Saturday, December 27, 2008
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Monday, December 22, 2008
Genevieve
Genevieve doesn't believe in being overly cooperative.
See the part of her hair in front that's poking up? The overly short part? Back in October she cut that off of her hair. Since it's been two months, you can imagine how short it used to be. And I asked her, "Why? Why front and center? Why so short?" And she said, "I dunno."
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Blackmail material
Some day Imogen will regret her unwillingness to look like a normal human being any time I point a camera at her. That day will be when she brings a boy home.
*cue evil laughter*
Genevieve not feeling well
We've had a stomach bug making a sporadic appearance around here. Someone gets sick (say, at Target) but then they get well fairly quickly. Genevieve was threw up last night (perhaps because we had a Christmas celebration yesterday with some of Jeremy's family and it is quite possible she had nothing but candy and cookies to eat all day). This morning she woke up feeling bad and now, as of 2 this afternoon, she is running around playing.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Expect more...
I hate tummy aches. It's such a vague symptom. I don't really know what to do with it.
Yesterday, or perhaps the day before, I got a call from Genevieve's school. "Genevieve is here in the office with a tummy ache." Fine. I went and got her and brought her home where she perked up immediately, ate lunch, and watched movies. I couldn't help feeling like I'd been had.
So today, Imogen does the same thing. The office calls and says Imogen has a stomach ache, please come get her. Today, I was even more irritated because I had planned to attend Genevieve's class Christmas party and would now be unable. I took Imogen home with the idea that this was more of the same. I needed to go to Target so I asked her if she felt up to it.
"Are you sure?" I asked three times. "Yes," she said three times. She should have said no. I was in the toy aisle when I turned around and found her sitting on the floor, a vacant look in her eyes. I put her in the cart. I only needed one or two more things so I went to grab them quickly.
"I think I'm going to throw up," she said. Oh no, I thought. I rushed for the bathroom. Five steps later, she vomited all over. All over herself, all over the cart, all over the things I was planning to buy, all over my purse. I gaped at her, not even sure what to do in this situation. I mean, on one hand, it seems rude to not buy these things. On the other hand, am I supposed to tell the check out person to not mind the sticky orange colored vomit as she rings it all up? One of these toys is for a friend of the girls'. Do I wash it up and hope it doesn't smell wonky when she opens it? Speaking of smell, it's ironic that Jeremy's new deodorant was now dripping in puke. Yes, these were the thoughts running through my horrified mind as I stood there listening to the contents of my child's stomach drip onto the floor.
A Target employee walked by.
"Excuse me?" I said. "We had a... accident?" She ran to get the appropriate people, who were wonderfully understanding. They cleaned up the floor and the cart and bagged up newly worthless merchandise, directed us to an employee restroom where we could clean up and very tactfully suggested that Imogen go home.
"Just so you know," I said to Imogen on the way out, "When I said, 'Do you feel well enough to go to Target?' the correct answer was 'No.'"
Yesterday, or perhaps the day before, I got a call from Genevieve's school. "Genevieve is here in the office with a tummy ache." Fine. I went and got her and brought her home where she perked up immediately, ate lunch, and watched movies. I couldn't help feeling like I'd been had.
So today, Imogen does the same thing. The office calls and says Imogen has a stomach ache, please come get her. Today, I was even more irritated because I had planned to attend Genevieve's class Christmas party and would now be unable. I took Imogen home with the idea that this was more of the same. I needed to go to Target so I asked her if she felt up to it.
"Are you sure?" I asked three times. "Yes," she said three times. She should have said no. I was in the toy aisle when I turned around and found her sitting on the floor, a vacant look in her eyes. I put her in the cart. I only needed one or two more things so I went to grab them quickly.
"I think I'm going to throw up," she said. Oh no, I thought. I rushed for the bathroom. Five steps later, she vomited all over. All over herself, all over the cart, all over the things I was planning to buy, all over my purse. I gaped at her, not even sure what to do in this situation. I mean, on one hand, it seems rude to not buy these things. On the other hand, am I supposed to tell the check out person to not mind the sticky orange colored vomit as she rings it all up? One of these toys is for a friend of the girls'. Do I wash it up and hope it doesn't smell wonky when she opens it? Speaking of smell, it's ironic that Jeremy's new deodorant was now dripping in puke. Yes, these were the thoughts running through my horrified mind as I stood there listening to the contents of my child's stomach drip onto the floor.
A Target employee walked by.
