What, Behind the Rabbit?

Sarah came up to me crying.  No, it wasn’t crying, it was hysterics.  Screaming, tears streaming from her eyes, snot running into her mouth (gag), while she thrust her arm out at me frantically.

A spider, I thought.  My baby has a spider on her and she’s in footie pajamas and the creeper has gone down in them and bitten her multiple times and she is in agony.  I HAVE TO STOP THIS MADNESS.

So I looked, no spider bite on her arm.  Hmm.  She kept thrusting her arm out, her cries getting louder and louder and she was seriously on the verge of collapsing in fear.  That’s when I saw it:  a minuscule dust bunny hanging from her sleeve.  I stifled a loud, loud laugh and removed the terrorist.  

Poor Sarah.  If she’s afraid of dust bunnies, she’s living in a virtual Afghanistan here. 

Need Your Car Washed?

Because Sarah can take care of that for you.

Note:  I am a nit-picker.  I think someone with greasy fingers touched the lens of my camera, the quality is HORRIBLE and it shouldn’t be so bad.  Anyway.  I had to get that out.  I didn’t want anyone to think I condoned the horrendous grainy, blobby quality of the video.

Car Wash!!


Sarah Has a Drink

Dave walks off, leaving the refrigerator unlocked (yes, we have to lock it) and unmanned.

Enter Sarah with the expedited pitter patter of feet.

“Okay, okay, okay, okay, okay!” she says quietly to herself as she opens the fridge and pulls out the rice milk.

She manages to get it out and the top open before I can cross the six feet between me and thee.

“Do you want some rice milk?”

“Yes! Yuuuummm-maaaaah!”

I pour her a bit and hand her the cup.

“Ank koo.”

“You’re welcome.”

And she’s off.

I Need a Depends, Rhys Needs a Napkin

Today was a whirlwind of activity:  first a birthday party for a sweet little friend at one of those indoor jumpy castle places and then a trip to Kohl’s to buy some swim shirts and shorts for Henry and (I think?) Rhys.  I’m actually not sure who got what, now.  It really doesn’t matter, they’re virtually the same size except Henry has a longer torso and can wear bigger shirts.

At the party they jumped and jumped and climbed and slid and stood in the “hurricane tunnel” to cool off and had a great time.  I even got in on the action and went down the slide with Sarah.  Wow.  I hope I never have to de-plane on one of those slides because I will soil myself on the way down if today’s slide is any indication of what those things are like.  Here’s a shot of me and Sarah on the way down.  If you will notice, I have an arm out to slow us down, the other appears to be wrapped around Sarah’s throat.  I don’t think it was because I clearly remember her screaming for her life also.  Captured below for all time:  mother and daughter, hysterical in the middle of Pump it Up at 10:30 am on a Friday on an inflatable slide, which is basically the length (to say nothing of width) of my person.



After all the jumping and sliding, there was pizza and birthday cake and ice cream.  All three kids ate cake, though Henry told me afterwards he was scared because we couldn’t find out from the label whether the cake had a nut warning on it.  Since it was just a chocolate cake with vanilla frosting from Target, I figured they were probably safe.  There was a nurse there, I had my epi-pens and benadryl just in case and there was an ER across the street.  We were covered.  Fortunately nothing happened and they survived.  I was not worried, but he was.  I wish he’d told me while we were there instead of just eating it, I would have gladly eaten his piece!  He looked so sad on the way out, I thought something had happened but he said he was just worried about the cake.  On one hand I am glad I have such a conscientious child, but on the other I hate that he’s literally scared to try things.  We didn’t look at the pizza box either, but that didn’t worry him.  Just the cake.  Interesting.  I’m going to tell him from now on if he’s not comfortable to just tell whoever is serving “No, thank you.”  No big deal.  Just saying “No thanks,” because you’re squirrley about the ingredients makes you look and especially feel, like less of an oddball than going into a long diatribe about having a peanut allergy and looking at the box and…goodness, we impose and it drives me nuts!  That pun was not intentional.  I hate being “THAT FAMILY.”  The “Can I see the label?” mom.  Well, anyway, everything was fine and the point of this was that they had full bellies and were happy – if worried needlessly.

Which brings me to Kohl’s.  We went past the men’s section and I grabbed a few shirts for Dave to even out what I was about to buy for myself, and then we went through the shoe department and I gave it a thorough once-over but didn’t see anything spectacular.  Moving on, we came to the dishes and the boys wanted to look at – hand to forehead here – serving dishes because we saw them on Martha Stewart yesterday.  Yes, they watch her show.  I told them she went to jail.  I didn’t know how to explain insider trading so I just said she did something bad with money.  But before I could get that out, Rhys asked,

“Did she go to jail for bad cooking?”

No, even if she did cook calf liver and onions yesterday.  Organ meat: not a fan.

When we  got to the entire reason for being at Kohl’s, which was to get swim shirts and shorts for the boys, Rhys said he had to go to the bathroom and it was urgent.  Off we went.  He wanted to go in the men’s room alone (NO!) but I made us all go into the family bathroom because I figured 3/4ths of us would probably end up going.

As we entered (he burst into the room before I could get Sarah out of the cart/stroller thing) I said the “Please Lord protect him from the commode germs” prayer and sure enough, he was sitting on the toilet.  Gag.  But remember Donna, it is cleaner than the door handle.  Probably.

And then he was done!  But then Henry announced he needed to sit down too.  Gaah!!  Ebola!  Blech!  As I was trying to help Henry fix the paper toilet seat thing, Rhys asked me,

“Mama, can I have a quarter so I can get a napkin?”



“A napkin.  They’re on the wall, I need one to wipe my face.”


I need a napkin, please Mama.

I need a napkin, please Mama.


And I laughed so loudly I am sure half of Kohl’s heard me.

After that, we left and that pretty much made my day.  I’m totally telling this story at his wedding, complete with how I visualized him wiping birthday cake off his chin with a napkin.  The kind that comes out of a wall dispenser, I mean.

After thought:  Now I’m wondering – HOW did that child know it said napkin??  I think he lies and says he can’t read so I’ll do it for him.  It wouldn’t surprise me, he lies and says his legs won’t work and asks me to carry him to the dinner table but then you say “cookie” and he all comes running.  I also caught him touching the mannequin boobs today too.  Lord, help us in the teen years with this one.