What she said

You’re going to have a stinky suspicion that I’m making this up, I think. Unless you also have a three year old who says things like this to you, and then you know.

So we’re sitting at dinner last night [second dinner for her, first dinner for us, which is just how it works out some nights], and she says to me:

Mommy, I wished I could go inside my hawt [that’s heart, to you].

Why do you wish you could go inside your heart?

So I could see the spirit of God.

She says these things sometimes, these out-of-the-mouth-of-babes-type-things, and I see exactly why Jesus loved the little children.  But she also says these things, and I have to stop myself from feeling just a little bit smug about it.

See, she also told me I was a bad bad Mommy around a dozen times yesterday for not letting her watch a show after she’d pitched a hissy fit.

This little tidbit I take no credit for, of course. I’ve never told her she was a bad bad daughter, so it’s not like she picked up this insult from me. It’s just a part of being three, I think. So I think it’s only fair, if I’m not taking credit for her criticisms, that I should also not take credit for the sweet things that come out of her mouth.

She just is what she is: sweet, sour, precious, demanding, angelic, sneaky, soft-hearted, stubborn as a damn mule.

But then, I have to stop myself from being smug all over again. Because the truth is, I kind of like her this way.


We’re back!

Ok, so that little hiatus got ridiculous. We have all been sick, with the exception of Lee, who somehow manages to avoid the germy slobber the rest of us share. He has a maneuver wherein he only kisses the cheek of a sicky with the side of his mouth, and you don’t even realize he’s doing it until you’re in fever misery and he’s bouncing out for a quick run. He’s stealthy that way.

Lee was also our official grocery shopper during our week long convalescence. I sent him for Pedialyte popscicles, which I remembered someone recommending to me last year during the great Stomach Flu of 2010.  But Publix didn’t have them. So guess what I did? I made my own.

I know! GET ME OUT OF TOWN. I’m still pretty proud of them. And I’ve got one left in the freezer if anyone has a sicky of their own soon.

But we’re all recovered for the time being. We’ve had a visitor the last few days, my friend Jill. She just left a little while ago, and the babies are going to be bereft when they wake up and it’s just mama. 

Speaking of babies waking up, my break is over! Stay tuned for birthday festivities, The Great Pumpkin 2011, and more soon.

Hurry Home

Uncle Derbs leaves for Afghanistan tomorrow.

I’ve been sitting here staring at this stupid blinking cursor for a long time, and words are failing.

I can talk all day long about baby poop, but there aren’t words in the dictionary for how much we love and will miss you. So, I’m settling for these:

Be safe.
Hurry home.
No tattoos.

Cousin Fest ’11

So we got to spend some time with MB & Bo’s cousins on our trip to NC in August, and it was so fun to watch. There’s something special about cousins, don’t you think? 
Bo’s closest cousins, age-wise, are his cousins Griffin and Gretchen, who are six weeks older. 

I think Bo liked having babies his own age to crawl around with. Mary Bullock is a wonderful big sister, but sometimes it’s more like Bo has two Mamas, one of whom is very bossy. And the other makes him sit still for diaper changes and wipes his nose against his will, so she’s kind of a bummer.

My mom was in Grandma heaven with these three. She got to love on all the babies and didn’t have to change any diapers!
We also got to go to the Marbles Museum in Raleigh, finally, after I assured Lee that we would not be looking at exhibits full of marbles all day. Actually, I’m pretty sure this was MB’s version of paradise. She played
And played
And played
And played. The pizza parlor was one of my favorite parts. By that time she was sweaty [fwetty] and her hair went into a tangled pony tail that reminded me of my Mellow Mushroom days. I didn’t brush my hair back then, so this is pretty much what I looked like. We explained to MB the finer points of the Funky Chicken pizza [the old school Funky Chicken, with pesto and jerk chicken, not the new one- blegh]. She agreed that this was probably the best pizza on the planet. 
One of my other favorite parts of this trip was that Daddy got to come with us. Everything is better with Daddy. I know with family far away and a husband who doesn’t actually get “vacation” from work, I’m in for a lifetime of solo car trips. So the times when he can come with us are extra special to me. 
They had a “soft” play place for babies, which Bo loved for the 20 minutes of our museum trip that he was awake for.
And then my camera battery said KILL ME NOW and died. But not before I could make a note to self: Surround next nursery with mirrors. Instant entertainment, no babysitter required. 

Rewind/Fast Forward

[Lee and I took the babies up to North Carolina for a long weekend this past weekend– another one of my crazy, do-everything-see-everyone kind of road trips, except this time we decided on one central location (Raleigh) and worked out our visits from there. When you have to drive 8+ hours to see anyone who knew you before age 23, every trip turns into sort of a circus. But a good circus. A necessary circus. 
Also, my camera battery died. And I lost the charger. So this is the part of the trip where I had resorted to my phone camera.]

See this? This is my baby on Franklin Street. Actually it’s my baby on her Daddy’s back on Franklin Street. Mary Bullock’s FPE [favorite person ever] Molly just started UNC Law on Monday, so we spent Saturday with her and Uncle Derbs walking around campus, showing MB the sights. See the dark cloud to the right? That’s Hurricane Irene. Thankfully, that’s as bad as it got in Chapel Hill.

I haven’t spent a lot of time in Chapel Hill since I graduated, mostly because I’ve lived so far away and am not a huge sports fan, so I don’t go home for many games. It was strange to walk around campus after so much time had passed, and with my own children. In some ways it felt like nothing had changed [although a lot has changed on campus]. I walked by certain places on campus and recalled specific incidents– like, getting my books my first semester freshman year and sitting down in The Pit with the box, so freaking excited. Or being in the undergraduate library, pestering Rachel to help me cram for an Econ class I’d only been to twice. It was odd how much came back to me after 15 years– parts of college I loved, parts I was tortured by [Astronomy- the worst], and parts the older me would have done very differently.

Of course, if Lee has his way, MB won’t be spending her college years in Chapel Hill, but wherever she is, at some point, hopefully, she’ll be in a dorm room far away from her mama. I’m sure I’ll cry dropping her off, just as my mother did. I’m sure she’ll make some mistakes, just as I did.

But dear baby, if there is an Old Well, and drinking from it will get you all As, my advice is this:
DRINK FROM IT.  Especially if you only plan to attend your Econ class for the month of August.

This is Mary Bullock pouting because she wanted to go to WATE FOWEST. I think she was coached.

Did you know

So, you know that I’m a twin, right? If you know me or have been reading, this is old news. But did you know that I was also a surprise?

On this day, thirty-three years ago, my mother, nearly two weeks overdue with what she thought was her third baby, finally went into labor. She got to the hospital around 7, and forty-six minutes later, the girl that she’d hoped and prayed for was born.

That was my sister.

And then I popped out [maybe she wouldn’t describe it as popped. Or maybe she would. She has the convenient tendency to only remember the good stuff. Which has worked out really well for her memory of my teenage years].

But I digress.

SURPRISE! I must have been thinking in my tiny baby head. BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR!

Then she set about getting a second of every baby item she had [can you imagine?] before bringing us home from the hospital.

Later, I thanked her for all of this by acting like a total brat between the ages of 3-10. And then again between the ages of 15-18. I definitely had some bratty years in my twenties.

Even now when she doesn’t answer the phone by my second time trying I have been known to get huffy. And how old am I?

Oh yes. Thirty-three.

So Happy Birthday, Sister! Thanks for sharing.

And Happy Twin Day to my mother. Thanks for rising to the challenge, and for always making me feel like you preferred it that way, even in my bratty years.