Another inappropriate analogy.

Genevieve keeps passing out quietly on the family room floor. I’ll walk by with a load of laundry and find her on her side like this:

So, being myself, I’ve dubbed it “dead dog pose”, and will lightly announce to Dan “She’s gone dead dog again”.

My future daughter and son in law are going to talk about me on the car ride home from visits, aren’t they….

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Oh yes we did.

Oh yes I did:

Put my daughter in teeny ugg style boots with little puppy faces on them. Note the trendy sock layering there. I win.

She was too mesmerized by the tiny countenances that had sprouted from her toes to smile.

Oh yes he did:


Throw Payne a box of cereal this morning while I was in the shower. I walked into the family room and laughed so hard. I can vividly imagine this scene playing out again in 20 years with potato chips and beer.

Dan thought I would be mad, but dude, why would I be mad? I got an uninterrupted shower!

Who’s on First?

“Momma, my hurt.”

“What hurts?”

“Yeah.”

“What?”

“Yeah.”

“No. Where does it hurt?”

“My what.”

“No Payne, what isn’t a body part. What hurts?”

“Yeah. What hurts.”

“Huh?”

“What.”

(Fights urge to slam own head into kitchen counter) Ok, point to where on your body it hurts.”

“My fine Mommy.”

Genevieve is 5 months old.

She is still a blabbermouth, and is really into babbling and grabbing her associate’s face, which I’ll admit is cute enough that I don’t really mind all of the nose pinching and fish hooking.

She is starting to try to learn to sit up, but still has a ways to go.

In much more important news, her hair is now thick enough that clips stay in it fairly well. I’m so proud.

This wasn’t my best photo shoot of the month:

“Diaphragm is collapsing…need support…turning purple…S.O.S.!”

“Listen, If I’m going to have to work with this idiot, I want to talk to my agent. And what the heck is this back of a sofa set we have going here? What is smeared on it? Is that chalk? Cheese? I am not C-list people. I’m walking…”

“Get that thing out of my face. You’ll be hearing from my lawyers.”

After a set change, she was slightly more cooperative:

“Your days are numbered Mr. Toucan Bird of Paradise Peacock thingie. My arms will only be getting longer.”

Then Dan took pity on me and grabbed the camera:

“Don’t worry baby sister. I’ve got a plan. Just lay low and smile a lot for a couple of years. They like that. Then, when they’re least expecting it, the mutiny will begin.”

I love this! If only Payne had been in a proper shirt, and like, wearing pants.

AND ALSO: I need to record a couple of outfits in here.

This is so insanely cute, but I bought the shirt on clearance and it is a little snug, so I’m not sure if she’ll ever get to wear it again.

This was also taken when she was at her most sick with the RSV stuff. I was all “Sure, you can’t really breathe, but you’ll look smashing at the Pediatrician’s office!”. I’m so mature.

And this is a dress we bought when Payne was misidentified as female. I think I was 22 weeks pregnant or so when I bought it for him, so it’s over 3 1/2 years old, and someone was finally able to wear it!

…and then I realized that I put it on her backwards. Three years of study and I put it on wrong. I’m terribly perceptive. Heh heh.

Christmas odds and ends.

A) Payne is obsessed with the beginning of the Alvin and the Chipmunks movie. He asks to “see the wats (rats)” constantly.

Last night, at Christmas Eve mass, he kept making the dreaded poop face and I kept running him to the back to wait in line for the restroom, sweat under pressure as he played with the t.p. and made a leisurely game out of washing his hands, and running after him back to our seat with his cowboy boots in my hand because I didn’t want to make any 4 year old girls pee in their black patent shoes because they were waiting on my pokey three year old.

So, after the poop face made another appearance I ran him back there, waited in line, put him on the toilet and promised him The Rats if he would go. Voila! Job done. Then I sweated as he made a leisurely game out of washing his hands, and ran after him back to our seat with his cowboy boots in my hand.

B) We’ve been telling Payne about Christmas being Jesus’s Birthday. This morning, as the boy crouched before the presents under the tree like a wee cat of prey, ready to spring, Dan quizzed him about this idea one more time:

Dan: “Payne, who’s birthday is it?”

Payne: “Presents!”

Dan: “Is today Jesus’s birthday?”

Payne: “Yeah! Jeedis birday!”

Dan: “Let’s sing Happy Birthday to Jesus!”

Payne: (wild desperate look appears in his eyes, which have yet to leave the area beneath the tree) “Dis one mine, and dis one mine, and dis one Gen-veev’s, and dis one mine, and dis one Daddy’s, and dis one mine…”

Dan and I: “Happy Birthday to You, Happy Birthday to You….”

Payne: (kicks at air vaguely near Dan and I)

Dan: (captures Payne and bear hugs him in his lap for the duration of the song) “Happy Birthday to Youuuuu.”

Payne: (claps) “Dis one mine!”

C) We all currently have colds, and Genevieve (who has RSV) has been prescribed a breathing treatment regimen involving a nebulizer, in order to make sure her lungs stay clear. The thing makes medicated mist come out of an oxygen mask. I kid you not, when I put that thing on her she either screams, or closes her eyes, coos, and starts sticking her tongue in and out slowly. Weirdo.

D) I had Genevieve all dolled up for Christmas. She was wearing a little gingerbread themed tunic, onesie, and jeggings (Yes. Jeggings.). We showed up at the house of my parents in law, took a couple of pictures, and she very unceremoniously pooped herself in a forceful manner, thus befouling the outfit.

I gues we now know her opinons regarding the appropriate uses of stretch denim.

Payne’s new favorite word.

Poop.

I think potty training has created a higher awareness of the concept, but how does he know that poop is funny? It’s not like I’m allowing him to screen new episodes of South Park…

Today, at the mall, he took Genevieve’s bow out of her hair. I asked him if it was his, he said no. I asked him if it was mine, he said no. I asked him if it was Genevieve’s, he said no. I asked “Well, who’s is it?”; he responded in a gleeful shriek “Stinky poop’s! Haaaaa ha ha ha!”.

Why is poop so damn funny to all males? Is this another collective memory thing, like the enjoyment of Kung Fu movies and the ability to repeat baseball stats?

I have another possible explanation regarding the frequency with which this word is now uttered around my household. He just likes to hear himself say it, or he is enjoying the power the word now possesses since he is in the process of potty training. To be more direct; Payne enjoys saying the word and watching my head snap up in the manner of a buck that just heard a twig snap in the forest during peak hunting season.

My dog is sabotaging me.

Genevieve is a lighter sleeper. I tried to break her of this, but I failed. The other night I accidentally woke her up from her bed while putting Payne’s toys away in the family room (damn you clattery megablocks!). Therefore, I nearly close her door during her naps.

SOME DOG (probably Ethel) keeps nudging the door wide open. I’m assuming Ethel goes in there to “check on her”, since she has the misguided notion that she needs to help me care for my children. How she is checking on her I don’t know, since G is three feet off the ground and Ethel is approximately 8 inches tall. OR perhaps, Ethel judges my parenting choices and firmly feels that her door should be open.

Anyway, I want her to STOP IT.

Also, while getting ready for bed the other night I saw this:


Do you see it?

Here:

I want to know how he got it in there without breaking something or hurting himself.

EVERYONE STOP MESSING WITH MY STUFF! Harumph.