I try to smile......

when, as I am washing dishes, my toddler picks clean dishes out of the rack and places them back in the water in the sink.

Thanks buddy.

It's the "Dad Life" - Hee Hee!!

Saw this over at Thy Will Be Done. Awesome! Too Funny!!

Just what crack dealers need

Extreme Sheep Hearding

Extreme Sheep for Extreme Yarn

Mowing the Lawn

My husband and I "mow the lawn" occasionally at our house. In the event that we need to keep the subject matter PG, this is terminology we can use without the kids being any the wiser....or other peoples kids if in mixed company.

Not that we talk about mowing the lawn often or with people we don't or do know. We're not perverts. Just every now and then, especially with close friends (mostly my close friends and I talking alone) the subject comes up.

So at our house it's "mowing the lawn". If you're not following, I'm not talking about grass or any outdoor activity (although some people, somewhere, probably do consider this an outdoor activity). When I talk of the "fruits" of our gardening.....I don't mean flowers, even though we call one of our children Flower. I mean kids. You get it now.

Ok.

So, my husband and I decided to mow the lawn. The babies were asleep in our bed, and the big kid was downstairs playing video games. We settled on the babies room. It was empty and convenient.

We learned a few things:

1) We are not as young as we once were.
2) Carpet sucks.
3) We really like the cushioning of our bed.

We also learned why we hate toys that talk. Case in point.

My husband's mother bought this for our Flower for her first Christmas. We were going to throw it out, but we kept it around. She never played with it. It's been almost 3 years.

My Lovey really likes this toy. It says things like, "Green Hand." "Blue Ear." See the picture? You get it. It says it's body parts when you press them. When it's in the "music" mode it plays songs, etc.

When you press it's tummy it says, "Tummy".

So, we're mowing the lawn. On the HARD floor, which really hurts. Trying really hard to be real quiet. Out of nowhere, the little dog says, "Yellow Foot."

I laugh. My husband laughs. We continue.

No one touches the toy. A few minutes later......

Out. Of. Nowhere.

"You're my friend!"

Now let me tell you, I was almost in tears at this point, I was laughing so hard. I also noticed that my lower back was screaming at me to get up.

Still, must go on.

Out of nowhere, the lawn mower stops. I didn't even hear anything and I gave my husband what I'm sure was a "wtf are you doing???" kind of look when again an interruption occurred.

He says, "Yes?"

Wobbs says, "Are you guys in there?"

I think, "Here's your sign."

Hubby says, "Yes."

Wobbs - "Are you OK?"

No dude. We're not ok. Go away.

Hubby says, "Go watch a movie."

Wobbs - "Ok. Just checking on you."

Ugh.

My Name Is Inigo Montoya....

Tickle Me

Jennit over at One Thing is having a Very Funny contest to win the coveted "You Tickle Me" award. Ok, I'll bite. Here's her poll questions with my answers:


1. Who can make you laugh the hardest (someone you personally know)?

My friend Justin, whom I haven't seen in almost 4 years. The first time my husband and I met him he had us peeing our pants. Really.

2. Who has the most contagious laugh (of those you know personally)? Gotta be My Lovey (see sidebar)

3. What is the funniest movie you’ve ever seen?

Hmmm. You're making me think real hard. That's not so easy after you've had some kids. Boondock Saints. "....some huge freakin' guy cereal crushed him..." Hahahahahahaha!!!

4. Who is your favorite comedian?

Jeff Dunham. Hands down. Try not to laugh. I dare you.



5. What’s the funniest cartoon you’ve ever seen?

Animaniacs. Pinky & The Brain.



6. What’s your favorite comic strip?

Garfield. Duh. (I used to have a Garfield tattoo. My very first professional tattoo that I got when I was 16. Unfortunately, it was sacrificed when I decided to get my sleeve.)

I cannot find a copy of the strip I'd like to paste here. But I do remember it. Jon gets a call from a woman who dialed a wrong number and asks here if she'd like to turn it into a "right number" and go on a date with him. And she says yes! Turns out Bertha is a little overweight. Jon tries to think of something nice to say and finally says, "My, your teeth are round." She replies, "I eat a lot." Garfield says/thinks, "You don't say."

