Dec 22, 2005
Conversations with Jenna
Driving home from the sitter's, we pass a company which has hung Christmas lights on their fence.
Jenna: "Mom, look at those lights! Aren't they lovely?"
Me: "Yep, just lovely."
Jenna: "There are no lights in the trees...that's strange."
Me: "Yes, quite strange."
Jenna: "Yes, very strange."
She's only four, but you'd think you were talking to your grandmother.
Jenna: "Mom, look at those lights! Aren't they lovely?"
Me: "Yep, just lovely."
Jenna: "There are no lights in the trees...that's strange."
Me: "Yes, quite strange."
Jenna: "Yes, very strange."
She's only four, but you'd think you were talking to your grandmother.
Dec 21, 2005
Conversations with Clairey
"Mommy, you preh-sis."
"I'm precious?"
"Yes, you preh-sis, Mommy."
"Thank you, baby..."
"I love you, preh-sis."
"I love you, too, baby."
"I love you so much, my preh-sis."
(This, moments before she hunkered down in a Gollum-like pose and started cackling. Just kidding.)
"I'm precious?"
"Yes, you preh-sis, Mommy."
"Thank you, baby..."
"I love you, preh-sis."
"I love you, too, baby."
"I love you so much, my preh-sis."
(This, moments before she hunkered down in a Gollum-like pose and started cackling. Just kidding.)
Dec 13, 2005
Dry Clean Only
Tag: Never leave unattended. 100% Mischevious. Pre-shrunk.
This is what happens when I leave to get the next load of clothes...
This is what happens when I leave to get the next load of clothes...
All is calm, all is bright...
Sitting here, bathed in the incandecense of the Christmas tree, I look into the living room and my eyes glisten with tears as I take in the sight of my beautiful babies sleeping on the couch. I think how lucky I am, how angelic they are, and how peaceful they're sleeping. I can smell the gingerbread candle, and the faint aroma of macaroni-and-cheese-puke mixed with a healthy dose of Febreze. It's definitely the holiday season.
Dec 12, 2005
So easy...
At the ages of 2 and 4, the chicks find the most complacent things to be entertaining. Take, for instance, the vocal exercises of our cat, Punkin. Punkin will 'meow,' and immediately, the girls get all excited:
"Punkin said 'meow'! Punkin said 'meow'!"
Indeed, she did. Now, if she'd say, "Get your hands away from my tail you evil little bitches!" I'd be a little more impressed. However, she only says, "meow."
"Punkin said 'meow'! Punkin said 'meow'!"
Indeed, she did. Now, if she'd say, "Get your hands away from my tail you evil little bitches!" I'd be a little more impressed. However, she only says, "meow."
Dec 9, 2005
Sibling stories--Christmas (part II)
We talked on and on about the stash. We only took a quick look--no time to memorize everything--so the three of us pooled our brains together to create the complete list of goods. The "big one" that year was the Nintendo. Yep, the original Nintendo--complete with "Mario Bros." Shawn had been salivating over a Nintendo for months now, and finally, FINALLY it was to be in his possession. We were incredibly excited. I mean, Christmas morning has its level of excitement, but finding the booty BEFORE Christmas?! Rock on.
Shawn's best friend, Wade, came over, and we all filled him in on the find. He, too, was super-excited about the Nintendo. I mean, who wouldn't be? They had the same power as Cabbage Patch Kids in the 80s and that stupid Elmo thing that everybody had to have in the late 90s. It was a NINTENDO, man! So anyways, we filled in Wade. He sat there, wide-eyed, just adoring us. He was a "good" kid. We were good kids on the outside, but secretly evil. Ask any of our friends. Wade was a really sweet kid. He was smaller than most his age, and because of Cerebal Palsy, walked with a limp. My sister and I loved him--he was adorable. He was a great friend to my brother. But that was before we killed him.
