How Many?

There are a lot of "me," but guess what? There are NO "Whiskers Fuggybottoms" in the U.S! Can you believe??

HowManyOfMe.com

There are: 180 people with my name in the U.S.A. How many have your name?

Danny likes cold hair

Both of the girls take stuffed animals to bed with them. Wait...let me rephrase that: Clairey takes a stuffed animal to bed with her. Jenna takes any kind of random toy to bed with her. It's quite normal to pull back her covers and find a horse, a toothbrush, and a bandaid in bed with her. Never know--the horse could have had a fatal dental accident. Now Clairey...Clairey sleeps with Lambchop--the famed lamb from Sherry Lewis fame. However, her Lambchop is named "Danny." No idea where that came from. One night, when she was almost one, I said, "Clairey, do you want your lambie?" And she said, "NOT 'Lambie!' 'Danny!'" and it stuck. So Clairey sleeps with her Danny every night. There's nothing subtle about a 3-year old yelling, "Mommy! Where's Danny? Dan needs to come to bed!" I like how she's shortened it to 'Dan'--sounds much more macho.

The other night, I was lying in bed with the girls, and Danny (moved by Claire--he's not a possessed toy) gave me a kiss and said, "I love you, Stephanie" (Danny has a high-pitched, raspy voice). So I said, "I love you, too, Danny."

"Stephanie? You are Clairey's best mommy is this whole big world."

"Well, Danny, you can tell Clairey that she's the best three-year old in this whole big world."

"Stephanie...can I play with your cold hair?"

"Why Dan?"

"I love your cold hair. It's Clairey's favorite and my favorite."

So I'm thinking, "Oh great, she's got the stuffed lamb on the 'cold hair' bandwagon..."

"Why's it Clairey's favorite, Dan?"

"Because she likes it. It's cold and it makes her happy."

Now really...who can argue with a stuffed lamb?

Conversations with Jenna

Me: "Jenna, what do you want for Christmas?"
J: "A guitar."
Me: "You already have a guitar."
J: "No, I want a REAL rockstar guitar."
Me: "Yours has flames on it--that's not 'rockstar' enough?"
J: "No, I want a rockstar guitar and Clairey needs some drums, then we're going to start a rock band."

NICE. I didn't think this started until they were in middle school, at least.

Hairspray

On Thursday, I kept the girls home with me. Clairey had her 3-year check up that afternoon, and it's just easier to keep them both home--that way, they entertain each other, rather than me having to work with a kid on my lap. It was early, about 8am, and I was lying on the couch while the kids watched the Disney channel. Clairey had a little comb and she was brushing my hair--i was at that point where you're not asleep, but you're pretty much out of it--moms, you know what I'm talking about. It's the same kind of sleep that you get when the kids are babies and you're doing the 2am feeding---yeah, THAT kind of sleep. These weasels still keep me up at night, so I never get a full night's sleep. So anyways, I'm conked out on the couch, and half-pint's combing my hair. In my half-asleep state, I keep hearing this sound: "ppfffttt! ppffffttt!" and I'm thinking, "Hmmmm...what is that?" and "Yes, bacon would be nice," because shit, nothing makes sense when you're half asleep. I finally mutter, "Clairey, what are you doing?" and she says, "Spraying your hair." So I'm all, "okay." Then I think about it: "Spraying" my hair? With what? I run my hand through my hair, and it's all wet. Then I hear the noise and something hits me on the hand. The kid is spitting in my hair, then combing it through.

LOVE being a mom.

Oops...I did it again

And by that, I mean that I signed up Jenna for gymnastics again. You'd think, since both "jenna" and "gymnastics" have such a nice alliteration, that they would go together like peas in a pod, white on rice, ecetera, ecetera. Or, you would possibly think of the old adage, "Third time's a charm." Yes, well, a charm that conjours up images of the devil, maybe. Nah, it's not so bad. Let me start from the beginning. The beginning of the third quest, that is.

Jenna and Clairey have BOTH been signed up for gymnastics. Clairey, because she swings/climbs/jumps off of everything, and Jenna because, well...because I'm a glutton for punishment. Either that, or I'm on drugs. But seriously, I WAS thinking that you know, since this is the THIRD time I'm putting her in gymnastics, surely, SURELY, she'll get the jist of it. And honestly, i'm not one of those crazy stage mothers who thinks that her daughter has to live out her long-lost vision of becoming an olympic gymnast or anything like that. I'm not. Although I DID dabble in the art of gymnastics for a bazillion years, and wanted to be Mary Lou's protege. But i'm not hell bent on the kids being gymnasts. I am, hellbent, however, on them TRYING it. And by "trying," I mean "listen to the teacher and actually do as she says and see if you think it's fun," rather than Jenna's interpretation of "trying" which means, "look at the teacher blankly and as soon as she takes her eyes off of you run towards your mother who's sitting in the gallery and garner kisses and hugs before you run back to your teacher and pretend like nothing ever happened." And I know there are some of you that are thinking, "Awwwww....she just wants kisses and hugs from her mommy!" And let me tell you to quit that sort of smoochy-thinking right now, because you're wrong. Oh yes, so very wrong. You don't know my child. She is only four, but is a master of manipulation. She knows that if she runs to me in front of a million parents and wraps her arms around my neck and kisses me and says, "Mommy, I love you SO much!" that I will not beat her in front of people. She KNOWS this, and she uses it to her advantage. Oh, she's a crafty one, she is.

Meanwhile, Clairey is out there on the uneven bars, scooting across and pulling off monkeys. (I'm not even going to try to explain that one--it's just too funny to let you think of what that might mean.) All this, and only the second class. We go every Monday night. Tune in for more shenanigans.