Hee hee.

7. What’s your favorite joke?

If I put that on my blog, I will lose readers. :) It has something to do with a bad way to spend Easter.

8. Here’s a link to something that will make you laugh: You betcha.

9. What was the last thing you laughed at so hard you cried?

Flower. She had filled her pants with some rather potent poo. I layed her down and pulled off her pants. As I opened her diaper I asked her, "Did you poop?" She replied, "Holy Crap!" This is when I realized that maybe I had used this phrase a little too often when changing her.

My husband and two sons were also on my bed at the time (where I was changing her). I looked over and my husband had actually picked up a wipe and put it over his nose so that he wouldn't smell the poo. I am actually laughing right now just thinking of him laying there with his face all caboogled up and contorted.

Reminds me of this:



Which also made me cry and still does everytime I see it!!

10. Got a funny photo? Show me!

That "Almost Baptized" Feeling

Hee hee!! Haw-haw!!



~H

It's Not A Cafeteria

The credit for this goes to LOL Saints. Go there. Seriously.

~H

Funny

A conversation between me and my increasingly chatty 2 1/2 year old: (her in the blue, me the black)

"Pretzels?"

"You want some pretzels?"

"Oh-kay!"

"Mommy will get you some pretzels when she's done going potty."

"Oh-kay!

A few minutes later, while I am on said potty....

"No pretzels."

"No pretzels?"

"No pretzels."

"Okay. No pretzels."

"No pretzels. Ice cream."

You Know You're Catholic When....

Your purse has to be big enough to hold your rosary and rosary meditation booklet along with all your other stuff.

You have to remind yourself not to genuflect when you sit down or get up from your seat in a theater.

Your children bless themselves in the birdbath. It’s really cute.

You have an urge to bless yourself whenever you see a standing pool of water. (This actually happened to me—I was visiting the state capitol building in Des Moines a few weeks ago, and there is a beautiful fountain outside of the building. Without thinking, I started to put my finger in the water and was going to cross myself when my husband and kids noticed what I was doing and started laughing at me. Oh my.) (From MamaMidwife - must have happened to the original writer......I don't live in Des Moines, and I haven't gotten that far with my Catholicism, yet!)

You spend the first five minutes of each day untangling your Miraculous Medal from your scapular.

Your children don’t collect baseball cards, but they do collect prayer cards.

Your children roll their eyes and elbow each other at church when the priest makes a suggestion of adding a prayer to the family devotions time. ("Oh no! Don’t give Mom any more ideas!")

Your teenage girls have different colored rosaries to match whatever outfits they are wearing that day.

—Taken from the Catholic Answers Forums

~H

My Kids Are Rednecks....Just Like Us

You must click HERE to watch the funniest video ever of my kids!

Hee hee !! Haw Haw!!

(It expires on Jan 15th, so hurry!)

~H

A Bone to Pick.......

.....with Pillsbury.

Let me explain.

In my short lived experiment with couponing (read about it here) I had purchased some Pillsbury refrigerated cookie dough. I know, I know. I usually make my own cookie dough - it's cheaper and tastes better.

But, I thought, I have a baby and a toddler, and a COUPON, so I'll buy some dough. It'll save me the time of having to make sugar cookie dough, then refrigerate, then roll, then cut out, then bake, then frost before eating our Christmas cookies. I get to skip two steps! Woo-hoo!

Was it worth it?

Um, not so much.

Perhaps a picture demonstration would be better? Ok. Here you go:


Exhibit A -

Notice the size differential between the cookie cutter and the resulting cookie? WTF! When I make my own sugar cookies THEY RETAIN THEIR SHAPE AND SIZE. Period.

Not enough, you say? Want more evidence? I give you Exhibit B -

Star of Christmas Cookie Cutter and resulting blob of confused squares. Again, I do not know what happened to these cookies. Does Pillsbury put some kind of super-human strength baking powder in their cookie-dough? Do they not understand that while it is OK for your chocolate chip cookies to conquer and divide among the cookie sheet it is quite impolite for sugar cookies to do so.



