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Elizabeth was making a lot of noise in her high chair the other day.  Leah is sensitive to noise (other than her own) and starts hollering at Elizabeth to stop.  That, in turn, makes Elizabeth cry even more.  Leah looks up at me and says, "Baby WizBeff is broken."  Brooke then pipes up and interjects, "Yeah mom.  We need a new baby WizBeff."

Stop talking?

Leah:  Is it a ball?  A ball?  A ball?

Me:  Mm-hmm.  Yup.

Leah:  A ball?  A ball?  A ball?  Ball?  Ball?  Ball?  Ball?  Ball?  Ball?  Ball?  Ball?  Ballballballballball?

Me (remembering that I have to repeat exactly what she is saying in order for her to stop saying it):  Yes.  A ball.

Leah:  Oh.  A ball.

Me:  Yes.  It's a ball.

Leah:  Car.  It's a car.  Car?  A car?  A car?  Car?  Car?  Car?  Car?

Me:  Yes!  It's a car.

Leah:  Oh, a car.  Pants?  Pants pants?  Pants?  Pants?  Pants?  Pants?  Pants?

Me:  Yes!  Pants!

Leah:  Jacket.  It's a jacket.  A jacket?  Jacket?  Jacket?  Jacket?

Me:  Yes.  It's a jacket.  Hey Leah, how about we try something different?  Mama needs some quiet time.  How about you stop talking for a little while?

Leah:  Stop talking?

Me:  Yeah.  Just for a bit.

Leah:  A bit?

Me:  Just a few minutes.

Leah:  Few minutes?

Me:  Yes.  Just some quiet time.

Leah:  Quiet time?

Me:  Yes.  So, no talking.

Leah:  No talking?

Me:  That's right.  Quiet, okay?

Leah: Okay?

Me:  Okay?

Leah:  Okay?

Me:  Just no talking.

Leah:  No talking?

Me:  That's right.

Leah:  That's right?

Me:  Yes.  That's right.  Okay?

Leah:  Okay?

Me:  Okay?

Leah:  Okay?

Me:  So, shhh...

Leah:  Shhhh?

Me:  Yes, quiet.

Leah:  Quiet?

Me: ...

I totally just got played by my two year old.

A to Z of me

I've got some new readers since the inception of my blog so I borrowed this from Francesca.  Pay attention, there will be a quiz later.

The ABC’s of Me:

A. Age: 39.  Really?  I'll be 40 this year?  No wonder I can't see worth a darn anymore.

B. Bed size:  Saggy queen.  Seriously, it's like sleeping on a trampoline.  We both end up in the middle.

C. Chore you dislike: DUSTING!

D. Dogs: Yes.  Except the runners.  I hate dogs that run away.

E. Essential start to your day: Scalding hot shower.

F. Favorite colors: Blue for cars.  Burgundy for home decor.  Yellow for houses and dresses for little girls.

G. Gold or silver: Both.  My wedding ring and my watch are both both.

H. Height: 5’8’’ (when I'm not slouching)

I. Instruments you play(ed): Piano.  Flute.

J. Job title: Office Manager

K. Kids: 3

L. Live: California

M. Mom’s name: Donna

N. Nicknames: Platypus

O. Overnight hospital stays: 3 due to having babies

P. Pet peeves:  Interrupting.  Just let me finish my dang sentence!

Q. Quote from a movie:  Freddy, as a younger man, I was a sculptor, a painter, and a musician. There was just one problem: I wasn't very good. As a matter of fact, I was dreadful. I finally came to the frustrating conclusion that I had taste and style, but not talent. I knew my limitations. We all have our limitations, Freddy. Fortunately, I discovered that taste and style were commodities that people desired. Freddy, what I am saying is: know your limitations. You are a moron. 

R. Righty or lefty: Righty.

S. Siblings: 2 brothers.  One older, one younger.

T. Time you wake up: As late as possible.

U. Underwear: Yes, please.

V. Vegetables you don’t like: Onions and peppers.

W. What makes you run late: Finding shoes.

X. X-rays you’ve had: Hmm... I think I had x-rays at the chiropractor.

Y. Yummy food you make: Ham and cheese phyllo bake.

Z. Zoo animal you like: Otters

Operation: Body Spray -- Update

I blogged here about my struggles with body spray.  I am happy to report that all the body spray from my cupboard has been used.  All I have left now is a bottle a delicious perfume (that I was saving until all the body spray was gone.)  Thank you for your support.  I'm a stronger person for my struggles today.

Soft kitty, warm kitty

I was doing hall duty on Sunday so I wasn't aware that Brooke had volunteered to give the opening prayer.  It was reported to me that she stepped up to the mic confidently and without hesitation.  She refused the help that was offered to her.  She folded her arms, bowed her head, and closed her eyes.  She paused, obviously thinking about the sincere desires of her heart, ready to pour them forth in mighty spirit.  She took a deep breath and began:

"Meow."

Guess I'd better get up then

This morning before the alarm went off I languished in bed not yet awake but not fully asleep.  I became aware of a presence at the side of my bed.  I opened my eyes and found myself face to face with a tousle-headed Brooke.

"Mommy," she croaked rustily.  "It smells like morning."

Of mud and boogers

A few months ago, Brooke was sick with a head cold.  Her nose seemed to be very stuffy but not runny at all.  When she talked I could tell that she was plugged up and as her mother it was up to me to see what was going on.  So, being the intrepid explorer that I am I stuck my finger in her nostril and pulled out a big, crusty, hard, yellow booger that had been sitting up there for weeks.  I did the same on the other side and suddenly my little girl could breathe through her nose again.  In order to minimize the trauma of having my finger in her nose, I excitedly declared, "Look, you had pineapples in your nose!"  That's how we started calling boogers "pineapples."  Now when I ask Brooke if she needs to blow her nose she'll say, "No momma.  No pineapples in my nose!"

Fast forward to this weekend.  We had been out shooting and I was walking with the girls up a very muddy hill to the car.  The mud was super slippery and I was encouraging the girls to walk in the vegetation on the side of the road.  They were not grasping the concept and kept slipping and sliding around.  (Perhaps on purpose.)

"Walk over here!  Walk on the pine needles!" I called to Brooke after her third tumble.

"Pineapples?" she called back and promptly stuck her finger in her nose.

Motherhood rocks.