Wednesday, April 29, 2009

I love vacation!

And this is our first, just-for-us, honest-to-goodness, "real" vacation since...say...our honeymoon. All of our other trips between now and then have been because of family-related stuff. And much as we love our families, sometimes those trips just aren't, well, restful.

So here we are.

It feels like a million miles from home.

It's really not. A couple thousand, maybe.

Hubby and I are in Daytona Beach, Florida. He's got his annual youth pastors' summit here next week, so he conspired with my parents to take the Fries so that he and I could come down here a week early and play tourist ourselves. I've had to work a bit--payroll week inconveniently fell on either side of summit week--but now that payroll and all that goes with it are done, I can relax and enjoy my time off.

I have no idea what we're going to do tomorrow. Laze around on the beach again, probably. Our motel is right on the beach. And by "right on the beach," I mean that I can look out the sole window of my "city view" room and see the surf hitting the beach about two hundred feet away. It's nice. And affordable. My two favorite things.

Last night we went for a moonlit walk on the beach and got to see a whole slew of sandpipers (most of them babies) skimming through the surf, skittering in and out with the waves, and fishing for their shrimp dinners. We must have watched them for half an hour. At first, we only saw a handful. By the time we headed back up the beach to our motel, there had to have been two hundred of the little guys, and only about a third were adults. It was pretty cool.

On Saturday, we're heading into Orlando to spend the day at SeaWorld and meet up with some friends of ours. It should be fun. It's been almost 18 years since I was at SeaWorld Orlando.

I fly back home on Monday, while Hubby sticks around for the summit and rides back with the guys. The Fries and I will continue to stay with Mom and Dad until Friday. I am not crazy enough to be single mom for a whole week with three little kids between the ages of 2 and 4.

The Fries are, thankfully, having fun with Gramma and Boppa. Things have gotten off to a rollicking start, which made me both glad to leave the mess with my folks and a little sad I wasn't there to take care of my Fries. On Sunday, Small Fry seemed to have come down with a stomach virus that Large Fry got about four weeks ago. Even the pediatrician said that it was probably just the 24-48 hour toddler flu that was going around. Mom called late afternoon on Monday to report that she was now in the Urgent Care with Small Fry...who had a nasty bilateral ear infection. Large Fry got hit with the stomach bug after they got home from Urgent Care. (Either that, or she was doing a really good job of sympathy illness.)

As if that wasn't enough, I talked with Mom and the Fries via Skype three times before noon today. The last call was a quick report from Mom, who had a very subdued Small Fry snuggled on her lap. They'd just returned from Urgent Care--again! Small Fry had been running in the kitchen, tripped, fell, and put her teeth through her tongue. Mom said that Small Fry didn't need stitches (thankfully) and that it should heal in the next few days.

So it's been adventures all around!

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Things We've Actually Said in the Last Eight Months

You know that list of things every kid swears he'll NEVER say to his children? Yeah, this isn't that list. This is the "I can't believe I actually said this" list. I'm sure I'll be adding more to this....

"NO! You may NOT 'drive the car' with the floor lamp!"

"No no no no no! Do NOT sit in the cats' water dish! That is NOT a potty!"

"Stop smiling. I don't like it when you smile when I'm touching you there." (Dan, to the youngest niece, as he was changing her diaper.)

"I will NOT kiss your boogie."

"Do NOT stand on the horse!"

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Wailing and Gnashing of Teeth

Grandma, bless her heart, found the perfect Christmas gift for Large Fry. A Little People (tm) Princess & Carriage set, with the Prince sold separately.

Mind you, we have three girls.

But this was Large Fry's gift, since she is more into princesses than the other two.

The carriage has wheels, though. So it moves. And it has a little horsey to go with it. And we've all had lots of fun putting little stuffed animals into it and pushing it around.

This afternoon, Large Fry was playing with it. The horsey is actually riding around IN the carriage, but who cares?

My rather independently-minded two-year-old does.

Boy, it seems all my stories seem to revolve around her.

Medium Fry is grabbing at the carriage. Screaming on both parties is about to ensue. To preserve what precious little sanity I have, I intervene.

"Medium Fry, Large Fry is playing with that. You have to go find something else."

A round little face crinkles with disappointment, and the wails commence.

"I duhwn simpinls!!!"

"Honey, I can't understand you. What's wrong?"

This time it's intelligible enough (despite the wails) that I grasp what she's saying.

"I doan wan' somesing else!!!"

"I'm sorry. Large Fry is playing with it. We have lots of other toys to play with. You need to get a different toy."

Wails crescendo, and Medium cries and disappears through the living room doorway...towards the timeout corner by the front door.

Where I did not send her.

If only the three-year-old would punish herself....

Sunday, April 5, 2009

Conversations. Again.

The scene: Church nursery, during first service.

The players: Myself and all three of the girls, two of whom are happily playing.

Medium Fry is upset. I have told her she cannot do something. She did it anyway. She got punished. Now she's crying.

"I want my duckie!" she wails. ("Duckie" comes out more like "guckie.")

"It's at home, honey." I point to the nearby shelf. "There's your bunny," I say, indicating the stuffed bunny she's appropriated on previous Sunday mornings.


"I'm sorry, honey."

"I want my duckie!"

"Your duckie is at home."

"Go get it!" Medium wails, about an inch shy of being absolutely heartbroken.

"I can't. I'm sorry."

Dejected, Medium sits down in a slump, pops her thumb in her mouth, and sniffles.

All goes well until she must be disciplined again.

And you can pretty much repeat the entire conversation. Verbatim.