And, yes, there's more. Exhibit C-



Went in a Gingerbread Man, came out Frosty the Snow Man. This poor guy gained about 50 lbs. just because he agreed to undertake baking.



Exhibit D -

From left to right starting at the top: heart, bell, heart, bell, stocking, heart, stocking, gingerbread man. Oh-so-wrong on so many levels.

And finally, for your viewing pleasure, finished and frosted cookies-

To top off this wreckage of cookies, we had placed the remains of cutting out shapes into a blob and decided to bake a "large" sugar cookie by itself. It was the last "batch" that went in the oven. It was forgotten. Forgotten as the other cookies cooled. Forgotten as we made frosting (the green frosting is mint flavored, YUM!). Forgotten as we frosted the cookies. Forgotten until 30 plus minutes after it went into the over I got up to pee and smelled something off.

Found a large, brown hockey puck in my oven, complete with putrid smell of burnt popcorn wafting through the air.

Ah, the joys of baking. The cookies taste ok, although nothing compares to real butter, which Pillsbury obviously forgot about. And it was fun to see the little kids all covered in flour as Wobbs tried to roll out the dough. And his funny face when he realized his line of paper-cut-out gingerbread men had become poor souls that needed surgical help to regain their shape. My Flower, being the wisest of us all, refused to touch much less take a bite of the cookies.

Happy Advent!!

~H

P.S. Blogger has gone stupid and will not respect my formatting wishes in the above paragraphs.....melding then together as only Pillsbury could do!!! An ironic twist of fate, maybe?

Turkey Screw Ups

You must go visit Cake Wrecks. It had me laughing so hard my kids were wondering why Mom was crying.

~H

You Want Me To Put My Hand Up What?!!

Stuffing. Some call it "dressing", but I can't figure out why. All I know is that in order to prepare this stuff (no pun intended) and make it taste as yummy as possible you must stuff your hand up a turkey's ***. Or as my 8 year old would say, "Up his donkey."

And where did this weird stuff originate anyway? I found some neat online trivia on the history of stuffing. It appears that people have been "stuffing" foods, namely animals, for EVER. Ok, for years. But ever has such a nice ring to it. Apparently stuffing a turkey for Thanksgiving really caught on once Stove Top made it possible to do it very simply and cheaply. Thank you Ruth Siems.

The Victorians, I read, were not all that happy with the "improper" sounding term stuffing. They are the ones who decided to call it dressing. (Who knew?) It was originally called farce, from the Latin farcire (see #6 in the link on farce). I particularly like the term forcemeat. As in, force the meat up the animal's donkey - if you catch my drift.

Although I do not agree with any stuffing recipe (for Thanksgiving, or any other holiday meal for that matter) that calls for meat in the stuffing. I prefer, as my family has gently pounded into my preferences for 20+ years, a simple, yet eloquent, stuffing. No need to "change it up." No trying to "one up" last year's stuffing. No folks, holidays are made with simplicity of tradition. And in our house, that tradition involves not f'ing up the stuffing.

I will never forget the year that my mom let her sister-in-law bring the stuffing. It was the last year she ever let anyone help with food, ever. There were, I am not kidding, water chestnuts in the stuffing. Water Chestnuts. In. The. Stuffing. I shall not comment much more about this horrible memory.

But just for nostalgia's sake, imagine you are eating a traditional Thanksgiving meal. Turkey. Mashed Potatoes. Gravy from a jar. Green Bean Casserole. Sweet Potatoes. Canned Cranberry Sauce, in the shape of the can. Homemade Stuffing. Savory, smooth, salty, satisfying, er....ow!! What the heck was that? Why is there something crunchy in my stuffing? Did I just lose a filling? You put what in the stuffing? Water chestnuts? Aren't those traditionally used in Chinese cooking? Do I look Chinese? Do they roast turkey's in China and serve them on the fourth Thursday in November?

Oh it was fun let me tell you.

