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Tuesday, October 22, 2013

The Not So Nappy Naptime

I missed the magic window by only 30 minutes, but I managed to cross the line from sleepy, will nap babies to not ever going to happen, don't even think about it babies.

After 30 minutes of what felt like hostage negotiations - Yes, you need your good rest. Yes, I will rub your back. No, it is not scary, sleeptime is a happy time - I finally made it out of the room... only to be heckled by Sofia over the monitor:

Mom! Mom! I tying (crying) for you! 

Mom! Mom! I a liddle bit sad for you! I no yike (like) uh-duh napytime!

She finally got me back in with this one:

Mom! Mom! My gina is hurting! (I'll let you translate that one)

I headed back in there, sorted out the diaper wedgie, and got the heck out of Dodge. Only to have the heckling start from "Boy":

Mommy! Mommy! My gina hurting!

I think it's time to give my son an anatomy lesson...

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Friday, August 9, 2013

We'd Get In A Ditch

My Banana is a worrier. Usually I don't mind talking her through things, but sometimes she can go on a bit too long.

Recently she learned more about tornadoes and that sparked a whole What If? discussion related to tornadoes. On our walk through my mother-in-law's neighborhood (keep in mind, much of the actual conversation has been deleted as to spare you the melting of your brain matter):

Ana: Dad, what would we do if a tornado came right now?

Scott: Don't worry, Honey. There isn't going to be a tornado.

Ana: Yeah, but what if?

Me: Then we would get inside Ging's house and go into a room on the bottom floor that doesn't have any windows. We would go in the closet where Ging keeps all of the blankets.

Ana: Yeah, but what if we couldn't get there in time?

Scott: Well, then you look for a ditch. The ground is lower there so it protects you.

Ana: Yeah, but what if we couldn't find a ditch?

Me: Honey, you can find a ditch or a room without windows pretty much anywhere. We would run to someone's house nearby and go in their closet.

Ana: Yeah, but what if there was no closet or ditch?

Scott: There would be.

Ana: But what if there wasn't.

Scott: Trust me, there would be.

Ana: Well, what if we were driving in the car?

Scott: We'd pull over and get in a ditch.

Ana: Well, what if we were at a park?

Me: We'd get in a ditch.

Ana: Well, what if we were...

Me: Let me stop you. Think of your question and then think to yourself - We'd get in a ditch.

Ana: Yeah, but can I ask you one more?

Scott: Is the answer - We'd get in a ditch? If so, I don't want to talk about it anymore.

Ana: Well, maybe not.

Me: Okay, last one.

Ana: What if I was outside with my BFF and we were playing with our (nonexistent) bunny, Twitchy?

Us: ANA! WE'D GET iN A DiTCH!!!

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Saturday, July 20, 2013

Sanitizer, Anyone?

We are regulars at Rudy's - a BBQ chain here in Texas, and I believe other states as well. Saturday mornings all 5 of us can be found eating our various combinations of breakfast tacos: potato and bacon, bacon and egg, egg and potato, just tortillas... there's something for every Bogle.

A new item of interest at Rudy's is the automatic hand washer. Ana has been, and remains, petrified of it. I appreciate the fact that I don't have to do anything but put my hands into two rotating cylinders of water. Sofia likes the fact that she gets to Sofia-gallop across the dining room to check it out, and Mr. Reed loves to study it with his future engineer mind. A bonus for the little people is that you get a  "My Hands Are Clean!" sticker when you are done.

The Saturday routine then involves the running of various errands, followed by a return to home, diaper changes, and Saturday nap time for the Baby Bogles.

Imagine my surprise today when I pulled down Reed's shorts and unfastened his diaper to give him a fresh one - there on his Little Reed was a "My Hands Are Clean!" sticker.

No, my son, I am pretty sure that is proof right there that they are not.

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Tuesday, April 23, 2013

To Each Her Own...

Ana: Mom, how come Charlie's* eyes are so big?

Me: I guess God just made him that way.

Ana: Well, why does he cut his hair so short? He looks like a bald man!

Me: Hmmm... I guess he likes it that way. Maybe it feels cooler.

Pause from Ana. Meanwhile I am thinking about how I am going to address that it's not the way a person looks that determines their value. 

Ana: Mom? How come Charlie is so cutie wootie?

Leave it to my girl to throw me for a loop!

*The names of the big-eyed and bald are changed to protect the innocent

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Tuesday, March 5, 2013

Dirty Mouth

Had a surreal experience yesterday. I was driving home from the grocery store and I decided to browse through the XM channels to see what I was missing by only listening to the same 3 or 4 stations. This is what I was missing (paraphrased for lack of perfect memory):

Oh, Martha! I can't believe I'm talking to Martha Stewart!

