According to My Kids

Scene: We had just put the girls to bed and started watching a movie.
S: (yelling from her bedroom) Hey! Are you watching a movie?
Me: Yep!
S: What movie is it?
Me: It's a boring mommy and daddy movie. Good Night!
(a few minutes later, overheard from their room)
S: When you're 29, then you can watch a boring movie, too, Ivy! (repeated with ages 19, then 12)
I: Oh!
(a few more minutes later)
S: When you have eleven-teen birthdays, then you can watch a boring movie like mommy and daddy!
I: Oh! (Her response to almost everything Sophie says to her.)

Scene: At the dinner table.
S: There's blood inside my finger.
Me: Where else do you have blood?
S: My cheeks. (poking them) That's why they're fluffy.

Scene: At home.
Me: Ivy, do you want to help mommy make cheesecake or color?
I: Red! (huh.)


Scene: A few days before my parents came to visit.
S: How are Grandma and Grandpa coming?
Me: They're driving.
S: In Grandpa's truck that's green like peppers? (meaning the John Deere tractor)


Scene: Sophie noticed one of our wedding photos on the fridge.
S: (pointing to the photo) Did I see that?
Me: No, you weren't there. You weren't born yet.
S: Did I live in the old house?
Me: No, you still lived with Heavenly Father and Jesus.
S: How do we get to their house?
Me: After you die, then you can live with Heavenly Father and Jesus again.
S: But die girls don't come back!
Me: Nope, but they get to live with Heavenly Father and Jesus.
(Sophie seemed satisfied.)

Scene: Driving home from the store at about 7PM.
I: I'm just a little bit asleep. (I dess a wittew bit aseep.)

Scene: Walking around the floral section of the craft store.
S: I want some of these on my married day.
Me: You want flowers at your wedding?
S: Yes!
Me: Which ones?
S: Um. . . (walks around for a minute and looks) These ones! (Picks out white hydrangeas. Nice choice. :))

Traveling Circus

I think Ivy would fit right in with a traveling circus. She's petite, yet fearless, which would make her the perfect candidate for a trapeze artist. She'd probably fit in a cannon, too, if someone wanted to blow her out of one. Her most impressive talent right now is probably her ability as a contortionist. Wanna see?

Here we have an innocent-looking box. (It happens to be the trunk the girls' dress up clothes came in.)

Upon closer inspection there seems to be fingertips poking out. Perhaps the box isn't empty?

We'll have my lovely assistant, Steve, open the box to reveal its contents.

It's Ivy! The Famous Contortionist Toddler!

(No children were harmed in this amazing feat of flexibility.)

Drool

First I'd like to make a pledge to you that I will not become one of those bloggers who goes private and then posts maybe three times a year. (Yes, I'm looking at you!) I really do have a good excuse.

We've been on the road for almost a week. We've seen sequoias, stayed in three different hotels (with wi-fi . . . I love technology), attended a wedding, survived Disneyland, and now Steve's on his fourth office visit and we're doing our best to stay sane. Sophie's managing by running in and out of the balcony of our room singing about boogers. To each their own. At least she's not whining at me.

I had these pictures from before we left that I wanted to post. One afternoon I let them watch a movie and went upstairs to get a few things done (and secretly hoped that they'd both fall asleep -- which rarely happens). I came down to check on them and found this . . .

Facing away from the TV. Upon further inspection . . .

Ah-ha. That explains the dried bits of saliva all over Ivy's pillow.

Last Trip to the Beach. . . ?

Maybe. But after week-long temps of 90+, we could go surely go back and get more sun. I'm tired of summer. Go away, please.

Since Steve's basically being a bum right now, (a bum with a lot of personal projects and paperwork, though) we do a lot of spontaneous things. Like go to the beach on a weekday.

I love this picture so much. It's so Ivy.



We took our little camera this time and Steve took some pics instead of me.



I don't know why I even bother wearing a swimsuit at the beach. I hate salt water, so I never swim. Maybe to keep cool?



I'll definitely put Half Moon Bay on the list of things I'll sorely miss when we leave. Right between Berkeley Bowl's honey roasted peanut butter and wearing flip flops in January.

(I may end up keeping that last one, though.)

Crashed

This couch is where the girls take their afternoon nap. This is how it usually goes . . .

Around 2PM. (I've learned that it does no good to say, "hey, it's time for a nap!" because they just start arguing with me.)

After gathering a few books from their shelf, making sure to include a few big ones for the end -- they can never stay awake through the whole thing.

Me: I'm going to read ALL these books by myself!

I plop myself on the couch.

Sophie: NO! Read to ME!

Ivy: ME TOO! ME TOO!

Both girls climb on my lap and reading commences.

Ivy usually complains because she wants to pick the next book every time. After a while she learns to take turns. And then 10 minutes later she's OUT.

Sophie usually takes about 10-15 minutes longer than Ivy. This is when I pull out the bigger books, start yawning occasionally, and reading in a softer, monotone voice. And then she goes out, too.

That's when I make my escape.

In that photo above, Ivy had just rolled over because my camera is noisy. She didn't wake up. And don't worry about her falling off the couch. . .

She usually just goes back to sleep anyway.

P.S. That last one was on a different day. I came downstairs to rouse them and she started waking up and threw her feet off the side of the couch. Then went back to sleep.

P.P.S. Ivy isn't into wearing pants lately.

The Tables are Turning

In the car on the way home from church this afternoon:

Sophie: (After noticing that I had gum in my mouth) I want some gum!

Me: You can have some after lunch.

Sophie: No, I want some now!

Ivy: No Dahm! (No Gum!)

Sophie: Can I have a mint?

Me: I don't have any mints.

Ivy: No Mitt! (No Mint!)

Sophie: But I want some!

Ivy: No Dahm! No Mitt!

You heard the lady. . .