Feb
10
Head Banging Lessons
by Leslie
My girls on Friday night.
Or me 25 years ago.
Jan
25
This is why I don’t get to work out*
by Leslie
Guess where this penny has been?
If you guessed, “on a wild ride through Phoebe’s digestive system,” you win! (I won’t make you look at the penny-in-the-poop discovery photos.)
I know. You’re shaking your head at me. Leslie, you understand that baby-proofing your house includes keeping small items like this picked up and put away so tiny hands can’t get them, don’t you? How did this happen? Well, I’ll tell you: It was my mother’s fault. No. No! I’m kidding!!! (Mom, I’m mostly kidding.) It was Julia and Lucy’s fault.
My mom was keeping an eye on the girls while I was “working out” in the basement. They were playing Store and feeling uninspired by their wooden play money’s lack of authenticity and so they broke open their bank to use the real stuff. My mother told them not to do it. She told them to put the money away. They did not listen and Phoebe had an Abe Lincoln snack.
*Generally, I “work out” during nap time or when Dave is home, but he’s currently in the middle of a seventeen day work bender, which means he’s only home for about 8 hours every four days and during that time, he’s sleeping or going to softball meetings or bringing kids to my Kindermusik class which is why my mom was watching the girls. So, technically, I guess it’s Dave’s fault. I also blame fitness.
Jan
23
The Winter of Bee’s Discontent
by Leslie
We got enough snow to cancel school on Friday and dance classes on Saturday and, of course, to play in, too.
There’s Julia playing in the snow.
There’s Lucy eating the snow.
And there’s Phoebe, hating the snow.
Don’t worry. Julia and Lucy got her to grin, eventually.
And after those teeth finally came through Sunday morning, she was much more cheerful.
See? We made it through.
Jan
20
The Tortured Life of Bee
by Leslie
Phoebe is getting some new teeth and it’s turned her into a crusty-eyed, snotty-nosed, biting, kicking yell machine who wants to be near me and no one but me at all times so I can know her pain. Nothing seems to make her feel better than faking me out by pretending she wants to nurse, then gripping my breast with her razorclaw fingers and holding on for dear life with her jaws, all the while kicking, kicking, kicking. Bright side? My shredded nipple plugs up her mouth hole so she isn’t screaming! Because the screaming? Oh, God help us, THE SCREAMING.
I’d been giving her homeopathic teething drops until last night when she slapped them away like they were an insult, raked at her face and made a sound so wretched it stopped the heart of every small mammal within a twenty mile radius. Probably. And so, I finally gave her some real medicine which I should have recorded because it could have been a commercial for Motrin. She literally turned from a snarling, drooling monster-child into a sweet, squishy-cheeked baby doll. She rubbed her eyes and collapsed into a full four hours of true and actual rest. After I wrestled with the guilt of having let her labor through raw, throbbing, gut-wrenching hurt when all the while relief had been sitting in my medicine cabinet (and had a brief she’s-really-truly-finally-asleep dance party), I slept almost a whole two hours before she was up to mangle my milks again.
I have never been more thankful for a snow day than today. Also, ibuprofen.
Jan
16
This is how we do a long weekend.
by Leslie
That’s a 1,000 piece puzzle and it’s nearly complete!
If you’re not impressed, you should consider the added challenge we face of assembling it before Phoebe eats the pieces. She hasn’t actually digested any, at least we don’t think she has. Three of them have definitely been chewed and a handful took a dip in her milk. If we get down to the end and some are missing, well, I don’t know. Are puzzle pieces digestible? Would they come out like they went in?
Stuff I Do
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Stuff You Should Do
You know, Stuff.