Of course, I have lots of other *fun* Thanksgiving memories involving food screw ups. Years, and years let me tell you, after the Water Chestnut Incident, as it's referred to in my family, came the Mouthwash Mashed Potatoes. Would you like to know how those three words got strung together?

Well, my mother has always been a pretty good cook when it comes to Thanksgiving. It was one of the very few times during the year when I was growing up that she cooked a meal, so we were very happy to have it. Not only that, but really, it was good.

As the years went on she kept cooking this meal but she also began another tradition with Thanksgiving - getting completely sloshed the night before. Most years this was no big deal. But the year in question she had apparently stayed out a little too late. Like until the sun came up the next day.

She had invited me and my husband (now, but not at the time) over for Thanksgiving. It was the very first time she would be meeting her future son-in-law back in that first year when we were living in sin. Unfortunately, she was a bit drunk, er...hungover, when she started dinner.

Anyway, my future husband, being the gentleman he is, took large servings of every dish offered. My brother and I were at the table with him, my mom exhausted and laying on the couch. My brother and I began to eat and both immediately stopped. We gave each other "the look" and knew there was something terribly wrong with the meal.

My husband cleaned his plate, smacked his lips, and graciously complemented my mom on the wonderful food and asked for seconds. My brother and I looked at him like he was nuts. He winked at us and said, "The mashed potatoes are so thin and watered down I could rinse my mouth out with them, " as he turned to the stove to get more. We broke into hysterical laughter while he kept this totally straight face. It was so bad I almost peed my pants.

My brother and I asked him, out of my mother's earshot, why he was going back for more. Clearly, in the absence of my mother's sanity, she had boiled the potatoes too long and then added way too much milk before mashing. He said, "Gotta make her feel good, first impression and all. Now give me that shaker of pepper. I'm going to need the whole thing to get another serving of these down."

We now compare, in absence of my mother of course, all bad food to the Mouthwash Mashed Potatoes. We are an odd bunch I tell you.

Included for you holiday viewing and tasting is my family's stuffing recipe, credited to my Grandfather:

Bread, white, cheap, torn into pieces
Butter, melted
Salt
Pepper
Onions, chopped
Celery, chopped

Mix together by hand, preferably little 3 to 6 year old hands, and shove up turkey's donkey.

**For those of you who may actually try this and want a more "serious" version of the recipe and instructions:

1 loaf of bread per 8 lbs. of bird. (So, for example, 1 1/2 loaves for a 12 lb. bird.)
1 lb. of melted butter per loaf of bread.

Tear up the bread and put it into a big bowl. Chop up some onion, however much you like. 2 medium sized is usually what I do. Chop up 3-4 stalks of celery. I like to include the leafy parts, they have lots of flavor. My family of origin did not do that. Add celery and onion to bowl with bread. Sprinkle with pepper and salt. Melt butter over low heat on stove top. Pour down over bread, celery, onion, salt, and pepper. Mix together by hand. I like to let the kids do this because it's very fun and messy. Shove up turkey's donkey. Cook turkey according to Better Homes and Garden's Cookbook poultry directions for turkey roasting with stuffing. :)

~H

Daylight Savings What?

Here we are again. The time of year where I want to run and scream like a little bitty girlie (oh wait, I am a little girlie!) into the corner and hide.

Why? What do you mean why? Don't you know what happened this weekend? Some crazy power in the universe insisted that we observe Daylight "Insanity" Time, or rather that we revert back to "Standard" Time, whatever that is.

Click here for some neato information on this issue.

However cool the information is, the effect on my family is never good.

I remember my first DST as a mother......

~A CONVERSATION BETWEEN ME AND MYSELF~

ME: Oh crap! I've got to set the clocks back. But how will I know when it is Wobber's bedtime?

MYSELF: Just keep one of the clocks set to the "real" time and you'll be able to tell.

ME: But isn't the "real" time whatever time it really is?

MYSELF: Yes, but this will just be the "sleeping" time clock. You'll be OK, just go with it.