Mom and dad arrived home from work, exhausted and pretty much ready to crack the whip and make us take on our roles as slaves to them. It was a normal household. So anyways, Wade, getting a waft of the damning smell of chores (and whatever the hell it was mom was cooking), left. BUT...and here's the big but...as he stood on the foyer, opening the front door, Wade says, "Man, that's so cool about your Nintendo!" then leaves. The door closed, and a hush froze over the house. The three of us stood on the foyer, looking at each other, scared to turn around and face the death that was sure to be lurking right at the top of the stairs.
It wasn't as bad as it could've been. I mean, all hell broke loose, there were spankings and groundings and things taken away, and threats of gypsies and having to find a new mom and dad. Not too bad. We had to stay in our rooms the rest of that evening, with no dinner. I had rationed my Halloween candy, so it wasn't too bad for me. I can survive on Smarties and jawbreakers any day. So there we are, in our rooms. The parents made us shut our bedroom doors, because the three of us (if doors were open), would lie near the doorframes and whisper to each other--no doubt concocting another evil plan. I don't know what Shawn and Shannon did, but I was thinking.
One of the threats Dad and made was that we were not getting those presents now. Nothing for Christmas. That sucked. So I did what any other kid my age would do--sat down, and wrote a 3-page, heart-wrenching poem about how sorry I was, and that I deserved everything that was coming to me. It was a work of art. I even illustrated it. I wish I had it--just to show ya. So anyways, I garnered permission to exit my bedroom, and walked into the living room. I stood in front of my parents, and executed the most divine poetry reading ever performed in front of a live audience. After I finished, my parents had their hands over their mouths--too stunned with the raw beauty of my talent to speak--their shoulders were slightly shaking--no doubt, holding back tears. Mom whispered, "Go back to your room." So I did. Forlornly. Leaving them with the illustrated copy.
Two days later, on Christmas, we awoke to a tree sitting amidst a barrage of gifts--Nintendo included. Seriously, it was my poem that did it. Either that, or my illustration of Baby Jesus. It WAS rather cute.
Shawn's best friend, Wade, came over, and we all filled him in on the find. He, too, was super-excited about the Nintendo. I mean, who wouldn't be? They had the same power as Cabbage Patch Kids in the 80s and that stupid Elmo thing that everybody had to have in the late 90s. It was a NINTENDO, man! So anyways, we filled in Wade. He sat there, wide-eyed, just adoring us. He was a "good" kid. We were good kids on the outside, but secretly evil. Ask any of our friends. Wade was a really sweet kid. He was smaller than most his age, and because of Cerebal Palsy, walked with a limp. My sister and I loved him--he was adorable. He was a great friend to my brother. But that was before we killed him.
Mom and dad arrived home from work, exhausted and pretty much ready to crack the whip and make us take on our roles as slaves to them. It was a normal household. So anyways, Wade, getting a waft of the damning smell of chores (and whatever the hell it was mom was cooking), left. BUT...and here's the big but...as he stood on the foyer, opening the front door, Wade says, "Man, that's so cool about your Nintendo!" then leaves. The door closed, and a hush froze over the house. The three of us stood on the foyer, looking at each other, scared to turn around and face the death that was sure to be lurking right at the top of the stairs.
It wasn't as bad as it could've been. I mean, all hell broke loose, there were spankings and groundings and things taken away, and threats of gypsies and having to find a new mom and dad. Not too bad. We had to stay in our rooms the rest of that evening, with no dinner. I had rationed my Halloween candy, so it wasn't too bad for me. I can survive on Smarties and jawbreakers any day. So there we are, in our rooms. The parents made us shut our bedroom doors, because the three of us (if doors were open), would lie near the doorframes and whisper to each other--no doubt concocting another evil plan. I don't know what Shawn and Shannon did, but I was thinking.
One of the threats Dad and made was that we were not getting those presents now. Nothing for Christmas. That sucked. So I did what any other kid my age would do--sat down, and wrote a 3-page, heart-wrenching poem about how sorry I was, and that I deserved everything that was coming to me. It was a work of art. I even illustrated it. I wish I had it--just to show ya. So anyways, I garnered permission to exit my bedroom, and walked into the living room. I stood in front of my parents, and executed the most divine poetry reading ever performed in front of a live audience. After I finished, my parents had their hands over their mouths--too stunned with the raw beauty of my talent to speak--their shoulders were slightly shaking--no doubt, holding back tears. Mom whispered, "Go back to your room." So I did. Forlornly. Leaving them with the illustrated copy.
