If Lainey still has a tendency to say words wrong or mess up her sentence structure every now and again, you can blame me. But I had a really good reason.
She was growing up way too fast.
It's funny because she started talking way before walking and is actually quite good at it. But it recently dawned on me that she's headed toward that big girl stage where she won't change words around or pronounce them wrong.
So I stopped correcting her.
You heard me.
Like when she put my glasses on and told me that my face looked flurry (blurry). I just smiled and said
it sure does.
Or when she gets frustrated with something new she's trying and says
I can't (don't) know how!
I just help her figure it out.
And the other night when her Daddy rented Jungle Book for her?
We've all been singing "Bear NeSesames" ever since.
One night we were laying in bed with her, doing the tucking in thing. She poked Andy in the nose and said
bunk.
He tried to convince her it's either honk or bonk, but she wasn't having it.
And I was so proud.
So if you're sitting in class with her and she tells you
my feets are cold
or asks you
how many pieces of rain are falling?
Just smile, nod and help her find an umbrella and some dry socks.
That's what I would do.
Thank you,
Lainey's Mama
Friday, March 26, 2010
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Pants on the Ground
One afternoon this off-season my husband declared he'd had enough. Nearly ten years of marriage and he just couldn't take it anymore. His exact words were
Will you please pull your pants up!?!
I just smiled at him and moved on, because I was doing all I could.
I had my belt on for crying out loud.
Later, I was reclining on the couch, reading the paper and I felt someone staring at me. I looked up to see my sweet man, leering over me, swinging an old phone charger cord. I was pretty sure he wasn't getting ready to strangle me, but I relaxed a little when he said
Stand up, I'm gonna measure you.
Well, sure you are honey. I'm sure that's exactly what Vera Wang uses in a pinch.
He "measured" my waist, my hips, my legs, my knees and my bust. The last one was purely for him.
Silly boy.
After calculating all of his very precise measurements and lots of deep sighing he came to a startling realization.
I was missing six inches in the booty department.
Stop laughing.
Most jeans have a difference of approximately 10 inches between the waist and the largest part of the hips.
I have four.
Which totally explains the parking lot incident.
Ready for this one? I was taking all three gals in for groceries and knew I needed a cart. So I had a baby on each hip and Lainey holding my back jean pocket.
It was a fool-proof plan.
Until she tripped.
And pulled them down.
Which wouldn't have been a big deal except my panties went with them.
And I couldn't pull them up, because of said baby in each arm.
It's at this point that I would like to sincerely apologize to the mama walking behind us. Thank you for giggling quietly. Forgive me for mooning you. And your child. I hope you shielded her eyes from the glare. Here's hoping we never meet again. Ever.
I digress.
When my hubby gets something in his head, he doesn't relax until he knows everything about the subject. He researched inseams, pocket placement, proper measurement and things I didn't even know mattered. For a few days, I would find random pairs of pants lying on the bathroom floor where he had measured them.
And clearly forgotten to put them away.
I then knew he was completely serious when he mentioned a four letter word.
M-A-L-L.
For the record, in the twins entire first year of life we had been to the mall as a family exactly zero times.
So off we went. First stop, Chik-fil-A. Second stop, Macy's.
I tried on more jeans than I care to mention, but miracle upon miracles, there was a certain brand that FIT. I nearly shouted with joy. Until I saw the price tag. And then I teared up.
Those stinkin' dressing rooms can be such an emotional roller coaster.
But, what I didn't realize was this was purely research. My man had a plan.
It's called ebay.
So no more saggy bottom drawers for this mama. I am now the proud owner of three pairs of proper fitting jeans.
But I still wear a belt.
One can never be too careful.
Will you please pull your pants up!?!
I just smiled at him and moved on, because I was doing all I could.
I had my belt on for crying out loud.
Later, I was reclining on the couch, reading the paper and I felt someone staring at me. I looked up to see my sweet man, leering over me, swinging an old phone charger cord. I was pretty sure he wasn't getting ready to strangle me, but I relaxed a little when he said
Stand up, I'm gonna measure you.
Well, sure you are honey. I'm sure that's exactly what Vera Wang uses in a pinch.
He "measured" my waist, my hips, my legs, my knees and my bust. The last one was purely for him.
Silly boy.
After calculating all of his very precise measurements and lots of deep sighing he came to a startling realization.
I was missing six inches in the booty department.
Stop laughing.
Most jeans have a difference of approximately 10 inches between the waist and the largest part of the hips.
I have four.
Which totally explains the parking lot incident.
Ready for this one? I was taking all three gals in for groceries and knew I needed a cart. So I had a baby on each hip and Lainey holding my back jean pocket.
It was a fool-proof plan.
Until she tripped.
And pulled them down.
Which wouldn't have been a big deal except my panties went with them.
And I couldn't pull them up, because of said baby in each arm.
