Category: monkey antics

Dear Santa,

When a three-year old climbs up on your lap and asks for a candy cane, just say,” A candy cane! What a great idea. Do you like candy canes?” and send her on her way (with a candy cane. Which is why she’s asking for one–she can see Mrs. Claus’ basket).

DO NOT suggest that she may like a doll. Once she agrees to a doll, don’t push her into being more specific…dolls are dolls in her world. Because the Dora Doll she asked you for at your suggestion? She already has upstairs.

Just enjoy the simplicity of the request of a candy cane. We are.

Love,
A Mom ( wondering if said three year old will really be expecting a non-wanted Dora doll this Christmas….)

So MAM’s mind is obviously on one topic more than others these days:

“Look! Christmas lights! Poopy Christmas lights!”

“MAM, they are Christmas lights, but they aren’t poopy. That’s rude.”

“Oh. Look! Christmas lights! Christmas lights. And they aren’t poopy! Those lights aren’t poopy!”

Thanks for that observation, sweetheart.

If you are eating or planning to eat or have just eaten, you may want to take a pass on this one….

Aside from all of her ear/sinus issues, MAM is a pretty healthy, tough kid. Which is why last night was such a surprise–a gross, nasty, stinky surprise. I awoke to find her standing next to my bed, whimpering and saying, “My bed is dirty. I spit-up on my bed” in the saddest, littlest voice you can imagine. I put her into my bed and went to discover the “spit up”…..which was such a polite word for what was really there.

I started stripping her bed, when I hear that little voice again, “I have spit up on my shirt!” I take a break from the sheets to quickly change her jammies. She sleeps on Daddy, I finish up and then realize….there’s laundry in both the washer and the dryer. DARN IT. I move the laundry, and then realize that the sheets need to be shaken out before anything goes into the washing machine.

Did I mention that it is 1:30 in the morning?? As I was shaking the sheets into the toilet, I had the thought, “this is motherhood. this is it, in it’s downest and dirtiest form.” I put the sheets in a bleachy, hot water washing machine, and crawled back into bed. The wee-one was awake enough
to make a new sleeping arrangement–she covered me up and then slept on top of me. Who else in the whole wide world could sleep so close to me with such a wicked virus? No one. Just her (and Junior).

We made it through the night–she used the bucket a few times (Thank God she made it into the bucket) and Daddy was on bucket emptying/water getting duty, since she never actually got off of me the entire night.

This is definitely going on my list of “This is Motherhood.” What’s on your list?