Sunday coordination.

It used to be a bonus.

Now it’s a requirement.

I believe my obsession is directly linked to the fact that it is the ONE THING that both children give me complete autonomy and control over with zero resistance. Muah ha ha.

Witness my illness:

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They can be so smart, and yet…

Payne drew this picture at dinner tonight. He said it is “Payne (right) and Daddy (left).”

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Quite an inspired interpretation of facial hair on Daddy there, eh?

And then we had the following conversation on the way home.

Payne: (crunch crunch crunch)

Me:”What is that noise?!”

Payne: “The sand is crunching in my teeth.”

Me: “How did you get sand in your mouth?”

Payne: “It was on my shoes.”

Me: “Again, how did it get in your mouth?”

Payne: “I just licked them.”

Me: “YOUR SHOES?”

Payne: “Yes.”

At that point, continuing on in silence was my best option.

Happy Valentines Day!

Payne handed out little cards to his preschool buddies this week.

I was exceptionally proud that I remembered to buy them AND tape little boxes of candy to them:

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This is major progress, my friends.

I neglected to account for Dan’s conversation heart ardor, though. He managed to steal ONE TOO MANY teeny boxes of candy (that was 7 boxes, by the way).

As a result, one of two things will happen, or potentially both, I suppose:

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A: “Quaid” is going to think Payne is an effing weirdo.

B: Quaid’s Mom is going to be thrilled.

Little Miss ‘Tude.

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Today we were in the car.

I heard suspicious sloshing noises.

Me: “Genevieve, don’t play with your straw cup. It’s not a toy!”

I glance back.

I see a cup o’ sprite without a lid pouring into G’s lap.

Me: “Girl, you’re a hot mess.”

(Brief silence)

G, quietly but intensely:

“YOU a hot mess.”

Legos are evil.

I would venture to say that most parents consider their bed a kind of safe place, yes? A place where children and their things don’t typically exist?

Well, on Saturday morning Payne came into our bedroom. He had built a little house with Legos. The little house had two little doors.

He wanted to climb into our bed.

He put his hand, little house included, onto the mattress to brace himself as he climbed.

Inexplicably, the force of this action caused the little Lego house to explode and one of the little Lego doors to fly directly into my eyeball before I had time to blink or throw my hands up in my own defense.

It’s possible the first thing I did was clutch my eye, which was now refusing to open, and scream “How the *#! does this HAPPEN?!”.

My eyeball has been throbbing for two days.

Because of Legos.