The cd playing in the van on the way home from church tonight is one that I compiled and burned, somewhat in response to Hubby's amused observation that I'm subjecting the kids mostly to the music I like, a lot of which is stuff I grew up listening to. This one has a mix of new songs I've discovered that I love, and old stuff that I can't seem to give up.
Needtobreathe's newest single, "Slumber," has finished. The next song is vintage Michael W. Smith, off his third LP. Typically MWS, it has a long introduction that slowly crescendos to full volume.
And it's in that lull between the end of "Slumber" and when the piano power chords take over in "Lamu" that this happens:
Medium Fry [to Large Fry, mimicking Hubby's sarcasm]: ...being mean, an' if you wanna be dat way, you go wright ahead an' be dat way, 'cause dat's the way you'wre gonna be. And dat's just fine.
Hubby [echoing Medium in a quiet whisper]: And that's just fine.
He gave me an "Are you getting all this?" look.
Medium: Hey! Awre you laughing at me up dewre?!
Hubby slapped one hand over his mouth and looked straight ahead out the windshield.
A single beat of silence follows.
Medium [parentally]: Dat's what I thought.
I could not contain my bark of laughter...
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Conversations
Small Fry: Dewre was lellow stuff in my nose. What's it called?
Me: Snot.
Small Fry: Why is it cawlled snot?
Me: Because it is.
Small Fry: Why do I have lellow stuff in my nose?
Me: Because you do. Please go sit back down on the couch.
Small Fry: But dewre's lellow stuff!
Me: Then get a tissue and wipe your nose.
Small Fry: I don't need to!
Me (suspiciously): Why not?
Small Fry: I wiped it off awlwready.
Me: Where did you wipe it?
Small Fry: Onna blanket.
*sigh*
Rule #3.
Me: Snot.
Small Fry: Why is it cawlled snot?
Me: Because it is.
Small Fry: Why do I have lellow stuff in my nose?
Me: Because you do. Please go sit back down on the couch.
Small Fry: But dewre's lellow stuff!
Me: Then get a tissue and wipe your nose.
Small Fry: I don't need to!
Me (suspiciously): Why not?
Small Fry: I wiped it off awlwready.
Me: Where did you wipe it?
Small Fry: Onna blanket.
*sigh*
Rule #3.
Quote of the Day
Small Fry is home sick from preschool today. She's running just enough of a fever that I didn't want to send her to school and expose the other kids (although, Medium went, so that might be moot), and her teachers don't need to put up with her attitude when she's feverish like this. I love the little booger, but she can try my patience when she's sick. The teachers don't need that....
Innyhoo.
Once I got Large Fry off to school, and got payroll finished, and was trying to catch up on notes after making some adjustments to payroll that was supposedly done, and I got some ibuprofen in her, Small Fry is happily watching Tangled and coloring.
It's cool enough these days that we have the downstairs window A/C unit off...but still warm enough in the house (especially with a laptop on my lap) that I have the tower fan on, oscillating across the room to keep it comfy.
And that's when Small Fry pipes up, as I'm scribbling notes on my recent conversation with Dahling in the office.
"Fan, you'wre messing up my wowrk! Stop it!"
Innyhoo.
Once I got Large Fry off to school, and got payroll finished, and was trying to catch up on notes after making some adjustments to payroll that was supposedly done, and I got some ibuprofen in her, Small Fry is happily watching Tangled and coloring.
It's cool enough these days that we have the downstairs window A/C unit off...but still warm enough in the house (especially with a laptop on my lap) that I have the tower fan on, oscillating across the room to keep it comfy.
And that's when Small Fry pipes up, as I'm scribbling notes on my recent conversation with Dahling in the office.
"Fan, you'wre messing up my wowrk! Stop it!"
Thursday, September 22, 2011
I can't make this stuff up.
It's 7:30 p.m.
We've reached the end of The Ballad of Little Joe.
And I order the Fries to do their least favorite thing: Pick up toys.
Now, granted, there aren't that many that aren't packed up. Yet, somehow, I find that the smaller amount of toys makes just as big of a mess as all of the toys do. Must be some kind of Murphy's Law of Toy Rooms or an applied corollary of the Two Lonely Wire Hangers rule (they breed when left alone).
But I want them to get the toys out of the living room, specifically, and mostly put away.
Yeah, it was about as successful as you'd think.
Two minutes into Operation Put-Away, Large Fry announces that she can't pick up toys because she has to go potty.
Close enough to bedtime and having to go potty anyway, so I let her go.
