I was at Target with the kids. They were doing that thing where they gaze longingly at the toys in the toy section, so I was wandering around the girls clothing section. Not because I want to, per se, but because I don't enjoy the toy section, and yet, it's still not socially appropriate to completely abandon your kids at Target. So I scope out the girls fashions, even back when I didn't have any girls.
Anyway, this particular time, I found a few dresses on the clearance rack and I brought them to Lilly. I'm finding it harder to shop for her these days. The boys would refuse to wear clothes, but it was usually pretty clear why: buttons? Then no. Snaps? Nope. Collars? Never. But I haven't been able to exactly pinpoint what gets the Lilly stamp of approval and what will be politely relegated to the back of the closet.
So I show her the dresses and she's all, "Oh, pretty! But I have to try them on."
"Look, can't you just tell me what you like and what you don't like? I'm pretty sure these are your size." I mean, it's not like we need to find clothes that hide her figure flaws, right? If she likes it, I'll buy it and then we're done.
"Mom. how am I supposed to know if I like a dress without trying it on?"
Okay. Seriously? My mother's been telling me that my whole life. I don't need it from my daughter, too.
"Lilly, it's your size, it'll fit fine."
"Mom, it's not about if it fits. It's about the way it twirls."
Monday, November 9, 2015
Monday, November 2, 2015
it's all fun and games
We were walking home from a dinner at a friend's house yesterday.
It was 7:00, p.m., and pitch dark, thanks to the time change.
We made the kids leave even though they still wanted to jump in the leaf pile some more. And, even after they explained that they WANTED to JUMP MORE, we still made them leave. I get it. Leaf jumping is great. I have a bit of a phobia about it myself, because once I jumped on a dead rabbit, but I have no reason to believe that that is a common occurance, so I try not to tell them, "get off get off get off, there could be dead things in there."
Still, even after they, again, clairified that they were having FUN, we dragged them away.
We were almost home, and I though we had all moved past the leaf-pile-jumping deprivation.
Then Lilly said to me, "Do you see my face mom?! It is FULL of anger."
But the funny thing was that, no, actually I couldn't see her face. It was pitch dark.
It was 7:00, p.m., and pitch dark, thanks to the time change.
We made the kids leave even though they still wanted to jump in the leaf pile some more. And, even after they explained that they WANTED to JUMP MORE, we still made them leave. I get it. Leaf jumping is great. I have a bit of a phobia about it myself, because once I jumped on a dead rabbit, but I have no reason to believe that that is a common occurance, so I try not to tell them, "get off get off get off, there could be dead things in there."
Still, even after they, again, clairified that they were having FUN, we dragged them away.
We were almost home, and I though we had all moved past the leaf-pile-jumping deprivation.
Then Lilly said to me, "Do you see my face mom?! It is FULL of anger."
But the funny thing was that, no, actually I couldn't see her face. It was pitch dark.
Monday, October 26, 2015
A Day with Lilly
Lilly wakes up with a smile every day.
Every day, she bounces out of bed (I know because I hear the thump) and rushes to see us.
This is usually pretty cool, because neither of the boys cares to see us until they need a ride somewhere.
Once they figure out how to use scissors to open cereal, they're basically just here for the free laundry.
I've stopped fighting with her about her outfits. If she wants to wear a velvet party dress with some fruit themed knee socks, well, life is short.
She bounces out the door, and is better than I am about remembering her lunch box.
When I pick her up, she has absorbed the energy from her little friends, and is full of questions.
"Mom? How do traffic lights change?"
"See that yellow box on the pole there? It holds a computer that is programmed to change the lights at certain times."
I have no idea if this is true. I don't care if this is true. I don't care about this at all.
"So, is there a person nearby?"
"No, it's a computer."
"Is there someone in the yellow box?"
"No, no. No people. It's a computer."
"Oh, there's another one!"
"No, that's a donation bin, it just happens to be yellow. They aren't all yellow. See, this one up here is gray."
"Oh. And they are never smaller than that box?"
"I really don't know. I guess some might be smaller."
"And they are always yellow or gray?"
"Sweet baby Jesus please stop asking me questions."
"Fine," she says, full of hurt, "I'll ask daddy when we get home."
"Oh, please do."
We go to Target, and she is so excited about the yogurt that she trips and drops it. She is so excited about seeing one of her friends there that she runs straight into our cart. She's so excited about the Frozen nightgown she found that she falls over the foot of the rack.
At night, she demands we read her a book, every night, without fail. On tired days, we would skip the book with the boys, but Lilly doesn't believe in being too tired for a book.
Every day, she bounces out of bed (I know because I hear the thump) and rushes to see us.
This is usually pretty cool, because neither of the boys cares to see us until they need a ride somewhere.
Once they figure out how to use scissors to open cereal, they're basically just here for the free laundry.
I've stopped fighting with her about her outfits. If she wants to wear a velvet party dress with some fruit themed knee socks, well, life is short.