Hi. Thank you. What is your question for me today?

It's about pussy willows.

Pussies?

Yes. I got some pussy willows, but I don't think I took care of them right.

Were the pussies soft and gray?

Yes.

And how did you take care of them?

Well, I tried to cut the shaft and put them in water, but they weren't green.

No. They wouldn't be. To keep the pussies soft like that, they cut them early and let them dry. There would be no use in cutting them and putting them in water.

Oh, so that's why the shaft was woody when I cut it?

Yes.

I swear. I am not making this up. What blew my mind was that neither of these women sounded like they were laughing so hard they were peeing their pants. I also had no one in the car to sanity check this with.

Reed? Sofia? Are you getting this? was oddly unsatisfying...

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Monday, March 4, 2013

Fifi-Ese

Sofia talks a blue streak. The only problem is, her annunciation is not spectacular. As a result, the same sounding word could mean 3 or 4 different things. I usually have to check to see what she's looking at or pointing to to figure it out completely. Take the following words as example:

1. Da-dee
     a. Daddy, as in Scott
     b. Doggie, as in Cooper, dogs in books, dogs on our walk, etc.
     c. Any random man. All are Daddies.
     d. Dirty. As in my hands where I colored myself.
     e. Pen. Because I make my hands dirty when I color with pen. All pens in our house are     
                 now known as dirties.
     f. Dolly. 

2. Boy
     a. Boy, as in Reed. This is what he is called now. Fif has changed his name.
     b. Boy. All boys in public are pointed out as Boy. Unless of course there is more than 
                 one, then the plural of boy is boyo, boyo, boyo, boyo.
     c. Girl. All girls are also boys. This pisses off pretty much every 3 year old girl we come in 
                 contact with.
     d. Boogie. This one is said like this: Boy! Da-dee! (sign language for help), meaning - My 
                 boogies are getting out of control and I'm now getting dangerously dirty. Do     
                 something about this!

3. Huht
     a. Hurt. As in I am hurt from where Boy hit me over the head with a Da-dee (dolly).
     b. Heart. As in what all Valentine balloons were shaped like, which made shopping a 
                   challenge. Huht! Ba-oon! 
                   Yes, that's a heart balloon. 
                   Huht! 
                   Yes, that's another heart balloon. 
                   Huht!
                   And so on, and so forth...

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Thursday, February 28, 2013

My Little Mutts

When we get back from taking Ana to the bus, we unload from the stroller in the garage. We've been working on getting some things together for a big garage sale, so there are toys everywhere, which is of course very exciting to all of the small people in the house.

The other day I capitalized on the excitement and left Reed and Sofia in the garage to play while I got some things done in the kitchen. It was quiet. Too quiet.

In comes Sofia to the kitchen. Mouth full of something. Uh oh, she says around her mouthful of something.

Sofia? What's in your mouth? Get back here, you Stinker, and show Mommy!

The second I pried open her little jaws, I knew what it was. The smell of wet dog food hit my nostrils like a Mack truck. Trying not to gag, I pried the goopy, stinking mess out of her mouth, much to her dismay.

Given that I have two small messmakers and not just one, it was time to find out what the other half of the pair was up to.

Reed was still in the garage, in spasms of glee. He had pulled the lid off of the food and was  grabbing it by the fistful and flinging it across the garage floor. It was at this point that his sister, the doggie, would eat it off of the floor. Nice.

All I could think was... Man, I hope this stuff is dairy free...  My how my standards have changed!!

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Monday, February 25, 2013

Should Have Been More Specific...

Ana, if you're done with your breakfast, go throw that bowl of sausage to Cooper and then clean up the rest of your dishes.

Where is he?

In the office. Just toss it over the gate. He'll love it.

5 seconds later...

CRASH!!!!!

Ana? I meant throw the sausage. Not the bowl.

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Friday, February 22, 2013

Dirty, Dirty Girl

Sofia is a talker. Girl has lots to say. Just not lots of words to say it with.

In her defense, she actually has a lot of words for a 16 month old, an unusual amount, but she still struggles with saying all she wants to say. Her most recent strategy is to use a somewhat similar word to tell us what she wants.

Sofia. You have dirt on your hands. Let's wash you off.

Dirty! Dirty!


Sofia. Your diaper is dirty. Let's clean you up.

Dirty! Dirty!


