This and That

A few things for Friday:

* Somebody, somewhere, has taught my child that gummy candies belong in her ice cream. I'd like to lodge a formal parenting complaint against this development, because...no.

* Brigid and I are heading to the beach tomorrow to crash my parents'/sister's spring break trip for a few days. There will be three of us in the Bug going down to Florida, as my sister has agreed to help me entertain the two-year old beast for the southbound portion of the trip, but I am on my own for the return leg. So if you have any happy thoughts to spare on Tuesday...send them my way.

* On a related note, I totally plan to take Mary (my lovely sister) and Brigid cruising along the Panama City Beach strip in my convertible. Because every high school senior wants to spend spring break cruising with a two-year old, right? At the very least, it would have to be better than the spring break we took my mom's mini van (and my mom and dad and other sister) out and about...

* Gummy bears. In ice cream. I just don't know about that kid...

* Steve is on his own this weekend, with Brigid and I off frolicking on the beach, so if you happen to drive by my house and notice a raging party taking place, could you call me and let me know? You never know with him...

* I'm really having a problem getting over this gummy bear thing. I mean, seriously. Ew.

Scenes From Bedtime

Steve (leaving the room): Night night, Brigid.

Brigid (to me): Daddy go potty.

Me: No, kiddo, I think daddy's going to bed.

Brigid: No. Daddy go potty. Be right back.

------------------------------

Brigid (standing up in her crib about halfway through the Winnie the Pooh book I'm reading to her, while lying on the floor next to her crib, per her request): Daddy go potty. Be right back.

Me: No, I told you...daddy went to bed.

Brigid: Dramatic sigh, drops her head down into her hands.

-----------------------------------


Brigid (about two hours after she should have been asleep): Daddy, help me. Daddy!

Steve: What's wrong?

Brigid: My tummy hurts.

Me (a few minutes later, when Steve comes out of Brigid's room): Did her tummy really hurt?

Steve: No.

-----------------------------------

Brigid (ten minutes after Steve just left her room): Blow! Blow!
 
Me: You need to blow your nose?
 
Brigid: Yes.
 
Me: Is there anything else wrong, kiddo?
 
Brigid: Thumb in my mouth*. Night night.

-----------------------------------

And three hours later, the kid finally went to sleep.

The end.


* This whole 'thumb in my mouth' thing is a new Brigid technique for not answering any of our questions. I have no idea where she came up with it, but it started when we'd go through the pictures of the Winnie the Pooh characters in the front of the books we've been reading recently. Roo, Kanga, Piglet, Tigger, Owl, Rabbit, Pooh, Eeyore...she knows them all. She even corrected me when I said it was Roo in Kanga's pouch in one picture, because it was actually Piglet. Eagle eyes, that kid.

But when we get to Christopher Robin, she sticks her thumb in her mouth and refuses to answer, telling us (around that thumb, mind you) that she can't say his name because she has her thumb in her mouth.

It's nice to see she's applying it to other situations where she just doesn't want to talk to me, now...

Perspective

I know my poor dog is not the most favorite animal around these parts, mostly because she's the most obnoxiously annoying dog in the HISTORY of dogs, but you know what?

Brigid kind of likes her...


And that's good enough for me.

Rain, Rain

I see raindrops and think, "The yard is going to get muddy, and the dogs are going to track it in, and I need to get a towel to clean them off, and the tv is going to go out, and I hope this doesn't turn into a big storm, and I hope it clears up by tomorrow..."

Brigid sees raindrops and thinks, "I should totally go dance on the back porch right now, while my mom plays music for me from her phone..."

I like her thought process more.

The Blowing of the Stink

When I was growing up, my dad was full of great one liners, including (but not limited to):

My grandma was slow, but she was 90...
Mess with the bull, you get the horns (not original, but useful nonetheless...)
Paybacks are hell (usually used after I tried to be funny by digging my elbow into his ribs for no reason...which I did A LOT.)

And my personal favorite:

Why don't you get outside and blow the stink off of you?

That's what spring is all about, right? Getting outside and blowing that inside-air-of-winter stink off of you?

(Oh, and getting super excited about a pretty rock that you accidentally found...in the pile of pretty rocks surrounding the air conditioning unit that your mother has told you A MILLION times to stay out of, of course.)

Give them an inch...

Me: No, Brigid, you can't stand on the balcony. You have to stay in the house.

Brigid: Well, that just doesn't seem fair, right there. Maybe, if I just stand here, looking cute, she'll change her mind?

Brigid: No? Really? That's not working? Maybe if I ask Daddy, instead...?

Steve: Sure you can come on the balcony. Oh, wait...mom said no? Then you can only come on the balcony if you're sitting down instead of standing up. Compromise is allowed, right?

Brigid: I WIN!!!

 

 THE END. 

(Do I even need to tell you that all day on Sunday, when I'd tell Brigid no about something, she'd run to Steve in tears, telling him 'mommy said no!', fully expecting to get a different answer out of him? No? I don't need to tell you that? You saw that one coming from a mile away?

 

Yeah...you and me, both, friend...)

Stylin'

Sometimes, you're cool.

And sometimes, you're really-big-sunglasses cool.




Since the dog ate Brigid's sunglasses from last summer, I'm just glad she found a new pair to get her through this year...