"Excuse me?" I said. "We had a... accident?" She ran to get the appropriate people, who were wonderfully understanding. They cleaned up the floor and the cart and bagged up newly worthless merchandise, directed us to an employee restroom where we could clean up and very tactfully suggested that Imogen go home.
"Just so you know," I said to Imogen on the way out, "When I said, 'Do you feel well enough to go to Target?' the correct answer was 'No.'"
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Suspense
I just got done locking myself in my room to wrap some gifts. This raises my children's anticipation levels astronomically. Which is hilarious. They spent time at the door asking what each other's gifts were which I pretended to be willing to tell them if they sent the other person away, then I gave some variation of burnt tortilla/fresh tortilla/smelly tortilla/colorful tortilla (??) as an answer, which I found much more humorous than they did. Ah well.
Finally Imogen tired of the farse, turned to her sister and said, "C'mon, Genevieve, I have a new plan for attack!" I listened carefully as her voice dropped. I heard "Ok, *murmer murmer murmer* 'Chaaaaarge!' *murmer murmer* Got it?"
Genevieve apparently assented and preparations continued for half a minute in silence, then Genevieve yelled, "CHAAAAR-"
"No, Genevieve!" Imogen interupted. Then I started hearing this odd tapping. It got quieter as they moved across the house, then they bellowed, "CHAAAAARGE!!!" and I heard the thump of their footsteps and the tapping became louder and more frantic. They arrived at my locked bedroom door and then there was silence.
I waited for their next move for a moment then, unable to withstand the suspense, said, "Hello?" There was a pause and then they thumped and tapped away again. Apparently Imogen is one of those generals who works on a dramatic enterence but doesn't know what to do once that is accomplished. They eventually came back and I unlocked the door to see what was up. Imogen had Genevieve's old tap shoes and Genevieve had Imogen's old heals and they were banging them together in the grand tradition of Monty Python- which they have never seen- as they moved through their house.
I laughed when I saw them through the crack in the door, then Imogen gave me a cheesey grin, before she realized that this was the perfect opportunity. She tried to peek around me and I slammed the door shut. I heard her say, "We need a new plan."
I spent the next several minutes hiding gifts and cleaning up because it's time to make dinner. When I left my room again, they were still in the hallway. Genevieve was holding her trick or treating pumpkin bucket and Imogen was wearing a bike helmet and holding a rake. Without waiting to hear the new plan, I threatened to return all their gifts if they so much as touched my bedroom door.
Finally Imogen tired of the farse, turned to her sister and said, "C'mon, Genevieve, I have a new plan for attack!" I listened carefully as her voice dropped. I heard "Ok, *murmer murmer murmer* 'Chaaaaarge!' *murmer murmer* Got it?"
Genevieve apparently assented and preparations continued for half a minute in silence, then Genevieve yelled, "CHAAAAR-"
"No, Genevieve!" Imogen interupted. Then I started hearing this odd tapping. It got quieter as they moved across the house, then they bellowed, "CHAAAAARGE!!!" and I heard the thump of their footsteps and the tapping became louder and more frantic. They arrived at my locked bedroom door and then there was silence.
I waited for their next move for a moment then, unable to withstand the suspense, said, "Hello?" There was a pause and then they thumped and tapped away again. Apparently Imogen is one of those generals who works on a dramatic enterence but doesn't know what to do once that is accomplished. They eventually came back and I unlocked the door to see what was up. Imogen had Genevieve's old tap shoes and Genevieve had Imogen's old heals and they were banging them together in the grand tradition of Monty Python- which they have never seen- as they moved through their house.
I laughed when I saw them through the crack in the door, then Imogen gave me a cheesey grin, before she realized that this was the perfect opportunity. She tried to peek around me and I slammed the door shut. I heard her say, "We need a new plan."
I spent the next several minutes hiding gifts and cleaning up because it's time to make dinner. When I left my room again, they were still in the hallway. Genevieve was holding her trick or treating pumpkin bucket and Imogen was wearing a bike helmet and holding a rake. Without waiting to hear the new plan, I threatened to return all their gifts if they so much as touched my bedroom door.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Tuesday, December 09, 2008
My tree
This year, I put up my tree when the girls were at school. Usually I let them help, but they made the near fatal error of breaking one of my ornaments last year, and I'm still not over it. Every since I got married, I've collected ornaments.
I have special ornaments I buy for special occasions.
I have hand painted ornaments given to me as gifts.
I have pretty ornaments I buy for no other reason than that they are pretty.
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