1) On a random Saturday afternoon, I was driving the kids home from a playdate, when this dialogue ensued:
Brae: “Mommy, I want to go on a bear hunt.”
Brae: (increasing in intensity) “Tomorrow.”
Brae: (now a little agitated by my apparent lack of resistance): “By m.y.s.e.l.f.”
Brae: (now apparently resigned). “But,” he started, “I may need you to drive me.”
2) I picked Brae up from school the other day. While I was tending to Sienna, one of Brae’s friends classmates (let’s just call him Bully), came up from behind and shoved Brae into the front door. When I came to see the commotion, Bully’s mom was trying to discipline him and get him to apologize to Brae. Bully refused. So, sensing the increasing awkardness of the situation, I directed the kids out to the car. On the way home, this dialogue ensued:
Me: “Brae, I’m very proud of you that you didn’t push or hit Bully back. That was the right thing to do. That’s what Jesus would have done.”
Brae: “Yeah. Bully doesn’t listen to God.”
3) Say what you will about kids and Santa Claus, but I had a lot of fun this year with Brae and Ole’ St. Nick. When I was growing up, there were no presents under the tree on Christmas Eve. Then, on Christmas morning, my sister and I would run out to see all the presents under the tree. It was magic.
Carrying on that same tradition in our home, I had to find a place to hide all the presents before Christmas morning. I finally decided to hide them in a guest room, and lock the door. When Brae asked why he couldn’t go in the guest room, I stammered, and told him that was Santa’s workshop. That’s where Mommy and Santa Claus pow-wowed. He seemed to accept that.
One night, as I was wrapping gifts in the guest room (which is me simply throwing gifts in old “Happy birthday” and “It’s a girl!” gift bags), I heard Brae tip toe up to the closed door. He was supposed to be in bed. I could hear him breathing on the other side of the door. I decided to have a little fun.
Me (to the empty room): “Now, Santa, I’m not sure if Brae has been a good boy today. I’m not sure if he should get that present.”
Me (now in my best elderly, stout, male voice): “Ho, ho, ho!”
Me (again to the empty room): “Mrs. Claus, you really need to teach Mr. Claus better manners.”
And on went my faux dialogue with these two characters.
When I was sufficiently pleased with myself, I turned off the light, and opened the door. Brae was standing in the hallway, bug-eyed.
“Mommy?!” he managed, “Who were you talking to in there?”
1) Little Miss is fascinated with the toilet. She wants to watch everyone in the house going potty. And she wants to be the first to flush the toilet. In fact, she often flushes the toilet when there is nothing in it.
The other day, I watched as she meandered into the bathroom by herself. I started to get a little excited. Maybe she was going to try to go potty herself.
As I poked my head around the corner into the bathroom, I saw her stand over the toilet, lift up the first lid, then lift up the second lid. She then proceeded to pull down her pants and pull up her shirt. She stood over the toilet. And waited. She was trying to pee like Daddy and Brae. When nothing happened, she sighed. She pulled up her pants. She let her shirt drop, and she closed both lids. Then, she flushed the toilet. And she left.
2) This is really a Brae and Sienna story, but because I suspect that Little Miss’s curiousity started the whole ordeal, she should take credit.
I was out with my family one afternoon. Tygh was “watching” the kids. I came home to find the guest room’s toilet clogged. Not a huge surprise. In the last 2 years, we’ve made friends with Mr. Rooter. I expected Brae had just put too much toilet paper in the toilet when trying to clean himself up.
For the next week, Tygh and I alternated trying to unclog the toilet. No luck.
Tygh finally admitted that when he had been watching the kids, Sienna had come out into the living room soaking wet. And with a long wooden spoon. That’s when Tygh had gone into the bathroom to find Brae standing over the toilet, also holding a long wooden spoon. But nothing seemed to be in the toilet.
After a week of no success unclogging the toilet, I caved and called Mr. Rooter. Again.
Long story short. I bet you’ve never had a plumber pull 11 bath toys out of your toilet before.