She bounces out the door, and is better than I am about remembering her lunch box.
When I pick her up, she has absorbed the energy from her little friends, and is full of questions.
"Mom? How do traffic lights change?"
"See that yellow box on the pole there? It holds a computer that is programmed to change the lights at certain times."
I have no idea if this is true. I don't care if this is true. I don't care about this at all.
"So, is there a person nearby?"
"No, it's a computer."
"Is there someone in the yellow box?"
"No, no. No people. It's a computer."
"Oh, there's another one!"
"No, that's a donation bin, it just happens to be yellow. They aren't all yellow. See, this one up here is gray."
"Oh. And they are never smaller than that box?"
"I really don't know. I guess some might be smaller."
"And they are always yellow or gray?"
"Sweet baby Jesus please stop asking me questions."
"Fine," she says, full of hurt, "I'll ask daddy when we get home."
"Oh, please do."
We go to Target, and she is so excited about the yogurt that she trips and drops it. She is so excited about seeing one of her friends there that she runs straight into our cart. She's so excited about the Frozen nightgown she found that she falls over the foot of the rack.
At night, she demands we read her a book, every night, without fail. On tired days, we would skip the book with the boys, but Lilly doesn't believe in being too tired for a book.
Saturday, October 10, 2015
Baby Talk
Lilly and her cousin were playing together today. They were playing House - but this was apparently a sister wives household because there were no husbands to be seen and they referred to each other as "sister." As in, "sister, go get the stroller for Baby."
Oh, yes, there were also babies. Babies who would never suffer at the hands of their parents the way these girls had.
"Sister, I tried to put Baby down for a nap, but she does not want to take a nap. And because we want to be kind to our baby, we would never make her take a nap if she doesn't want to, right?"
"Oh, absolutely, Sister. And what should we make her for dinner? Because we love her and would only want her to have foods that she enjoys."
It was just, like, burn after burn on Parents who have Rules or Limits.
Later, Lilly was discussing family planning with me.
"Why doesn't Aunt Gail have kids?"
"I'm not sure, Lilly. It's just the way her life went."
"Because her body wasn't healthy enough to have kids?"
Yes, that is exactly what I said.
"I don't think that was the reason, Lilly. I think she just decided that she didn't want to have kids."
"Because she lives in Florida and they would always be begging to go to the beach?"
Yes, that is exactly what I said.
"She probably had some other reasons for not having kids. Also, she didn't always live in Florida."
I thought that would buy me a change in subject, but no.
"How did she not have kids?"
"She just don't have them," I respond, not wanting to discuss my aunt's potential forms of birth control.
"Did she take a pill?"
Goddamnit. Which one of you is having The Talk with Lilly? Because either stop, or do a good enough job that she isn't coming to me with follow up questions.
"People can. And sometimes people have to take pills to have a baby, but mostly it just happens for people and do you want to go eat a brownie?"
"Yes. But I would prefer to get a baby because I am tired of being the only girl, and sleeping by myself."
Oh, yes, there were also babies. Babies who would never suffer at the hands of their parents the way these girls had.
"Sister, I tried to put Baby down for a nap, but she does not want to take a nap. And because we want to be kind to our baby, we would never make her take a nap if she doesn't want to, right?"
"Oh, absolutely, Sister. And what should we make her for dinner? Because we love her and would only want her to have foods that she enjoys."
It was just, like, burn after burn on Parents who have Rules or Limits.
Later, Lilly was discussing family planning with me.
"Why doesn't Aunt Gail have kids?"
"I'm not sure, Lilly. It's just the way her life went."
"Because her body wasn't healthy enough to have kids?"
Yes, that is exactly what I said.
"I don't think that was the reason, Lilly. I think she just decided that she didn't want to have kids."
"Because she lives in Florida and they would always be begging to go to the beach?"
Yes, that is exactly what I said.
"She probably had some other reasons for not having kids. Also, she didn't always live in Florida."
I thought that would buy me a change in subject, but no.
"How did she not have kids?"
"She just don't have them," I respond, not wanting to discuss my aunt's potential forms of birth control.
"Did she take a pill?"
Goddamnit. Which one of you is having The Talk with Lilly? Because either stop, or do a good enough job that she isn't coming to me with follow up questions.
"People can. And sometimes people have to take pills to have a baby, but mostly it just happens for people and do you want to go eat a brownie?"
"Yes. But I would prefer to get a baby because I am tired of being the only girl, and sleeping by myself."
Wednesday, October 7, 2015
The Little Things
"Mom? Have you read The Giver?"
Sam recently finished this classic and had mentioned that he liked it.
"Yeah, I've read it."
"There was a part that I didn't like and it's been bothering me."
"Yeah?" That's a weird thing about Sam. When I read books that were beyond my maturity level, I was all, La La La, I'm reading a book, they just said a thing - who knows what it means!
"It was the part where they gave that baby the shot," he says.
