A Letter to My Girls

Z and Baby Bird,

You are fighting, a lot.  I watch you fight over who gets to play with the toy broom.  Today, you guys have been fighting over your baby dolls.  Z, you were mad that your sister had the audacity to feed and change your baby doll.   You expressed this with much yelling.  Baby Bird, you tried to assault your sister because she was sitting in my lap and you didn’t want Z to have access to your mommy.   Sometimes you fight over who gets which baby doll.

wpid-img_20150531_104837_139.jpg

My angels, they are the same.

But, really, I am thinking forward twenty-five years in the future.   Baby Bird, when you have had your first baby and big sister Z shows up with broom in hand to clean your house for you, cook you a meal and tuck you into bed, I seriously doubt you will still be fighting over brooms.

Z, on a related note, when you are tired and have hands full with multiple toddlers and Baby Bird sends you out with your sweet hubby to the movies while she feeds and cares for your babies, I don’t think you will complain.

It is amazing how perspective changes some arguments.

I hope forty years from now, when I am old and gray that you will both still be fighting about who gets the privilege of spending time with Mommy.  I bet perspective changes this too, but I hope not.

 

They Dont Build Things To Last

My sweet Mother is seventy-four years old and she still works full time.  This is most certainly by choice.  She could retire.  She probably should retire.  She wont retire.  Dr. Pepper has offered to buy her a house where we live so that she can enjoy Little Z and Baby Bird, but she stubbornly refuses.    She has been a hairdresser in the same small town for fifty-four years, and she has no intentions to stop teasing blue-hair into football-helmet shaped blobs anytime soon.  So, she should be pretty savvy about all things hair related, so I had no concerns about showering at her house a few weekends ago when I had forgotten my own hair supplies.  Imagine my surprise when I was greeted with this monstrosity:

wpid-img_20150503_090657_769.jpg

This is the world’s oldest, and perhaps most-unsafe hairdryer.  Notice that it is held together with a conglomeration of duct tape and electrical tape.

wpid-img_20150503_090704_760.jpg

I cannot recall ever seeing a metal label welded onto a modern hair dryer.

wpid-img_20150503_090651_949.jpg

That is correct folks, the off switch is broken, so this baby is always on.

wpid-img_20150503_090642_169.jpg

And, last but not least, no GFI, so if you drop in in the bathtub while luxuriously drying your hair during a soak, forget it. You are most certainly dead.

So, I assumed that since it is incredibly old and unsafe that it would be an incredible, unregulated hair-drying experience made of pure fire.  Imagine my disappointment to find that I would have been better off heading down to the local McDonalds and using the hand dryer to style my locks.   It is both dangerous and useless.  I know a certain elderly hairdresser who is getting a new hairdryer for Christmas!!!!

Baby Biscuit

wpid-img_20150419_161131_533.jpg

I took Z through a local fast food drive through this weekend to get a biscuit. I have previously discussed her odd dietary habits on my blog. To review, she is three and still eats baby food for at least two meals daily. If it weren’t for baby food and cookies, my child would have starved by now. But, add to this well-rounded regimen a sudden love for biscuits and you are building a food pyramid! She refuses to call them biscuits, referring to them as “butter and salt sandwiches.”

Imagine my surprise that after two bites, I hear Z in the back seat, “Oh, I love you little baby biscuit! I will keep you safe and warm all the way to NaNa and PaPa’s house.”

I glance bemused in the rearview mirror watching her carefully wrap the biscuit up in the paper like a baby.

A few minutes later I hear crying, “I’m SO sorry Baby Biscuit (I capitalize this because by this point, this is the biscuit’s name). I can’t help it Baby Biscuit. You’re so salty and delicious!”

After a few small bites, the biscuit was rewrapped in its blanket.

This scenario was repeated several times on the way to NaNa and PaPa’s.

There were dramatics and tears.

When Baby Biscuit finally met with his demise, we were left with the “blanket” which she used to put several dollies to sleep. Then she wadded it up and said, “Look! It’s like a ball of crumpled-up paper.”

I rolled my eyes, “Yes, Z, It is EXACTLY like that.”

I think she is going to be a really awesome mom someday.

ultimatemindsettoday

A great WordPress.com site

Uturnlavern's Blog

Thoughts and opinions from UTurn LaVern

The Accidental Missionary

A regular guy tryin' to figure it out

lindseydaffin

Live Free & Be True to Yourself

modern father online

one dad's thoughts on parenting in these crazy modern times...

barbellsandpacifiers

My personal journey to stay a happy, healthy, new mommy!

Kitt O'Malley

Love, Learn & Live with Bipolar Disorder

Not Just Sassy on the Inside

The Journey toward higher consciousness and finding the sassy girl

Perichoretic Theosis

"God became man so that we might become gods." --St. Athanasius

Eclectic odds n sods

Parenting, Pet Tales, Humour & Photography

notthrowingstones.today

(but maybe tomorrow)

My So-Called Life

Is this real life?

Drunk on Life

Every day is a reason to celebrate.

Mark Bialczak

What will I write about next?

The Perfect Dad

Every man dies. Not every man truly parents.

iwantedwings

A Geeky Feminist's Musings On Pop Culture

Ginger's Grocery

Come on in and browse. The biscuits were made fresh this morning, the Slush Puppie machine was just refilled with a new bottle of red syrup, and we have the biggest selection of bait this close to town.

sillyliss.com

I meant it that way.