer and Caly would crack up. 

They did it over and over and over, cracking up every. single. time. 

Lex was pretty proud of herself for finally picking up the caterpillar and by the end of the day, she was letting it crawl all over her arm, still giggling, but not flailing anymore. 

I just loved watching my three play together without fighting, arguing, crying, whining, and best of all?   Watching their faces light up like this:

I'm a blessed Mama... no doubt. 

Next To High Maintenence In the Dictionary...

Shaun was putting Caly to bed a few nights ago and she held up her water cup, shook it slightly and said, "Daddy, can you freshen this up for me?"

She's 2.5.  I'm beginning to wonder if we should start stockpiling a substantial dowry for the man that's going to marry that girl. 

Love that kid.  Love 'em all.