Unh! Unh! Dirty! Dirty! (pointing to the kitchen counter)

What is it? Your hand's not dirty. Baby, there's no dirty on the counter. Do you want this banana? No? The raisins? No? The pen?

(nods head, takes pen, and colors on her hand) Dirty! Dirty!

Oh! Yes! When you color you get dirty! (feeling ridiculously proud for making the connection)

So now, in our house, we talk like this:

Hey Babe, I need you to sign this tax form tonight. I'm going to the accountant tomorrow.

Okay. Can you hand me a dirty?

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Thursday, February 21, 2013

Tales From The Far Side

Yet another conversation I never thought I'd be a part of...

Scott in the kitchen, making chili: Hey, Babe?

Yeah?

Do you know where the colander is? I can't find it anywhere...

Oh. Yeah. It's in the van.

To his credit, he didn't even have to ask why.



For those of you that are wondering, Sofia *had* to have it and I *had* to have whatever would get her in her straps without a fight. There are two to strap down after all...

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Tuesday, February 12, 2013

If Only I Could...

We took Ana and a little buddy out to dinner Sunday night. Driving home past babies' bedtimes, the atmosphere was a little less than peaceful.

Ana: Mom, can you turn up the music?

Ana's Buddy: Yeah, and can you turn down the crying baby?

If only I could, little friend. If only I could...

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Monday, February 11, 2013

He Sleeps


I held you while you slept
Curls damp against my cheek
Weight heavy on my chest

I rocked you and breathed in your baby breath
Your soon to be little boy breath
And I stilled

Time folded back and I remembered holding you before
In my belly, when you were the size of a wish
On my chest, when you were minutes old

I held you when you couldn't crawl
Then when you couldn't walk
Then when you couldn't run

You are so precious to me
So precious that I will go on holding you forever
First within, then in my arms, and when you are too big, as always, in my heart.

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Monday, January 14, 2013

Semantics

A request from Ana found us watching our wedding DVD. Upon seeing our officiant, she asked Who's that man in the black robe?

I replied that he was our priest, to which Scott pointed out that he wasn't called a priest because we weren't married in a Catholic Church. This led to me telling him that I knew that, but Ana was familiar with the word which was why I used it. And so it went...

Ana, tiring of our back and forth about nothing had a solution of her own:

Let's just go with old gray-haired man.

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Wednesday, January 2, 2013

I Swear We're Not Racists

An Ana encounter on New Years Day started out fine, but quickly went bad. Very bad. It was all a misunderstanding (on Ana's part), but if you didn't know Ana's understanding of history coupled with her personal experiences, you would think that she - and therefore we - were a horribly racist family.

The Ana translation is included at the bottom of this post, and can be referenced when you come across an asterisk. Or, for the full effect of Scott's embarrassment, save the explanation until the end.

At a party, Scott is talking to a very nice Indian gentleman. Ana is walking around filming everyone with a little camera that she got for Christmas.

Ana: And here is my Daddy. And some stranger that I do not know.

Scott: Ana, let me teach you how to introduce yourself. Hold out your hand to shake and say, Hello, my name is Ana.

Ana: Hello, my name is Ana. Hey! You're Mexican! You're the enemy! (*#1)

Nice/Tolerant Man: My name is Robert. Actually, I'm not Mexican. I'm from India.

Ana: Then why is your skin brown?

Super Nice/ Super Tolerant Man: Well, that is because I am from India and skin is brown there.

Ana: You're an Indian?!? A real Indian?!? Well,... (*#2)

at this point, realizing that things could only get worse...

Scott: Ana! Go find your Momma!

*#1: This past summer we took a trip to San Antonio and toured the Alamo. Ana learned that AT THE TIME OF THE BATTLE OF THE ALAMO, Mexico was our enemy. She can't seem to understand that since WE ARE IN 2013, Mexico is no longer our enemy. Trust me, we have tried many, many times to explain this, but the romance of patriotism has swept her away and there's no getting her back. You're the enemy! was her misguided attempt to stick up for her land. Thankfully she's not our only defense.

*#2: In Kindergarten Ana learned about Native Americans. The cooperation between the first settlers and the Native Americans was stressed, but, again, the fighting is what stuck in Ana's head. Scott knew that Ana's next response would have been something like...

Well, where's your bow and arrow?
or
Well, can you really shoot a turkey?
or
Well, can you grow maize?
or
Well, do you live in a tepee

As none of these would have been endearing, given the previous skin color reference coupled with the label of enemy, he opted for the last ditch effort of Ana! Go find your Momma!

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