ME: Ok, but if I put all the clocks ahead, no I mean behind, and he should be in bed at 8 o'clock with bath starting at 7 o'clock, then I can just start the bath at 8 instead. Right?

MYSELF: No, you should start the bath at 7.

ME: But the bath was at 7 with the "real" time.

MYSELF: But when the "real" time is 7, it's "real"ly 8.

ME: Argh!!! I hate this.

MYSELF: No wait! Eureka! I've got it! Start the bath at 6 o'clock real time. Then he'll be in bed by 7.

ME: Do you mean real time or "real" time?

MYSELF: What time is it again, right now?

ME: Huh? So you want me to give him a bath when we should be having dinner?

MYSELF: Yep. Hey wait a minute!? When in the heck are we gonna eat?

ME: But if he goes to bed at 6 o'clock what time will he wake up?

MYSELF: No, he bathes at 6, bed at 7.

ME: But isn't that "really" 5 and 6? Or is it 7 and 8?

Yeah. You get the picture. It's not any better here in 2008 when I have a baby, and a toddler, and the Wobbers all going insane the same exact day my husband switches from the day shift at work to the night shift.

Mm, hmm.

~H

Ka-Boom!!

The bomb went off this morning. In bed. On me.

Let me explain.

My dear boy hasn't pooped in quite a while. After this post the other day, he did have a small amount of what I will call liquid come out of his bottom, but nothing substantial. The only other emmisions were enough to knock me over a few times.

So this morning, we are laying in bed. He stirs. I look at the cell phone. Hmm. 7-something a.m. An OK time to wake up. I sit up, turn on the light, and begin to nurse My Little Man. He coos up at me, I smile and coo back at him.

Since I am still in the very early post-partum phase of things, my body is still trying to rid itself of excess moisture. My little one also is a furnace. Needless to say, perspiration is a part of life at night under the thick coverings of our king-sized bed. So when my itty-bitty heater passes the now quite usual large amount of very loud gas, I think nothing of it. I assume the wetness I feel on the back of his onesie is simply a little leftover of me and him being cozy warm together all night.

Um, no.

I lifted him up to burp him and looked down only to find a cadmium yellow colored pool of poo climbing up the back of his onesie. Oh yeah - and it was on my leg, my arm, and my hand.

I immediately screamed in horrow, I mean, called for help. Wobbers, the good boy he is, came through with a waterproof pad to put under him, a flat prefold diaper for on top of that, two wet cloth wipes, and a fresh clean cloth diaper.

I quickly layed him down, peeled off his onesie, and discarded it to the floor. I managed to not get the poo on his head which I was thankful for. The smell of stuff that has been stuck up in your little one's small intestine for the good part of a week, even though it is "just" breastmilk poo, can be quite overbearing....just in case you were wondering. I can only imagine what it would be like if it wasn't breastmilk sustaining him.

I took a deep breath and peeled back the diaper. Oh my!! Lots of poo. I quickly pulled it up and popped it into the make-shift diaper pail next to my bed. Keeping both of his legs high in the air, I proceeded to give him a "bath" with the two cloth wipes at my disposal. Once he was sufficiently cleaned up, I rediapered him, wiped off myself, and went to wash out the onesie.

I also disinfected my hands with bleach, umm, washed my hands and took the time to pee myself.

What a great morning. :)

~H

Something A Wee Bit (and just a wee bit) different

Although I wish I could take credit for this next bit, I can't. I don't know who wrote it, but it was forwarded to me through email by My Dear Friend M., whom I don't know what I would do without.

We both agree whoever did write it deserves a HUGE pat on the back! ~~

THE JOB - URINE TEST

Like a lot of folks in this state, I have a job. I work, they pay me. I pay my taxes and the government distributes my taxes as it sees fit. In order to get that paycheck, I am required to pass a random urine test with which I have no problem. What I do have a problem with is the distribution of my taxes to people who don't have to pass a urine test.

