Things I’ve learned this week:
Frozen french fries are the ultimate in cuisine to a two-year-old. Don’t misread this. FROZEN french fries. Not frozen french fries that have been cooked. Just FROZEN french fries. Blech.
Apparently, the quickest way to really tick off a four-year-old boy is to call him “Veruca.”
It’s also the quickest way to get him to make your point for you.
Dogs have an amazing ability to sniff out a “special” object and try to claim it for their own.
I soooo did not stage this picture. And I caught her doing the same thing with one of E’s blankets the day before. Scarlet was our first “baby” (we got her right after we were married), and I don’t think she has ever forgiven us for all of the other animals and kids that we have brought home since then.
I have also discovered this week that, sometimes, “help” ends up meaning “more work.” Sean’s grandmother offered to come help out every morning this week since I’m “recovering” from having a baby. She won’t.stop.cleaning. OK, I know, what am I complaining about? After all, the laundry is caught up, the toy room is picked up and organized, and the boys have been making their own beds. It’s nice. But I feel, um, judged. If I sit down or turn on the tv, I feel like I’m getting sideways looks (and a few small comments…). In short, instead of relaxing because I have help, I’m working harder on things that wouldn’t normally bother me because I have help. I suggested a trip to the children’s museum for her “last day” on Friday. The kids were thrilled. As we were parting ways, she told me she would see me on Monday. I guess I’ll have to rearrange my sock drawer to prove my homemaking skills.
Finally, a week of a horribly uncomfortable ear infection saps me of all motivation to write. This post has taken me almost a week to finish (how sad is that?). I’m praying for a pain-free week ahead. Heaven forbid, I may have to break down and go see a doctor. Yuck.