What Hits The Fan

H-3: FEE FI FO FUM! I smell the blood of an Englishman!
Me: You do? Really?
H-3: No, actually, I think it's just a poopy diaper.

What is it about poo? Why is it so funny? So fascinating? So discussable in public situations? The other night we are walking around one of those stores that you need a card to get into and a freight truck to get out of. I needed some baking sugar, and purchased it in the smallest bag they had, ten pounds.

H-3: Mama, what is that?
Me: It's a sack of sugar.
H-3: NO! Silly Mommy!
Me: Really, it is.
Daddy: I think it is a sack of sucre!
H-3: No, silly Daddy! It's a sack of.............POO POO! (insert two children giggling madly).

I suppose I should be grateful she does not know the other word yet.

Her brother is no better. Sometimes we let him hang out in a pair of cotton trainers, since he is prone to rashes. A couple months ago my downstairs stack ran out, so I had to run upstairs to get more. I grabbed a pencil, my engineer's rule, and some green engineering paper (LOVE that stuff) while I was upstairs since I was plotting out how much it would be to replace our deck surface. I knew where all that was. That is ALL I did upstairs.

Unfortunately, I forgot that time moves at different speeds in different levels of the house when you leave you not mobile baby on a different level. Nakey butt. Have I mentioned that poo is really facinating? Have I mentioned that what E-1 lacks in verbal precociousness he more than makes up for in determination and creativity? Had it been finger paint on paper, it would have been an impressive bit of art work for a 6 month old.

Please tell me that at least girls grow out of this.

Three Boxes

I got an copy of this blog post in an email the other day. I have no doubt I will receive it again. And again and again and again. Now, I disagree with a great deal of what Sgt. Jeffers said. I don't think it is unpatriotic to disagree with a particular President, to think a war is a mistake, to report on the bad as well as the good. However, one thing I agree strongly with is that a whole bunch of folks in this country give a bunch of lip service to 'support the troops' and do exactly two things to support the troops: Jack and Shit.

The true irony of Sgt. Jeffers' words is this, people are doing EXACTLY what he so despised. Instead of actually doing something concrete, they are mindlessly forwarding his words in spammy email with titles like 'This says it ALL' and 'The last words of a great soldier.' Give me a break, okay? Do you have any idea how LAME you are when you read this, forward it to all your friends with a little 'wow, this is really deep,' then get on up and pour yourself another cup of coffee? Folks, this man DIED for our country. The least you can do is honor his wishes. I am not telling you to go out and do x, y, and z for 'the troops.' It is up to you if you want to support a friend or neighbor overseas this holiday, or help out a family here at home missing that loved one. I am saying if you do something, actually DO something that will make a difference.

There are three boxes sitting here in our office/sewing room/guest room. Three folks we know well, overseas. The neighbor we like, despite his being a FSU Seminole. The (nearly) shortest dude ever to wear a flight suit. The desk jockey one day, on the ground in the thick of it the next friend that will miss his first child's first everythings in the next few months. The boxes are open, and I am sending them to arrive in the doldrums of after-holiday January. I keep pitching stuff in, wondering just how much I can STUFF into the things, thinking about what I can and cannot send over. Thinking of these brave men, and all the brave men and women who are far away tonight.

Sometime soon, three gifts will journey afar. They will journey to the land where, 2000 years ago, three other gifts arrived in celebration. My gifts will be far more humble, and the recipients merely human beings. I hope that my gifts will in a small way honor these men and the season.

And I pray for peace on Earth.

Name That Tune

Irreverence is a fact of life here. So is singing. This leads to some interesting musical moments. Our making dinner song, for example, is this little number from the first season of the Muppet Show. It has also become our veggie aisle song in the grocery store, which is a story for another time.

Songs that are fairly standard kid friendly bits are never left alone. Now, just so you know, *I* don't go ruining any of the classics. That is my husband's job. My daughter is completely convinced that the one about the rodent running up and down a large timepiece ends not with 'Hickory Dickory Dock' but with 'IntoTheMouthOfTheCat.'

Yeah, I am still waiting for the call from preschool on that one.

One thing I will admit to is changing the words to the songs from middle school. You know, those songs you did not let your teacher or parents hear you singing. I know it is not my best parenting moment, but hey, what else ya gonna do when your sweetie, a dedicated streaker, has fallen so in love with her new jammies that she wants to wear them to the playground. And so, without further ado, our version of 'Bedtime Hymn of the Republic.'

Oh I wear my shorts and T-shirt in the summer when it's hot.
And I wear my pink pa-jammies in the winter when it's not.
And sometimes in the spring, and sometimes in the fall,
I slip between the sheets with nothing on at all.