Around Here

Why is your soccer playing crying, I asked Ellie. "She's not crying. She's sweating!" Ellie replied.


Open Refrigerator: Siren's call to a pair of babies I know. Because, you know, we never feed them. Savages. Oops, I mean, scavengers. Right.


Ketchup Block. What's that you ask?  Why, it's a large box of cereal placed between Ellie and the offender, her most dreaded condiment of all time (ketchup). Feel free to use "Ketchup Block" in conversation as much as possible: I feel strongly that it has a place in our cultural lexicon.


This weekend Leo discovered the Sunday "Funnies."


Harry hitches a ride. Those baby giggles, you should hear them. Best. Sound. In. The. World.

And It Happened on Friday the Twelfth

This is, um, not what a typical cup of coffee looks like at my house, but hey, a girl can dream, right?

Though not a coffee snob, I take my morning beverage seriously. I've been known to actually fantasize about the first cup of the morning--the clink of the cup, the splash of the cold cream, the toasty warm mug and the feel of the soothing steam as I raise it to my lips. It's not just something I look forward to, to start my day, I require it. 

But mornings at our house are just a touch circus-like (imagine!) and so making coffee is never the first thing I do (though it probably should be, to protect the innocent from harm HA HA). If I were really smart I'd program the coffee pot the night before (because what's that old saying? Put on your own oxygen mask first?), but unattended appliances make me irrationally nervous. And so I hurry through my to-do list as quickly as possible: Breakfast, milk for the babies, get the big kids going on getting dressed. More often than not I have a baby (Hi Lucy!) on my hip as I rinse the pot and filter out and grind the beans. But as long as I'm that much closer to coffee! Coffee! What's a little company?

I'd sensed something was off about the coffee maker the other day. Was it the odd smell of burning plastic that tipped me off? But it worked just fine on Wednesday, so I forgot about the plastic smell. Then, this morning, as I breezed through my check list and finally paused to pour that long awaited First Cup, it happened. There was no coffee. The pot was on, plugged in, little red "power" light on, but alas. Dead.

Ellie watched me tinkering with it and muttering and when I told her I thought it was broken she said, "The coffee of living? You can't live without coffee!"

Between that and the red Annie dress? Seriously, my work here is DONE. (Side note: New gummy grin: this child lost two teeth in one week and now has almost a whole row of just gum).

Meanwhile I'm wondering how much I'm willing to spend on same day shipping on a coffee pot. Because, another morning without it? Just, NO.

Harry clearly hasn't had that first cup of coffee either.

Tattler/Comedian

Spiderman came to visit school last week. Ellie's teacher sent me this picture.

Ellie has always been a fan of tattling but it seems to be amping up a bit lately, for some reason. Sometimes it's handy, like when I'm upstairs trying to finish getting dressed for work and Leo is digging around in the freezer for ice cream. Sometimes it's really annoying. And sometimes, well, you be the judge.

Last night in the midst of the usual horror show--oops I mean comedy hour--of screeching babies and whining big kids and a barking dog that is dinner time at our house, the following conversation took place:

Leo: (to Lucy, who was sitting innocently in her high chair eating sweet potatoes and pasta shells): "You're fired!"

Ellie: "Mommy, Leo said Lucy's fired."

Me: "Ellie, do you even know what that means?"

Ellie: "It means Lucy's on fire."

Me: "No, it means she can't work at her job any more."

Leo: (to Lucy, again, this time with even more feeling): "You're fired!"

Ellie: "Mommy! Leo said Lucy's fired. She doesn't even have a job!"

Preview

It's dawning on Ellie that the babies are not always going to be babies. I've tried to reinforce this from the beginning, that they are not always going to be such attention leeches. They'll be fun! Interactive! Members! Of! Our! Family! I'm probably overly paranoid about resentment, so intent am I to remind them that this intensive newborn phase is purely temporary.

It's already happening. Lucy gazes at Leo and Ellie like they are the second comings. She is in awe of them, it's clear. Harry does too, but he's not quite as fun and responsive yet, so the big kids tend to fawn all over Lucy, for now.

But back to Ellie's realization that the "babies" will not always be so.

"Leo and Ellie and Lucy and Harry, that's FOUR children," she exclaimed from the back of the mini van the other afternoon (where most of our deepest conversations occur). "That's a lot of people! A lot of children!"

I nodded in agreement. No freaking kidding.

"That means there will always be someone to play with!" Ellie continued. "We're going to have so much fun!"

Let's hope!

She Said It

Ellie and were doing Play-Doh (doing? playing? not sure of the correct verb here) this afternoon. Ellie started yawning.

Me: Ellie, are you tired?

Ellie: Yes. (Continues rolling her purple dough).

Me: Maybe you should take a nap later (sighing longingly). I wish I could take a nap.

Ellie: (Pausing a moment) Oh Mommy (in her most incredulous, four-going-on-fourteen-year-old voice), you can't take a nap! You have TWO BABIES!

That Ellie, wise beyond her years.