A good eight minutes later, I'm yelling for her to get OUT of the bathroom and quit playing with the water (not necessarily in that order).
And that's when she comes out and tells me.
"Mommy, I stepped in the kitty water and spilled water on the floor."
Because I'm mid-yell at the twin Fries, who are running around and giggling and most definitely not putting toys away, I don't hear most of what Large Fry says. I heard enough to know that there's water on the floor. But I have other pressing concerns, like her disobedient siblings.
Next thing I know, all three of them are in the bathroom (something we've forbidden, because Bad Things always seem to happen when more than one Fry is in the bathroom at a time), giggling and arguing, and I'm shouting for them to get back in here.
Small Fry takes the opportunity to tattle on Large Fry. "She speyuwlled LOTS of watewr on da floor."
I order the twins to the toy room to pick up more toys. Then I turn to Large Fry to try to get to the bottom of the water problem.
And that's when Medium Fry waltzes into the room and is clearly about to just stand there. "OUT!" I shouted. (Yes, it's not been a good night.)
She returns to the toy room in tears, which I hate, but she came in here to watch her sister get punished, I'm sure, not to pick up toys, and I'm not going to deal with that. Especially when I just told her to go into the toy room and pick up toys there.
Oy.
It was a Migraine Salute moment.
I performed said Migraine Salute, pinching the bridge of my nose between my index and forefinger. "What," I ground out between my teeth, "did you do to spill water all over the bathroom floor? You stepped in the water dish?"
"No!" Large wails. "In the kitty water!"
"You stepped in the kitty water bowls? How?"
"Because I dried my hands and moved and I wasn't focusing on what I was doing!"
Okay. Well. At least she understands that's the problem.
I moved my laptop. "Let me see your socks." Her socks are gone. Probably now in the dirty clothes hamper, because they're wet. I snag her pant leg. Yup, soaked right at the foot. Another Migraine Salute. "Get undressed and get your jammies on."
It wasn't until I came downstairs after tucking the Fries in bed (and heaving a huge sigh of relief on my way down) that I discovered how the spillage in the bathroom had been sopped up.
The hand towel from the towel rack by the sink...and a fluffy pink boa from their dress-up toys.
*facepalm*
We've reached the end of The Ballad of Little Joe.
And I order the Fries to do their least favorite thing: Pick up toys.
Now, granted, there aren't that many that aren't packed up. Yet, somehow, I find that the smaller amount of toys makes just as big of a mess as all of the toys do. Must be some kind of Murphy's Law of Toy Rooms or an applied corollary of the Two Lonely Wire Hangers rule (they breed when left alone).
But I want them to get the toys out of the living room, specifically, and mostly put away.
Yeah, it was about as successful as you'd think.
Two minutes into Operation Put-Away, Large Fry announces that she can't pick up toys because she has to go potty.
Close enough to bedtime and having to go potty anyway, so I let her go.
A good eight minutes later, I'm yelling for her to get OUT of the bathroom and quit playing with the water (not necessarily in that order).
And that's when she comes out and tells me.
"Mommy, I stepped in the kitty water and spilled water on the floor."
Because I'm mid-yell at the twin Fries, who are running around and giggling and most definitely not putting toys away, I don't hear most of what Large Fry says. I heard enough to know that there's water on the floor. But I have other pressing concerns, like her disobedient siblings.
Next thing I know, all three of them are in the bathroom (something we've forbidden, because Bad Things always seem to happen when more than one Fry is in the bathroom at a time), giggling and arguing, and I'm shouting for them to get back in here.
Small Fry takes the opportunity to tattle on Large Fry. "She speyuwlled LOTS of watewr on da floor."
I order the twins to the toy room to pick up more toys. Then I turn to Large Fry to try to get to the bottom of the water problem.
And that's when Medium Fry waltzes into the room and is clearly about to just stand there. "OUT!" I shouted. (Yes, it's not been a good night.)
She returns to the toy room in tears, which I hate, but she came in here to watch her sister get punished, I'm sure, not to pick up toys, and I'm not going to deal with that. Especially when I just told her to go into the toy room and pick up toys there.
Oy.
It was a Migraine Salute moment.
I performed said Migraine Salute, pinching the bridge of my nose between my index and forefinger. "What," I ground out between my teeth, "did you do to spill water all over the bathroom floor? You stepped in the water dish?"
"No!" Large wails. "In the kitty water!"
"You stepped in the kitty water bowls? How?"
"Because I dried my hands and moved and I wasn't focusing on what I was doing!"