Shouldn't one have to pass a urine test to get a welfare check because I have to pass one to earn it for them? Please understand, I have no problem with helping people get back on their feet. I do, on the other hand, have a problem with helping someone sitting on their A--, doing drugs, while I work. . . . Can you imagine how much money the state would save if people had to pass a urine test to get a public assistance check?

I guess we could title that program, 'Urine or You're Out'. ~~

I love that one.

The other thing I want you to think about during this election season is what other things you'd rather not pay for with your tax dollars. Would you like to pay for, say, abortion? That's what Barack Obama wants you to do. FOCA not only would make abortion available on demand but it would also require our tax dollars to fund and abortion for anyone who wants one.

How do you like them apples?

~H

Why I do Montessori

As I was sitting here, reading away over at Candy Rant, I suddenly noticed it was far, far too quiet.

My eight year old was holding the baby and watching Star Wars, Episode III (his favorite). Said baby was asleep. But the usually audible musings of my toddler were not to be heard.

I turned around to find her with the Basic H sprayer in her hands as she calmly sits at her table. She is squeezing the trigger. I lean back a little so that I can see her table at an angle where the sunlight illuminates it. What do I see? Lots of little liquidy puddles.

"Wet," I say.

"Whet, whet, whet!!" she says back.

Oh boy.

We clean up the table with some paper towels and I proceed to inspect the rest of the living room. Wouldn't ya know there's a lot of "whet" all around - on the ottoman, the table, the floor. Ooo-wee, fun, fun, fun.

I gotta finish setting up my Montessori shelves.

~H

My Dear Baby

Before you were even born, He knew you and loved you. Before your conception even took place, He knew who you would be and how important your life would be.

We also knew you and dreamed of you from the moment we met. Your journey to us was a long awaited for miracle that we prayed for, hoped for, and thought of everyday. Trials of when and if you might come plagued us. Some days, as the wait seemed to go on forever, we even lost sight of our hope.

We imagined you'd be along sooner than you were. But you came right when you should have. His timing in bringing you to us was perfect, just as your little body was perfect in every way when you arrived.

When news of your arrival came, we were overjoyed with happiness. Finally, a sign that you would be in our arms one day. Hearing your heartbeat for the first time brought tears to my eyes. And feeling your first movements was pure bliss, making me laugh out loud with excitement.

Your early weeks in my womb were accompanied by nausea and fatigue, but it was a battle worth waging with a conclusion worth fighting for. As you grew and crowded my body I imagined with joy what it would be like to finally hold you in my arms.

My labor with you was long and drawn out. You took your time figuring just the right hour to enter this world. It was a stormy, rainy Friday afternoon when you finally took the last leap from water baby in my belly to breathing baby in my arms.

I will never forget pulling you up from my womb and looking into your eyes for the first time. They were wide open, taking in all there was to see, seeking deep into my own eyes to cement the connection we had started so long ago when you first began to grow inside me. Just thinking about it now makes me cry at the wonderful memory I was so blessed to be given by you.

Every moment we have shared together has been wonderful. Nursing and nourishing you has been the most fulfilling role as mother I could ever have hoped for. Watching you learn and grow takes my breath away. Your laughter could brighten even the darkest day, and your sweet little voice is the most precious thing I have ever heard.

Keep being who you are. Grow up you will. One day soon you may not even need me anymore. I will cherish the years we have spent so close together, nursing, sleeping, walking, crawling, snuggling. You are the most cherished gift He could have given us.

Happy Birthday Sweet Girl. I love you.

Mom

Name That

This week I have been thinking about some of the interesting ways my little girl has chosen to name things in her world. I know this is a combination of what sounds are phonetically easier for her to say with what she is hearing. Nevertheless, it is fun to hear the world as described by a two year old. It is especially fun if you get a few of them together, since the world sounds very different depending on which two year old you ask.

My eldest son (and only, thus far revealed to me), was a master of words at two. He was speaking in full sentences and would tell you ALL about his day if you chanced to ask him. His world was more *interesting* (and by that I mean darn funny) to hear about when he was about one. He just happened to be able to repeat sounds a lot smoother and faster than his little sister. Still to this day, he reads and comprehends at a pace his older sisters cannot even understand. It's so enchanting to me how diverse and different each one of my children are. God truly makes them each an individual. I can't wait to meet the little person growing inside of me now. Or shall I say, turning, standing, poking, and jabbing inside of me as s/he is running out of room in my crowded womb.

