Soccer Ball!

I've mentioned before that I have a pretty cool husband. Once he actually said when I wanted to put a bid on a rundown house that was 275 years old, "Let's do it! Happy wife, happy life!" Told you. He's pretty cool. And so when I've said the following things to him, he's always been agreeable.

"Hey, you snore a lot. I think you should get this crazy painful surgery."

"Joanna's coming over tonight and we're giving each other facials, Biore strips included. Wanna join us?"

"The other playgroup moms and I wanted to start the kids playing a semi-organized sport, without any pressure, though, you know? I told them you played soccer all your life and you'd probably be thrilled to try to control 12 kids, 4 and under, teaching them rules of a game that I don't even really understand. I was right, wasn't I? You're excited by this, no?"

And so Saturday mornings in October are devoted to soccer "practice." Thanks, my love, you've made your wife happy. I hope I've made your life happy.

Our team, guarding the goal!

God is where?!

There are certain days we go to the cemetery and leave flowers or rocks or buttons or holiday ornaments at Mom-Mom's headstone. The Salad was only 6 months old when she left us so suddenly and they have never questioned why we go to a rock to "visit" her.

We have never really taught them about Heaven, per say. And while we thank Him everyday for all the great things that day brought us, our talks of God are very simple. God is good. God wants us to be good. God made all things. There are people that we love with God.

So I stumbled a bit during the conversation we had as we passed the cemetery this morning.

M: "Hi Mom-Mom!"

A & S: "Hi Mom-Mom!"

M: "Mommy, is Mom-Mom in the ground?"

Me: "Mom-Mom is with God, buddy."

M: "Is God in the ground?"

Me: "God is everywhere. He's in the ground and the trees and the sky and in us."

M: "How does he get up in the sky?"

Now I'm getting nervous . . . I have no idea what to say . . . I ponder calling R and having him talk . . . luckily the girls take over for me.

A: "Wait mommy, wait. God is in us?"

Oh gosh, now I've really confused them . . .

Me: "Sure, he's, umm, in our hearts."

Silence while they digest this farfetched story.

A: "Well, I don't feel God in my heart."

S: "Me neither. But sometimes, I feel him in my belly."

Ahhhh! The damage has been done, I fear.

Downward Facing Preschoolers

alternately titled:
Morning of free entertainment.

alternately titled:
Why is her bottom shoved into my head?

alternately titled:
Yoga class!

By the Sea, By the Sea, By the beautiful Sea

We spent the first week of September on vacation down the shore. Rather than recount every single day, I'll do lists of highlights.

Things there were a lot of:
Waves ridden.
Funnel Cake eaten.
Scrabble games played.
Sea shells found that were "PERFECT!" according to S.
Sand Angels made.
Kites flown.

Salads' Favorite things about vacation:
A - "My new pink flippies (flip flops)."
M - "Seeing 2 trains on the way home."
S - "The Caterpillar Roller Coaster and sleeping in the same bed as her brother and sister."

My Favorite Salad Moment (as we wished on a star):
A - "Mommy, why do the stars in the sky not have any points?"
M - "Thank you, wishing star."
S - "I wish for a lot of french fries."

Firsts:
A got her first professional manicure (also her first burn from the drying bulb).
M won me a blue duck playing a water gun game. "It's for you, Mommy." he said as my heart melted.
S got 2 holes in 1 playing miniature golf.

The Poop Conspiracy

On our way home from our new preschool time at the library, "Three Blind Mice" came on the radio. "The Poopy Song!" the Salad shouted in unison. All 3 burst into song, the words not quite how I remembered them.


"Three blind poops.
Three blind poops.
(giggle)
Poop. Poop. Poop.
Poop. Poop. Poop.
(giggle)
They all poop poop poop poop poop poop.
Three blind poops."
(giggle)



The whole way home, this silly episode made me so happy that the Salad is the same age. Because I can only imagine the inside joke that they share that turned a classic children's song into a catchy tune about poop.

And then I hung my head in embarassment.

Shrieks of laughter and shouts of "Tickle belly!" made me burst into the Salad's bedroom in the shore house. Here is the conversation that followed:

Me: "A, you are making too much noise in here with your brother and sister. It is not play time, it is nap time. I need you to sleep so that we can stay up late on the Boardwalk. Come with me and you can nap in the pack-n-play in our bedroom today."

A: "Mommy?"

Me: "Yes, A?" clearly exasperated.

A: "You want me to sleep in the pack-n-play?"

Me: "Yes, A. So that we can stay up late tonight."

A: "But not play in there?"

Can you see where she's going with this, people?

Me: "No playing. Just sleeping."

A: "But Mommy, why is it called a pack-n-play then?"

Me: "Uh. Um. Huh. You know what? I need quiet NOW. Let's go."

Dang . . . beaten by my three year old. Again. Dang.

Tinkle, Tinkle, Little Star

A few weeks ago, Aunt Jen and Ian watched the Salad for a few hours. When I got home, they were all playing out in the pool. As soon as M saw me, he asked me to bring him inside. Once there, I thought it might be a nice treat for him to get a bath alone. For sake of ease, I usually bathe them together.

After the bath, while I was drying him off, he said, "Mommy that was my most favorite tubby ever!"

So I asked him why, thinking he'd say he got time alone with me, he didn't have to share bath toys, he wasn't kicked in the face by his sisters, there was room to "swim", etc, etc.

But instead he smiled a innocent smile and whispered, "Because I pee-peed in it!"