Okay. Well. At least she understands that's the problem.
I moved my laptop. "Let me see your socks." Her socks are gone. Probably now in the dirty clothes hamper, because they're wet. I snag her pant leg. Yup, soaked right at the foot. Another Migraine Salute. "Get undressed and get your jammies on."
It wasn't until I came downstairs after tucking the Fries in bed (and heaving a huge sigh of relief on my way down) that I discovered how the spillage in the bathroom had been sopped up.
The hand towel from the towel rack by the sink...and a fluffy pink boa from their dress-up toys.
*facepalm*
Monday, September 19, 2011
Birthday Bash
September brings two family birthdays, less than a week apart (but still nowhere near as packed as July). Gramma's was last week. Hubby's is this week.
Mom's birthday fell on the night that Hubby has to do his worship-pastor thing and run praise team practice. Couldn't get together then.
Hubby was gone almost all day on Saturday, doing his youth-pastor thing with the kids at the Uprise Festival, which turned out to be lots and lots of (very) loud fun. (I was envious. I had lots and lots of loud, too, but very little of it was fun.)
And Hubby's birthday itself is on Wednesday, and that's another youth-pastor thing night, because it's youth group.
Clearly, we could not celebrate on either actual birthday. And Saturday was out.
So Mom and Dad came out for church yesterday at PSC, and then we all went out to lunch. Afterward, we came back to the youth house at PSC for cheesecake and presents.
Just as Mom and I are putting the glittery black candles on the cheesecake (Hubby's birthday is a monumental one), Small Fry announces that she has to go poopy NOW!
While she...*cough*...takes care of business, we sing to Mom again (we had a round of this in the restaurant, too). We're on the verge of singing to Hubby, and Small is still in the potty.
Hubby goes to see how soon she'll be done, since we don't want the candles melting completely into the cake. He stood in the open doorway and asked if she was done.
Small Fry answered in the affirmative and started to get up. Then she sat back down. "Another one is coming out!"
This cracked all of the adults up.
Small Fry finished up, ran out, we all sang, and then she went back to the bathroom to wash her hands.
When she came back, having not heard any water running, I asked, "Did you wash your hands?"
"No," she said. "I used san' hanitizer."
"San' hanitizer, huh?" I looked at Hubby.
"What did she say?" Dad asked, from the other end of the table.
"San' hanitizer," I quoted.
"Oh dear. She's got the gene," Dad observed.
Just how easily the family spoonerizes is a story for another time, but the fact that Small did it without knowing...poor child. She's going to have a list of phrases just like the rest of us that she has to think carefully before saying, so she gets it right.
Mom's birthday fell on the night that Hubby has to do his worship-pastor thing and run praise team practice. Couldn't get together then.
Hubby was gone almost all day on Saturday, doing his youth-pastor thing with the kids at the Uprise Festival, which turned out to be lots and lots of (very) loud fun. (I was envious. I had lots and lots of loud, too, but very little of it was fun.)
And Hubby's birthday itself is on Wednesday, and that's another youth-pastor thing night, because it's youth group.
Clearly, we could not celebrate on either actual birthday. And Saturday was out.
So Mom and Dad came out for church yesterday at PSC, and then we all went out to lunch. Afterward, we came back to the youth house at PSC for cheesecake and presents.
Just as Mom and I are putting the glittery black candles on the cheesecake (Hubby's birthday is a monumental one), Small Fry announces that she has to go poopy NOW!
While she...*cough*...takes care of business, we sing to Mom again (we had a round of this in the restaurant, too). We're on the verge of singing to Hubby, and Small is still in the potty.
Hubby goes to see how soon she'll be done, since we don't want the candles melting completely into the cake. He stood in the open doorway and asked if she was done.
Small Fry answered in the affirmative and started to get up. Then she sat back down. "Another one is coming out!"
This cracked all of the adults up.
Small Fry finished up, ran out, we all sang, and then she went back to the bathroom to wash her hands.
When she came back, having not heard any water running, I asked, "Did you wash your hands?"
"No," she said. "I used san' hanitizer."
"San' hanitizer, huh?" I looked at Hubby.
"What did she say?" Dad asked, from the other end of the table.
"San' hanitizer," I quoted.
"Oh dear. She's got the gene," Dad observed.
Just how easily the family spoonerizes is a story for another time, but the fact that Small did it without knowing...poor child. She's going to have a list of phrases just like the rest of us that she has to think carefully before saying, so she gets it right.
Friday, September 16, 2011
It starts.
