Vignettes from the Home Front

When the Fries were little and there was really no such thing as modesty (for anyone, really, except maybe Hubby), and we were transitioning out of diapers and into Pull-Ups, I found myself drawn by an irresistible force.

My kids' little naked tushies.

They just begged to be squeezed.

Oh, don't you judge me.  You had the same urge with your own kids when they were little.

So.

I did.

And when I did, I would squeal, "Squeezy cheeks!"  This would earn me gales of little-girl giggles.

This inevitably led to the Fries begging for me to play "squeezy cheeks" every night at bedtime.  Large Fry was still in nighttime Pull-ups and the twins were in diapers at night.  I got very good at putting on diapers while the twins were standing up, so I would do "squeezy cheeks" before fastening the diaper.

Granted, it made them giggle.  Which didn't really do much for calming them down before bed.  But I loved their laughter (still do).

"Squeezy cheeks" also made appearances after bathtime.  And during the day.  And whenever little girls came running up to me, giggling, and begging to have their cheeks squeezed.

Hubby would do his own version every now and then—"squooshy tushie"—but the Fries were hung up on the "squeezy cheeks" phrase, so that's the one that got used.

And then they got taller.

Suddenly, this was no longer a one-way game.  Our tushies were suddenly fair game.  Hubby would protest that his tushie wasn't squooshy.  (Plus, I think he was a little uncomfortable that the Fries were more goosing him than squeezing.)  I would say that my cheeks didn't need squeezing.

We both lost.

Sort of.  We won lots of giggles.

Innyhoo, I told you that story to tell you this one.

On Tuesday, Small Fry stayed home sick, after having caught a tummy bug similar to the one Large Fry had about two weeks ago (thankfully, short-lived).  She was bummed (pardon my pun) that she was not allowed to go to school when her sisters could.  She was clearly feeling better, and I momentarily contemplated sending her to school anyway.  But just in case she wasn't quite over it, and to keep her teacher and classmates from possibly experiencing a Technicolor Yawn situation, I kept her home.

Which turned out to be a good thing.

Small is my child who has been nawt tiyewrd for the last four years.  She's almost always the last one to fall asleep.  She's been insisting since she was 18 months old that she didn't need naps.  She's also the only one still in nighttime Pull-ups, which is a very important part of this story.

She announced at noon that she wanted to go up to bed and sleep.  "Oh-ho," says I to myself, "we're not as fiyne as we way we are."

I made her eat some Cheerios for lunch, and have some diluted juice, and sent her up to bed.

Small slept for almost two and a half hours.

Hard.

Now, she's needed the nighttime Pull-ups at night, but not usually at naptime.  So I didn't bother to have her put one on, because I didn't think she'd need it.  She hadn't in a very long time.

When I say she slept hard, I mean hard.  She didn't even wake up to pee (and I had her pee before napping), and thoroughly soaked her sheets, mattress pad, and clothes.

I threw everything in the wash, and had her put on clean panties and jammies.

I made sure everything was dry by bedtime, and while Hubby got everyone moving on the bedtime-ready checklist, I remade Small's bed with her now-clean sheets and mattress pad.

When we moved last December, we bought big-girl beds for the twins since they had pretty much outgrown their toddler beds.  We got a great deal on some great furniture...but the new beds were loft beds.

They are a royal pain in the squooshy tushie to make.

So I'm sprawled on Small's bed, getting the mattress pad on when Small asks where I am.  Hubby, having seen me heading in with arms full of bed linens, tells her that I'm making her bed.

Once I got the mattress pad on, I climbed down to fetch the sheets and then climbed back up, sprawling again to get the fitted sheet on the mattress.

And I was standing on the ladder to Small's bed, getting the last corner of the fitted sheet on the mattress when it happened.

Hubby and Small were in the room watching me work, and as I stood there on the ladder, Small snuck up behind me.

Total blitz attack.

She grabbed two handfuls of my rear, squeezed, and shouted gleefully, "Squeezy cheeks!"

I stood there in amused shock and Hubby could not contain his laughter.

Small impishly giggled and ran out of the room.

"It's all your fault, you know," Hubby observed between chuckles.

I know, Hubby.

I know.