For anyone who is interested, we'll be celebrating Captain America's 10th birthday tomorrow with a colossal disaster of a failed ruined cake, so it should be a good time. We'll probably attempt to dip cake balls into frosting and put sprinkles on them, so it's sort of determine your own serving size. We do live to please others.
Yesterday I was yelling at Captain America about common denominators and realized that I hadn't seen or heard Pinga for a while, and this is why:
In other news, we are on day four of her bowel clean out, and her output is starting to smell like poop instead of pure evil, so that's nice.
The conversation I just had:
Captain America: "Do you have pliers with any more grip?"
Me (because I wasn't born yesterday): "Why?"
Captain America: [opens his mouth and grabs his canine tooth with his needlenose pliers]
Me: "No. Put them away."
Captain America: "But they're mine! And how am I going to get my tooth out?"
After a night like last night, a little something like this makes me giggle. It's okay, not hilarious, but man, does it finish strong. I saw it over on Mormon Mommy Wars and had to poach.
At our house it's just the opposite. Our children learned long ago that until they buy a megaphone they have no prayer of waking me up, so they don't even bother coming to my side of the bed anymore. I'll wake up and be like, "Mmmm (yawning), that was a good sleep. How was your sleep?" And John will tell me about how Pinga was up five times in the night and Superman wet the bed and Captain America and The Hulk both got up at one o'clock to play with the Legos, and I will have no idea that any of it happened. Whoops.
Pinga doesn't like us to eat at other people's houses, I guess. Last Tuesday she barfed in the car on our way to the Beardens' for a Voice Male FHE (minus the lesson, because we have got a lesson, and there cannot be any more lesson), and then tonight after we got home from John's parents' house she barfed some sort of black, tarry substance all over John's shirt, and is still going strong three barfs later. She got some in her hair, and that is the saddest sight, a little girl with blackish green barf all matted in her golden curls. Sniff.
Barf is a weird word. We don't know for sure what it is that has caused her ailment, but whatever it is, it's probably garbage. Like, literal garbage. I need to start putting the can where she can't reach it, because she's always ferreting around in there for goodies. So weird. Maybe she has pica. I ate sand and glue when I was little, is she better than me?
Parenting tip: when her kids fight, my friend Christine makes them hold hands until they say "I love you." Who cares if it's effective or not? It's hilarious and probably less traumatic than what my grandpa did, which was make my uncles put on their boxing gloves and punch each other until they could get along.
Upon seeing the stacks of boxes I had moved out of the fruit room:
Superman: "Ooh, I just love getting into things I shouldn't!"
Me: "Well, I love spanking disobedient children, so that should work out nicely."