One box packed in prep for moving, and half a dozen books eliminated as too young for the girls.
A zillion boxes to go.
A zillion boxes to go.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Salad Shooters
It's a lovely day here, and so I'm sitting outside, despite the two neighbors mowing their grass and giving my ground-mold allergies fits. I'm still sitting outside. We had so much rain last week that I'm still getting over my rainy-day gloomees.
Large Fry came home from school about ten minutes after I and my bag of popcorn settled into a comfy chair on the front porch I don't get to use nearly often enough. She kiped two and a half small bowls of my popcorn and was about to go run off to play when she noticed the little girl standing at our driveway.
"It's my friend!" she announced cheerily.
Then she wanted to go over to her friend's house. I nixed that, because I've never seen this girl before (she does live just across the street), and I don't know her parent(s). I said she needed to stay in our yard. A few minutes later, she wanted to show her friend her bedroom.
Well, right now, Large is stuck sharing a room with her sisters while the carpet in her room gets treated (thank you, Keiki). And my house is a terrible mess because I haven't been able to do much with two bum ankles and a bum wrist. So, no. We're not going to show-and-tell my house today.
I had just finished complaining to Hubby via text that I was hurting today (I'm wearing the lovely bulky ankle brace again today after several days without, so that should tell you something) when I realized I was about out of Dr Pepper and I'd better go inside and get some, and some ibuprofen, before Hubby got home and asked if I'd actually taken something for my various aches and pains.
I came back outside with my new can of Dr Pepper and some ibuprofen to find Large Fry teetering on the edge of trespassing in the neighbor's yard, with her and her friend carrying two of our little green buckets. I don't figure the neighbor will care, but they have buckets, and they're approaching trees and shrubs...
"Large Fry, what are you doing?"
She shouts something back, but due to the lawnmowers nearby, I can't quite hear what it is that they're hunting.
I ask her to come closer, because I can't hear her. She runs forward about ten feet. "I said lettuce!"
I nodded, and she and her friend went back to hunting "lettuce."
"Just find lettuce in our yard, please!" I called as I sat back down on the porch. (I'm gonna miss this porch.)
As our other neighbor mowed along the front section, getting both his half of the front patch and ours (thanks), Large Fry came running up, hands cupped together, screaming, "Butterfly!" She proudly showed off the barely-alive (if at all) moth she'd caught, to both me and our neighbor.
They're still happily playing.
I think I'll read the book I brought out here. My original intent when I came out here, really.
Large Fry came home from school about ten minutes after I and my bag of popcorn settled into a comfy chair on the front porch I don't get to use nearly often enough. She kiped two and a half small bowls of my popcorn and was about to go run off to play when she noticed the little girl standing at our driveway.
"It's my friend!" she announced cheerily.
Then she wanted to go over to her friend's house. I nixed that, because I've never seen this girl before (she does live just across the street), and I don't know her parent(s). I said she needed to stay in our yard. A few minutes later, she wanted to show her friend her bedroom.
Well, right now, Large is stuck sharing a room with her sisters while the carpet in her room gets treated (thank you, Keiki). And my house is a terrible mess because I haven't been able to do much with two bum ankles and a bum wrist. So, no. We're not going to show-and-tell my house today.
I had just finished complaining to Hubby via text that I was hurting today (I'm wearing the lovely bulky ankle brace again today after several days without, so that should tell you something) when I realized I was about out of Dr Pepper and I'd better go inside and get some, and some ibuprofen, before Hubby got home and asked if I'd actually taken something for my various aches and pains.
I came back outside with my new can of Dr Pepper and some ibuprofen to find Large Fry teetering on the edge of trespassing in the neighbor's yard, with her and her friend carrying two of our little green buckets. I don't figure the neighbor will care, but they have buckets, and they're approaching trees and shrubs...
"Large Fry, what are you doing?"
She shouts something back, but due to the lawnmowers nearby, I can't quite hear what it is that they're hunting.
I ask her to come closer, because I can't hear her. She runs forward about ten feet. "I said lettuce!"
I nodded, and she and her friend went back to hunting "lettuce."
"Just find lettuce in our yard, please!" I called as I sat back down on the porch. (I'm gonna miss this porch.)
As our other neighbor mowed along the front section, getting both his half of the front patch and ours (thanks), Large Fry came running up, hands cupped together, screaming, "Butterfly!" She proudly showed off the barely-alive (if at all) moth she'd caught, to both me and our neighbor.
They're still happily playing.
I think I'll read the book I brought out here. My original intent when I came out here, really.
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