So my littlest one, thus far breathing air, has some cute sayings for simple things. For instance, a "duke" is a drink. She does the sign for drink and tries to say it at the same time. But it's not a drink, it's a Duke, like in the Royal Family. Duh - aren't there little royalties sitting around your kitchen just waiting to be drunk?

Another one that makes me laugh very much is what she calls these little fellas - Mimis, like "mee-mees". Well, of course. I always knew they were mimis. I was just afraid to be the only one to call them that.

And her word for milk - new. I am not sure how she came upon that, but that's what it sounds like. And we're not talking about cow's milk here, we're talking boobs. She can clearly sign this word also and we always used that sign for nursing. So now, even though she has self-weaned (I hope only temporarily) every time she sees me getting dressed or undressed, or in & out of the shower, she looks at me, signs, and says very loudly in her little high pitched voice, "New, new, new, NEW!! NEW!!" And I say, "Yes honey, milks. Would you like some?" And she replies ever so sweetly, "No." Not a mean or disinterested "no", just a polite and informative kind of no, like "No thank you Mama. I don't want any. I just wanted to make sure you know what they're called. Seems you do. I'll be on my way now."

She has also started pulling her own shirt down and showing me her "new". Too cute. I wonder if she'll give one of her "babies" some "new" once she sees our little baby getting "new".

Among showing us these body parts, she also shows her ba-ba, which of course, is a belly button. And she has been grabbing her DUH-DUH while in the tub quite a bit to show me where it is. Duh-duh is apparently the correct phonetic pronunciation for vulva. Just thought you should know.

Her words for eye, ear, and nose are ironically enough all very close to how you and I would say them. I had to throw that in there after mentioning that she knows where her breasts and vulva are. Didn't want any one out there to think that just because I'm a midwife (in training as it may be) that the only body parts I teach my kids about are the ones that involve birthing and feeding babies. I did start with the basics, which I feel for every child is to tell them about their nose.

Of course, having a midwife for a mom means that my 8-yr-old boy does occasionally surprise complete strangers when he comments on menstrual cycles or placentas. I'm waiting for when my daughter is 6 or 7 and at a friend's house commenting on how well so and so's vuvla was doing after pushing out her 8 lb. little baby - and being promptly phoned and asked to pick her up. Oh well. Maybe she'll keep calling it a DUH-DUH and they'll just think she's a little odd. "Why is this little girl talking about Mrs. Sampson's DUH-DUH? What a poor and confused little child."

Back to funniness - What's a poo-poo? Nope, get your head of the gutter. It's not any kind of excrement. It's a......da ta da.....movie. Specifically a "baby movie". Doesn't your little one go to the VCR/DVD player and point at it saying "poo-poo" when she wants to watch a movie. Ours does. It has to be a Signing Time, Baby Einstein, or Blue's Clues or it just doesn't count. Right now our favorite is the "Leah's Farm" Signing Time, which I think is Volume 7. After watching it 107 times, my little girl can now sign "chicken". "You make the sign for bird then peck at the ground, just like a chicken feeding," as Rachel would say. It's darn cute too. She says, "ick..nnn", which is really good for her trying to say chicken. She has also picked up "frog" - or the sign for it anyway. When she says it, it sounds just like "dog", which she can say very well. So now when she says "dog" we have to look at what sign she's doing to see what she's talking about.

They are the greatest little blessings out there. I am constantly reminded that there is a simpler way to look at the world, especially through the eyes of my children. It's so nice of them to remind us that life doesn't need to be so complicated, so complex and abstruse. There is a much more genuine and humble world we partake in where you can watch your poo-poo with a little container of mimis and a nice cold duke in your hands, all the while knowing your Mama is right behind you ready to cuddle you with new if need be or requested.

Life can be simple and content without bells and whistles.

~H