Annabel has many good one liners. Statistics are on her side. It's hard not to have some when you never stop talking. This weekend, Aunt Tammy and I took the kids down to Charleston. My favorite comment of hers on the way down. "Daddy had two ticks on him. I'm afraid of nature." Me, too, kid.
Aunt Ginny was in a car accident last year. She had a significant head injury. We explained to the kids very carefully that it was a serious situation. Aunt Ginny had to have a piece of her skull removed for nearly six weeks to allow the swelling to go down. Annabel stared. "So, Aunt Ginny has a hole in her head?" Yes. "Can I see it?" Maybe.
Well, Aunt Ginny got her skull fixed before we had a chance to all go down as a family. When we told Annabel, she began to sob uncontrollably. I kept explaining this was good, it meant Aunt Ginny was better! *sob* *sniffle* "But I love to see new and interesting things!! I wanted to see the hole in her head!"
Aunt Ginny is now fully recovered. We had lunch with her while we were in Charleston. As we all loaded back into the car, Aunt Ginny climbed into the back with Annabel. She was, of course, chattering away. "... and you have to wear a seat belt, or you'll get a hole in your head! Aunt Ginny, you lead a dangerous life."
Friday, June 29, 2012
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Glitter
I do believe that glitter is one of the most hated crafting supplies on the planet. At least, by those of us who desire to NOT have it in our carpets for the next eight years. However, I am such a dutiful mom that I have still purchased glitter, and even allowed my three and five year old to use it a time or two. I keep it, and a few other supplies, in a small plastic pencil box, hidden in the top of our supply closet.
Here's some background. I have a three year old that is just... well... Clara. She's Clara. I was putting the baby to bed one night. I handed her an itouch, and said here, watch one show, and then I will be back for you to put you to bed. What could possibly go wrong? Six minutes, yes, six minutes later there's a little knock on the toddler's door. The door swings open. There stands my Clara, shirtless, with a hammer, scotch tape and a pair of scissors. Now, I pride myself on my ability to not overreact. I had to accomplish this by standing in stunned silence. She pipes up, "I have a small problem, a tiny one." I said "oh, really? What problem is that" *pause* "I can't tell you. I'll be in trouble." *scampers off*
I put the baby down, and go a hunting. This was about six weeks ago. I never discovered what in the world was going on. Okay. Fast forward to this weekend. Clara is self sufficient in pottying, and I don't help her anymore. However, we were out together, and I happened to glance into the toilet. "Clara... is that... is that GLITTER in your poop???" "Yup!" "And how did it get there?" "I ate it, so that my poop would turn glittery." Well, of course! Thank you, Flip Flap Body Book. Needless to say, we had a discussion about how glitter is not for eating, and WHERE DID YOU GET THE GLITTER???? I tore apart her room later that night. Buried in the bottom of the clothes I'm putting away for next year is my secret box. Smashed open with a hammer, and scotch taped back together. Huzzah! I have discovered "the problem" that she had six weeks ago!
Today, I took her out to buy shoes, because nowadays shoes only actually last approximately three weeks before they become destroyed beyond recognition, lost, eaten by a cat, or in general destroyed. I hemmed and hawed between two different pair, because of the ten dollar price difference. Clara wanted the cooler looking ones. I was frustrated and said "what do I get by spending an extra ten dollars???" Because complaining to my three year old is a very mature decision, of course. And she looks me dead in the eye. "mommy, if you buy me sparkly shoes, I won't eat glitter anymore and I won't be sad that my poop doesn't sparkle."
I bought her the shoes that are not only covered in glittery sparkly things, but also light up. She seems pleased. I am pleased. She gave me the other vial of glitter she has been hoarding somewhere. This is well worth ten dollars.
Here's some background. I have a three year old that is just... well... Clara. She's Clara. I was putting the baby to bed one night. I handed her an itouch, and said here, watch one show, and then I will be back for you to put you to bed. What could possibly go wrong? Six minutes, yes, six minutes later there's a little knock on the toddler's door. The door swings open. There stands my Clara, shirtless, with a hammer, scotch tape and a pair of scissors. Now, I pride myself on my ability to not overreact. I had to accomplish this by standing in stunned silence. She pipes up, "I have a small problem, a tiny one." I said "oh, really? What problem is that" *pause* "I can't tell you. I'll be in trouble." *scampers off*
I put the baby down, and go a hunting. This was about six weeks ago. I never discovered what in the world was going on. Okay. Fast forward to this weekend. Clara is self sufficient in pottying, and I don't help her anymore. However, we were out together, and I happened to glance into the toilet. "Clara... is that... is that GLITTER in your poop???" "Yup!" "And how did it get there?" "I ate it, so that my poop would turn glittery." Well, of course! Thank you, Flip Flap Body Book. Needless to say, we had a discussion about how glitter is not for eating, and WHERE DID YOU GET THE GLITTER???? I tore apart her room later that night. Buried in the bottom of the clothes I'm putting away for next year is my secret box. Smashed open with a hammer, and scotch taped back together. Huzzah! I have discovered "the problem" that she had six weeks ago!
Today, I took her out to buy shoes, because nowadays shoes only actually last approximately three weeks before they become destroyed beyond recognition, lost, eaten by a cat, or in general destroyed. I hemmed and hawed between two different pair, because of the ten dollar price difference. Clara wanted the cooler looking ones. I was frustrated and said "what do I get by spending an extra ten dollars???" Because complaining to my three year old is a very mature decision, of course. And she looks me dead in the eye. "mommy, if you buy me sparkly shoes, I won't eat glitter anymore and I won't be sad that my poop doesn't sparkle."
I bought her the shoes that are not only covered in glittery sparkly things, but also light up. She seems pleased. I am pleased. She gave me the other vial of glitter she has been hoarding somewhere. This is well worth ten dollars.
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