Nickname

We have many nick names at our house. Rarely are people or animals referred to by their given names.

I blame my family for this.

My family still calls me Bob to this day.

No, I am not joking.

We refer to my sister, Marissa, as Child.

She is 22.

What can I say? We are officially weird. As if there was any question prior to this moment.

Anyway, our sweet Chilli-Bean has developed quite the mullet which has given us some fodder in our search for a suitable nick name.

We kinda think she looks like a Thundercat.

When we say THUNDERCATS - she says,  "Hooooooooo!"

Hoooooooo!

But although I see a resemblance with the coiffed hair and round cheeks, I think she is actually related to the Mercer Mayer Critters.

Do you see it?

So, here's the big question... what kind of animal are these critters... and what should Chilli's nickname be!?

Maranda

Recently

There has been a an obsession of late with eye wear in our house.

Primarily of the goggle type.

We like to wear them in the tub.

We like to wear them while playing in the sprinkler.

We like to wear them in the car...

...while also wearing sunglasses.

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We had a recent play date at our house where the following occurred.

If you are wondering. Yes, he was stuck. And yes, he was giggling.

This sweet rascal may have later taken a few drinks from the dog's water dish.

Clearly, things are always calm and controlled at my house when people come over to play.

I think it has to do with my hostessing skills. Of which I have none. 
So, who wants to come over next week!?

Hello?

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Question.

Will they...

ever...

be ripe!?

Seriously, waiting for tomatoes to ripen is not for the impatient. I want a BST (bacon, sprout and tomato) sandwich so bad I can taste it... except I can't... because these boogers are never gonna be ripe. 

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Check out the sweet sista' love. 

And here we have some more love...

This photo is courtesy of a sweet friend who gave us some boy dress up clothes, so my sweet Jenkins did not have to dress up as a princess, or Napoleon Dynamite, for another day. 

For this we are grateful. 

Maranda

Envy

One of the benefits to potty training a boy is that you are not limited to toilets and filthy public restrooms for your elimination needs.

Ahh, the ability to pee while standing.

It comes in handy while in the backyard.

However... it also apparently can make your sister jealous of your mad skills.

Maranda

I win

So maybe I shouldn't have been so lacking in compassion regarding my pukey, yet presumably "not really sick" kids.

The stomach bug just must have manifested itself a bit differently in them than in me.

While they puked and skipped away to vandalize things, I puked and then lay on the bathroom floor for hours while they jumped around me asking to watch Curious George and if I would put on their underwears... this scene was only interrupted by much barfing on my part until I had to go to the ER for fluids and Phenergen.

Phenergen
That's some good stuff.

Although it was probably "the sickest I have ever been" (A phrase my mother and I use to describe our degree of sickness... pay no attention to the fact that we use this particular degree to describe pretty much every single time we are sick), I have recovered, and so have the kids.

Just thought I'd touch base since I had not been in much of a condition to post lately.

In other news... I thought this was a rather funny comment from Sassy whilst consuming a green Gobstopper at recent birthday party:

 "Mom. Oh. My. Goodness. I am almost turning into AN ALIEN!"

Clearly we are very disturbed by this prospect.

Maranda

The contest

I'm not sure, but I think my kids may be having a contest to see who can throw up the most.

My dear children have managed to puke in every conceivable locale this week:

The bed... a classic.
The stairs... the tricky clean up.
The tub... multitasking at it's best.
The car... awesome. I love figuring out how to get those car seat covers on and off of your seats. Thanks for giving me that opportunity for personal growth.

Sigh.

I think the worst part of this whole "contest" has been that they don't appear to truly be sick.

They cry (the tell-tale barf cry).
They barf.
They skip away to dump out boxes of toothpicks in my pantry.

Don't get me wrong... I don't want my kids to be sick. But, if they are going to throw up all over my house, then I feel I am entitled to have the requisite pitiful kid who doesn't move except to drink Gatorade and sleeps most of the day on my couch.

Well, now that I have secured my nomination for the most compassionate mom of the year, I guess I'll sign off.

But in my defense, I think the fumes from the disinfecting wipes must be getting to me.

Maranda