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!!

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.

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?

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...

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...

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.