Wednesday, November 26, 2008



Last month, after working late, I came home to find Dave chasing Jo down the hall. He tells me “I’ve nicknamed this one Gidget. It’s short for getting-in-ta-shit.

Last week, Gidget lived up to her nickname.

Shortly before bedtime, we were hanging around on the upstairs landing. Bek and Lex were playing on the floor and Jo was busy shuttling toys, diapers and clothes back and forth from her room to ours. She's been doing a lot of this sort of thing lately— little construction projects and the like. Anyway, Dave and I were trying to chat and catch up on our days. After a few minutes we hear Jo clanging around in the bathroom down the hall, and she returns with a few bath toys. Then back she goes for another load.

A few more minutes pass and we realize Jo hasn't come back in a while. We can still hear her banging around on the bathroom tile and babbling.

Dave went downstairs to get pajamas and I went in to get Jo.

She came barreling out of the bathroom with Bek’s toothbrush in one hand and an angry, angry face. There was brown matter all over the toothbrush, face and hair.


One of the girls had not flushed after they were done going number two. I quickly deduced that Jo had spent the past few minutes stirring the toilet water with her sister’s tooth brush and then decided to give her nasty, newly-made soup a try. Apparently, the taste repulsed her so she spit it out while simultaneously shaking her head vigorously. The results were foul.

I quickly shouted “Code Red! Code Red! This Is Not A Drill! I Repeat, This is Not a Drill!” and swiftly closed the door so the older girls could not see what just happened. Dave bounded into the bathroom and locked the door behind him.

We put Jo up on the counter and proceeded to scrub her face, hair, and especially her tongue. I asked Dave if we should call the doctor.

“Uh, yeah, Doc? Got a quick question for you…. Our 15 month old just ate her sister’s….”

But Jo was happy as could be. She only got bent out of shape when we pried the toothbrush out of her tiny fingers. Beyond that, she was all smiles - flashing that shit-eating grin of hers.

I told the story to SherrySteckly and she responded, “Perhaps she thinks she’s Jo the Plumber?”.


Sunday, November 16, 2008


The Place What Has A Grandpa

This morning, both smallest girls woke at 5 am. WTH?

So I did what any good mommy does at 5 am on a Sunday, I turned on the TV. (It was BrainCandy so I don’t feel too guilty.)

As the DVD was warming up, Lex says to me, “I want to go to the place again what has the grandpa that isn’t my grandpa.”

“The what, honey?”

“The place with the grandpa that isn’t my grandpa.”

This stumped me.

“Do you mean Nana and Poppa’s?”

“No!” she looked at me like I was nuts. “Poppa is my poppa. The other one that isn’t my grandpa but is a grandpa.”

“Tell me more…. who was with us?”

“Aunt Stacey but not daddy.”

Then I knew! She was talking about MY grandfather’s. We visited them last week to celebrate their 65th wedding anniversary.

We spent a few hours at their house. How could she not want to go back? My grandma has a player piano that you can push the pedals and make music. She has 50 year old miniature dolls on a bottom shelf. She had never ending candy. There were pretty smelling sprays in the bathroom and seemingly endless rooms to peak into. It was quite the adventure and clearly left a warm memory in my three year old’s heart.

Friday, November 14, 2008


Lex and Barack

Yesterday Lex materialized beside me at 5 am. She does that. Dave thinks she has Star Trek technology. She will suddenly appear out of nowhere. You’ll be working on your laptop, feel someone looking at you and there she is, standing beside you, blanket in hand, waiting patiently for you to notice her. You never know how long she had been standing there because she gives no indication.

So she materializes at 5 am and tells me her stomach hurts and she needs some yogurt.

I hoist her up to the kitchen bar and as I’m getting her yogurt, she says in a very small voice, “I like it when it’s just me and you.”

I smile at her. I like it when it’s just her and me too.

Then she says, “I wish Barack Obama would come to our house.”

I stifled a surprised laugh.

“You do?” I lean down to her level. “What would you say to Barack Obama if he came to our house?”

The pause was so long, I thought she wasn’t going to answer. Sometimes she does that. You’ll ask her a question and she’ll consider it for a long time and then decide not to say anything. Perhaps that is why she is drawn to politics at the tender age of three.

But then she shrugged and in the same small voice said, “I’m a little shy. I probably wouldn’t talk to him.”

And then she ate her yogurt in silence.

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