Oh. Yeah. That part. The baby murder. Not my favorite, either. But probably he just thinks they gave the baby a shot. That's what I would have thought when I was his age. And I don't think they ever actually said, straight out, and "then they killed the baby."
Owen pipes in, "what did they do?"
"They gave a baby a shot that hurt," I answer quickly, wanting to manage the situation.
"They gave the baby a shot that KILLED it," Sam corrects.
Situation, managed!
Also, so Sam did catch that.
So now Owen is just all hand flappy, "what is happening?! Why with the baby killing?! I don't understand!!"
And Sam is all, "right? It was really upsetting and I can't stop thinking about it and why do you think that dad would give me a book like that to read?"
Sam recently finished this classic and had mentioned that he liked it.
"Yeah, I've read it."
"There was a part that I didn't like and it's been bothering me."
"Yeah?" That's a weird thing about Sam. When I read books that were beyond my maturity level, I was all, La La La, I'm reading a book, they just said a thing - who knows what it means!
"It was the part where they gave that baby the shot," he says.
Oh. Yeah. That part. The baby murder. Not my favorite, either. But probably he just thinks they gave the baby a shot. That's what I would have thought when I was his age. And I don't think they ever actually said, straight out, and "then they killed the baby."
Owen pipes in, "what did they do?"
"They gave a baby a shot that hurt," I answer quickly, wanting to manage the situation.
"They gave the baby a shot that KILLED it," Sam corrects.
Situation, managed!
Also, so Sam did catch that.
So now Owen is just all hand flappy, "what is happening?! Why with the baby killing?! I don't understand!!"
And Sam is all, "right? It was really upsetting and I can't stop thinking about it and why do you think that dad would give me a book like that to read?"
Monday, September 14, 2015
If Chris had a blog
"Do you think people feel sorry for you in my blog stories?" I ask Chris. "Like, does it come off mean? I'm not trying to be mean. I don't want my stories to make you feel bad."
"I don't care what you write. It's never bothered me. Seriously, it's fine."
We're on our way to the apple picking farm, the kids are in the back, watching a movie. Which means this is one of our most sustained conversations all week.
"Hey," he pauses, "We've been driving this way for a while. Do you think we're going the right way?"
"I'm not 100% sure, but my guess is no, Chris. I would say you made a wrong turn somewhere."
"Oh! You could write a blog about this!"
"About what?"
"Me going the wrong direction!"
"See, that's why you don't have a blog."
"Why?"
"Because this is neither funny nor interesting to others. Nobody cares."
"But it's me being an idiot. You always write about that."
"I promise you I don't write about it every time you are an idiot. Also, this isn't even being an idiot. It's just you getting slightly lost."
"But if you don't blog about this, it's just a waste of gas."
And Violà.
"I don't care what you write. It's never bothered me. Seriously, it's fine."
We're on our way to the apple picking farm, the kids are in the back, watching a movie. Which means this is one of our most sustained conversations all week.
"Hey," he pauses, "We've been driving this way for a while. Do you think we're going the right way?"
"I'm not 100% sure, but my guess is no, Chris. I would say you made a wrong turn somewhere."
"Oh! You could write a blog about this!"
"About what?"
"Me going the wrong direction!"
"See, that's why you don't have a blog."
"Why?"
"Because this is neither funny nor interesting to others. Nobody cares."
"But it's me being an idiot. You always write about that."
"I promise you I don't write about it every time you are an idiot. Also, this isn't even being an idiot. It's just you getting slightly lost."
"But if you don't blog about this, it's just a waste of gas."
And Violà.
Sunday, September 13, 2015
Same Old
"What's this?" Chris asks me, holding a package.
"Just some shipping envelopes I ordered. It's a package of packages!"
He looks at it, appraisingly. He considers my response. "No," he declares, "I think it's some airconditioner foam."
"Well, that's a good guess, but that's not what it is."
"It's not the right shape for envelopes!" he insists.
"Envelopes, my love, come in a variety of shapes and sizes. Also, why did you even ask me?"
"I thought you would know!"
"I suppose you could always open it."
Guys, it's almost sad. Because with a glint of defiance in his eyes he tears it open.
"Oh, my, look at that. Shipping envelopes. I did NOT see that coming. Wow."
It's like he doesn't even KNOW us.
"Just some shipping envelopes I ordered. It's a package of packages!"
He looks at it, appraisingly. He considers my response. "No," he declares, "I think it's some airconditioner foam."
"Well, that's a good guess, but that's not what it is."
"It's not the right shape for envelopes!" he insists.
"Envelopes, my love, come in a variety of shapes and sizes. Also, why did you even ask me?"
"I thought you would know!"
"I suppose you could always open it."
Guys, it's almost sad. Because with a glint of defiance in his eyes he tears it open.
"Oh, my, look at that. Shipping envelopes. I did NOT see that coming. Wow."
It's like he doesn't even KNOW us.
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