My youngest always manages to get more food in her hair than in her mouth. Today was no exception, and she wore my homemade pizza (yum, by the way) like hair-dye frost. Time for a bath!
Unfortunately, all my kids hate having their hair washed. My 6-year-old son can be heard three counties over screaming, "My eyes! No, no! My eyes!" as I use the tearless baby shampoo on him. Bath times are a real treat for us all.
Today it was Miss Diva's turn for the torture chamber, a.k.a. bathtub. She's usually the best of them with handling the excruciating torment of having buckets of water dumped all over her. She grabbed the washcloth, covered the entire front half of her head and bravely said, "Ok, mom, I'm ready!" She took it like a trooper.
As I was rinsing her hair she tensed up and grabbed the outer edge of the tub, flooding the bathroom floor in the process. (Not that this is a new thing. I'm quite used to having to shop-vac and/or use 50 towels to mop 6 inches of water off the floor on any given evening. But still, why must they do that?!)
In response to her imitation of a tsunami I asked her, "What, are you allergic to water now?" She immediately answered, "Yes! And soap, too!"
Half under my breath I muttered, "I hope you don't expect to get a lot of dates when you're older."
My mini diva turned to me and smiled, "I'm allergic to dates, too!"
Atta girl!
tags:
kids
My six-year-old son came up to me this morning with a new joke:
"Mom, how many cats does it take to change a lightbulb?"
"Hmmm. I don't know. How many?"
"A thousand! That's a lot of cats Mom!"
Meanwhile, as I try to figure out the punchline, he continues, "Now if it was baby cats, that would take like a hundred [note: we have math issues here] of them because they're really smaller and they would have to stack up to the ceiling with cats!"
He pauses here to look at our cathedral ceiling, "We have a really high ceiling, too. It goes way up and way back down, and you would need a million cats to get that high. A million cats would be a lot in this house, and Maggie and Max [our chihuahuas] would chase them and they would run all over the place and make a big mess everywhere and that would be loud, huh?"
The kid's got an imagination, I'll give him that...
tags:
kids
My 6-year-old has somehow gotten orange juice up his nose. It's apparently quite painful.
My 4-year old has used her Barbie cellphone to call the "pretend police" to notify them of my decision to make Cream o' Wheat for breakfast. She stated, "It's not wego (legal) to feed kids that stuff!" No, I don't have any idea where she gets it from.
After feeding said Cream o' Wheat to my 4-year-old, she states: "See, Zach? I told you it was good!"
My 6-year-old testified that it was his favorite. After finishing half his bowl, however, "MOM! This stuff tastes even worse than it smells!"
Right now the discussion is centered around which will occur in a hundred years: Death or grandparenthood. I'm thinking I need to limit their TV a tad more...
Oh... and I got my first grey hair. Lucky for me, my hair's too blonde to really see it. I'm gettin' OLD.