Two days later, on Christmas, we awoke to a tree sitting amidst a barrage of gifts--Nintendo included. Seriously, it was my poem that did it. Either that, or my illustration of Baby Jesus. It WAS rather cute.
Dec 5, 2005
Sibling stories--Christmas (part I)
We were super-sleuths. The superest kind of super-sleuths. We knew all their tricks. We knew all the hiding places. We knew how to spring all the booby-traps. It was the week before Christmas, and we were going in.
"Where do you think they are?"
"In the closet."
"Closet?"
"Yeah, bedroom closest. Top shelf."
"How do you know?"
"Mom wouldn't let me go in there to get her sweater the other day."
"Excellent."
The three of us huddled in front of mom and dad's closet--scoping out the scene: No lock on the door, no scotch tape "barrier" at the top of the door, no noticeable string in the jamb. Dammit. They got sneaky this year.
We sat for a moment, staring at the door as if it were some kind of monolith.
"I'm going in."
I turned the doorknob slowly. Steadily. We all held our breath, listening for anything out of the ordinary. Open, open, open...and then we heard it. The soft thud of something hitting the carpet.
"What was that?! What was that?!"
"There was a thud! There was a thud!"
"Search! Search!"
The three of us frantically began to scan the carpeted floor. I believe Shannon found it: a penny. A 1984, tarnished, penny. She picked it up and held it in her hand. Abe was mocking us. That bastard. Oh, we were strong. No dead president was going to hold US down. No way. We pulled open the closet door, and began to eyeball the door jamb--looking for any type of indention, marking--anything that would let us know a penny had been nesting there. Hallelujah! There it was: a circular indentation. Shawn picked up the penny and held it to the dent--it matched. Excellent. Our plan was coming to fruition...
We walked into the closet, and looked up. Ding ding. Jackpot. The "Santa Stash" had been found. The top shelf of the closet was littered with gifts: Barbies, clothes boxes, and...a NINTENDO. We scoped out the booty from the floor--careful not to touch anything. After taking detailed mental notes, we reset the trap and returned to our conference room upstairs to discuss the treasures we had witnessed.
To be continued...
"Where do you think they are?"
"In the closet."
"Closet?"
"Yeah, bedroom closest. Top shelf."
"How do you know?"
"Mom wouldn't let me go in there to get her sweater the other day."
"Excellent."
The three of us huddled in front of mom and dad's closet--scoping out the scene: No lock on the door, no scotch tape "barrier" at the top of the door, no noticeable string in the jamb. Dammit. They got sneaky this year.
We sat for a moment, staring at the door as if it were some kind of monolith.
"I'm going in."
I turned the doorknob slowly. Steadily. We all held our breath, listening for anything out of the ordinary. Open, open, open...and then we heard it. The soft thud of something hitting the carpet.
"What was that?! What was that?!"
"There was a thud! There was a thud!"
"Search! Search!"
The three of us frantically began to scan the carpeted floor. I believe Shannon found it: a penny. A 1984, tarnished, penny. She picked it up and held it in her hand. Abe was mocking us. That bastard. Oh, we were strong. No dead president was going to hold US down. No way. We pulled open the closet door, and began to eyeball the door jamb--looking for any type of indention, marking--anything that would let us know a penny had been nesting there. Hallelujah! There it was: a circular indentation. Shawn picked up the penny and held it to the dent--it matched. Excellent. Our plan was coming to fruition...
We walked into the closet, and looked up. Ding ding. Jackpot. The "Santa Stash" had been found. The top shelf of the closet was littered with gifts: Barbies, clothes boxes, and...a NINTENDO. We scoped out the booty from the floor--careful not to touch anything. After taking detailed mental notes, we reset the trap and returned to our conference room upstairs to discuss the treasures we had witnessed.
To be continued...
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