They Don't Miss a Thing...

Grace: Mommy, you're not going to believe this! Drake's mom shaves her LEGS!!!

Mom: Actually, most ladies shave their legs. They they like their legs to feel smooth and soft, so they shave all the hair off. That's a pretty normal thing.

Grace looks skeptical. She runs an experimental hand over my bare leg.

Grace: Oh! And you are one of the ladies who likes to have whisker-y legs, right?

The World According to Mia

"Wow, Satan is like the worstest kid ever."

"When I die I'm going to be creamed, not like putting myself in a box, but that other thing, like creamed except we're not supposed to talk about it because it makes me scared. WHY ARE WE TALKING ABOUT THIS??? AUGH!!!!" Mia, you're the one who started talking about it. "Well, why did you let me?"

"Dear Heavenly Father, thankful for this day, thankful for the food, thankful for my kindergarten, thankful for Eric could not poop in his underwear because that's so disgusting, thankful that Gracie can change him and not me, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen."

A Rose By Any Other Name

Having a sister 23 years younger than me leads to some interesting conversations as the kiddles try to sort out this "aunt" who seems more like a cousin.

Mia: What is the name of Emma's mom?

Me: Grandma

Grace: No, what is her REAL name?

Me: Sherry, but we call her Grandma.

Mia: That's weird. Do we call her Grandma because she IS a grandma or because she just likes that?

Me: Uh, she's YOUR Grandma. You know, Grandma--my mom, your grandma. That one.

Grace: Whhaaaaaattt?

Mia: Oh. My. Gosh. This is just too weird.

Through the Eyes of Gracie

Mommy: I showed my friends some pictures of you, and I was sooooo happy when they thought that I looked like you, Grace! That was a very nice compliment, because you are beautiful, so if they think I look like you, that means that I am beautiful, too.

Grace: That's not a truth. I don't look like you at all.

Ouch.

Mommy: Why exactly do you not look like me? (gee, let's think here--is it your gorgeous brown skin compared to my splotchy pinky-whitey skin? Or your eyes that we lovingly refer to as 'chocolate,' compared with mine that you kids call 'grass eyes'? Or is it your tightly curled tresses as opposed to my limp locks? Maybe the fact that you barely hit 50 pounds and I, uh, passed that marker on the scale years ago? Which specific dissimilarity did you have in mind?)

Grace: Duh, Mom. You have big breasties; I don't.

Of course. Because other than that we'd practically be twinners.

My Little Charming

The other night Eric curled up on my lap, getting in some good snuggletime before bed. In one of his most loquacious moments ever, he shared the following:


"When I grow up I am going to be a prince, like Prince Phillip, and have a real sword. I am not going to be like Prince Eric--he's boring [yeah, I always thought Ariel's prince was a total wuss, too]. Even though my name is Eric. I will still be Eric, but I will be like Prince Phillip. With a sword. And I will fight the naughty guys. And Adalyn will be my princess, because she is beautiful. And she will be the princess, like Princess Aurora, and wear a beautiful dress, and I will be her prince and I will save her from the naughty things, like dragons, and I will kick them and hit them with my sword, and say 'AUUUUUUHHHH,' and they will be so scared. And I will be scared, too, because dragons are scary. And witches are scary. But I will still fight them even if I am scared, because I will be the prince. Princes have to fight. With swords. Sorry, sweetie-mommy, they HAVE to. That's it. The end. And, and, and--Adalyn will be the princess and I will marry that. Okay, that's all."



Who needs Jane Austen with romance like this flying around the house?

The List: Next Generation

Yesterday Mia entertained herself for more than an hour writing all the words she knows how to spell in a wire-bound notebook. I was mightily impressed with the sheer quantity of words she has committed to memory--she filled pages and pages with her sprawling script.

When she was done she brought me a torn-out sheet. "This is a list of my favorite things," my future spelling bee champ informed her doting mama.

The List read as follows:

T-E-M-P-L-E

G-O-D

H-A-N-N-A-H

M-I-L-E-Y

D-E-L-I-A, with M-O-M added in after, in case I missed the reference, because she's smart enough to recognize that her penchant for referring to her mother by middle name is not the norm.

I'm thinking, A.) at least God and temple made it on the list ahead of Disney's Princess of Pop, B.) at least Mom made the list, even in dead last position, and C.) should I be worried that two of her five favorite things are variations of what starts with "Hannah" and ends with "Montana?"

Eavesdropping Outside the Bedroom Door

Mercie: Hello, my name is Mercie and I go potty. I like going potty.

Mia: How do you go potty, Mercie?

Mercie: Like a rock star! Oh yeah!

???

On second thought, some things are better unexplained.

Channeling His Inner Johnny Cash (Bonus Points If You Can Name That Song...)

Mia: I am going to have one boy and one girl, and I will name them Thomas and Honey Bear.

Grace: I am going to have 21 kids and they will all be girls, and I will name them Grace and Grace and Grace and Grace and Grace and Grace and Grace and Grace and Grace...(you get the idea)

Eric: I know! I know! I have the best one! I will have one boy when I grow up and I will name him....SPARKLES!!!

I threw a few more bucks in the therapy fund since it now appears that it will serving my grandchildren, too.

My Pretty Mama

People usually think she's my sister, which is fine until they ask if I'm older. My brother sent these pics from a recent visit home (that's his cute little patootie in the top and bottom picture; my step dad Dale in the middle one), and it reminded me for the millionth time that I have a pretty mama. Who can fear growing old with genes like this? Lucky me :).

Should I Be Worried?

Mom: Why do you like Hannah Montana so much?

Grace: Omigosh, Mom, because she is SOOOO funny! And-- she kisses boys!

I think I'm in trouble.