It's at this point that I would like to sincerely apologize to the mama walking behind us. Thank you for giggling quietly. Forgive me for mooning you. And your child. I hope you shielded her eyes from the glare. Here's hoping we never meet again. Ever.
I digress.
When my hubby gets something in his head, he doesn't relax until he knows everything about the subject. He researched inseams, pocket placement, proper measurement and things I didn't even know mattered. For a few days, I would find random pairs of pants lying on the bathroom floor where he had measured them.
And clearly forgotten to put them away.
I then knew he was completely serious when he mentioned a four letter word.
M-A-L-L.
For the record, in the twins entire first year of life we had been to the mall as a family exactly zero times.
So off we went. First stop, Chik-fil-A. Second stop, Macy's.
I tried on more jeans than I care to mention, but miracle upon miracles, there was a certain brand that FIT. I nearly shouted with joy. Until I saw the price tag. And then I teared up.
Those stinkin' dressing rooms can be such an emotional roller coaster.
But, what I didn't realize was this was purely research. My man had a plan.
It's called ebay.
So no more saggy bottom drawers for this mama. I am now the proud owner of three pairs of proper fitting jeans.
But I still wear a belt.
One can never be too careful.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
A Tale of Two Biddies
One afternoon this week the girlies and I made an emergency run to Wal-mart. We needed side walk chalk. Clearly, we cannot enjoy the sunshine in Florida without it.
While we were there gathering the necessities and trying our
Except for one old gal.
I was in the produce department searching for a firm green pepper when I noticed her staring at my brood. She glanced at me and said
These your twins?
*Yes, ma'am.
She yours too?
*You betcha.
I assume this is all you have? (while giving the knowing eye that SURELY there can't be MORE!)
and then I actually said
*For now! Have a great day!
and we rolled away.
In hindsight I wish I would have gone all Duggar on her and said
Nope, the older 16 are at home on the back forty making soap.
But I never think of those things when they're appropriate. Plus, I'm a chicken. And truly, if I were to get pregnant any time in the near future my new address would be
123 Loony Bin in Crazy Town, USA.
But when someone else thinks that I already have enough children and they roll their eyes at the ones I already have? Kinda ruffles this mama's feathers. Just a bit.
I managed to get over it, because really, bless her heart, maybe she had a bad childhood. Maybe she was having a bad hair day. Maybe she forgot her fiber. Regardless, I hope she did have a great day.
And 37 great grandchildren.
Anyhoo, we checked out, headed to the van and as I was loading my crew (which is code for my booty was hanging out the side door as I was buckling one baby while keeping an eye on the other baby who has a tendency to climb out of the cart and fussing at Lainey to please get into her seat and stop puttering around because it's bloomin' hot in here and I want to get groceries in the front and the engine running before our sour cream really lives up to it's name) I hear
Excuse me, ma'am?
*Yes? (as I awkwardly hung my head out the door)
I just wanted to say that I saw you in the store and your children are adorable and so well behaved and clean. You're a great mom.
Blessings on you, sweet little dark-haired lady with cool shades. You totally made my day.
And made me wonder if there are a lot of dirt covered children running around Florida.
While we were there gathering the necessities and trying our
Except for one old gal.
I was in the produce department searching for a firm green pepper when I noticed her staring at my brood. She glanced at me and said
These your twins?
*Yes, ma'am.
She yours too?
*You betcha.
I assume this is all you have? (while giving the knowing eye that SURELY there can't be MORE!)
and then I actually said
*For now! Have a great day!
and we rolled away.
In hindsight I wish I would have gone all Duggar on her and said
Nope, the older 16 are at home on the back forty making soap.
But I never think of those things when they're appropriate. Plus, I'm a chicken. And truly, if I were to get pregnant any time in the near future my new address would be
123 Loony Bin in Crazy Town, USA.
But when someone else thinks that I already have enough children and they roll their eyes at the ones I already have? Kinda ruffles this mama's feathers. Just a bit.
I managed to get over it, because really, bless her heart, maybe she had a bad childhood. Maybe she was having a bad hair day. Maybe she forgot her fiber. Regardless, I hope she did have a great day.
And 37 great grandchildren.
Anyhoo, we checked out, headed to the van and as I was loading my crew (which is code for my booty was hanging out the side door as I was buckling one baby while keeping an eye on the other baby who has a tendency to climb out of the cart and fussing at Lainey to please get into her seat and stop puttering around because it's bloomin' hot in here and I want to get groceries in the front and the engine running before our sour cream really lives up to it's name) I hear
Excuse me, ma'am?
*Yes? (as I awkwardly hung my head out the door)
I just wanted to say that I saw you in the store and your children are adorable and so well behaved and clean. You're a great mom.
Blessings on you, sweet little dark-haired lady with cool shades. You totally made my day.
And made me wonder if there are a lot of dirt covered children running around Florida.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)