Endless Source of Material

That's Morgan. Unfortunately, my brain is such a ball of mush, most of her anecdotes end up in the cosmic void. But every once in a while, if I have a scrap piece of paper to write a trigger word or two down, I can dig deep and share a moment of entertainment with you.

Here's a couple of those moments.

We were passing Papa's office in the car today, and amid the endless questioning of what exact day six months from now her next teeth cleaning will be, she states that fact that Thea (daycare provider) "goes to my dentist, too."

"That's right," I say. "That's why she takes care of you. Aren't we lucky? If she didn't go to see Papa, we wouldn't know who she was."

And here is the staggering genius part..."We would if she would just wear a dog collar." Everything is so blatantly obvious to a four-year-old. Of course that is how we would know who she is.

In unrelated news, later that evening she was playing with some dolls on the couch while I flipped through a catalog. I catch a few words that spark my interest and learn that her Disney princesses are deciding which one of them is going to die next.

"Hey, don't you think you could pretend that something nice is happening."

"I guess." She silently mulls this over for a while and then questions me, "Is hot lava something nice?"

"Ummm...maybe try again." Hot lava? Really? Maybe too many episodes of Thundar the Barbarian during dinner.

She's also having trouble coming to terms with the movie Twilight. But who can blame her? Everyone knows that vampires can't be out in the daytime unless they have a special ring. Like any good mom, I tell her the truth. There are different kinds of vampires, just like there are different kinds of people.

"Oh, like Uncle John."

Her night-shift uncle is her example of a vampire. When going to pick something up at the house during the day, I informed her she had to be quiet, because he was sleeping.

"Why is he sleeping in the daytime?"

"Because he is a vampire."

She took it well, and this fact has gone undisputed.

In case you're wondering where Zoe is in all of this, she is doing one of three things:
1. Hitting something
2. Screaming "MaMa!"
3. Trying to make her baby "poop!" on the potty.

Things We Should Have Figured Out By Now

I have a common gripe concerning our ability to launch rockets into space, make computer generated Transformers look real, and create "washable" markers, but we haven't found a way to make an affordable car that doesn't run on fossil fuel. I try not get into conspiracy theory, but come on...that just doesn't make sense.

Here are some other things of which I am baffled by our lack of progress.

Cheetos/Doritos that don't turn your finger's orange.

Re-sealable chip bags. Note to FritoLay: call Ziplock. Easy-peasy. This is, as they say in the consultant world, low hanging fruit.

A vehicle that tells you when you have left something on the roof, BEFORE you pull out of your driveway.

A vehicle that tells you when you have forgotten your laptop on the counter BEFORE you get to work.

Teleportation - GET ON THIS!

Self-cleaning bathtubs/showers. This should be easier than self-cleaning ovens.

A washing machine that detects when tights and items with Velcro get in the same cycle.

A dryer that matches socks.

A dishwasher that tells your significant other when they put something in the wrong spot.

Instruction manuals for children. In any language. I would be willing to hire a translator if it has to be in Chinese.

A Couple Moments with Morgan

"The Talk" a One Act Play

Morgan: Where was I before I was in your tummy?
Mommy: (choosing words carefully to avoid "the talk" for as long as possible) You weren't anywhere.
Morgan: So you and Daddy made me?
Mommy: (cautiously)...yeesss...
Morgan: How did you make me?
Mommy: (digging deep) From eggs?
Morgan: Ewww...okay...can I watch Scooby Doo?
Mommy: For the love of god, yes.

The End
(I am going to be so BAD at this)

* * *

It must be Valentine's Day. Scott allowed the television channel scroll to stop long enough on the Olympics to conceptualize that pairs figure skating was on. He even pointed it out to Morgan. What a nice dad. Morgan thought her shirt was beautiful and was very worried when I said that they were going to dance on the ice. She felt that was a little dangerous. Which only made it more impressive to her that the boy threw the girl in the air.

But what most impressed her?

"Aren't those outfits amazing? They have wedgies and it doesn't even bother them!"

Things I've Said Lately

"Don't kiss each others butts. That's how people get sick"

"Please take the plastic bag off your head."

"Potter is not allowed to eat oven gloves."

Morgan and Zoe take baths together. Typically, I take this opportunity to clean the bathroom. It is disturbing how quickly our bathroom turns into a toothpaste encrusted bowl of hair.

So I had my back turned and I hear Morgan say "You just kissed my butt," which is actually not that strange when you know how much time my daughters spend with their faces in the bath water, despite my telling them that said bath water is only clean until they get in it.

"Kiss it again," she says. This is when I have to intervene.

* * *

Zoe puts things on her head.

If it has an opening, it goes on her head. Boxes, laundry baskets, leather purses, nylon duffel, canvas totes, and yes...plastic bags. We are the reason there is the big warning across them that says they are not a toy.

Her favorite is emptying the clear plastic carrying case for the Mega Blocks. It is big enough that it fits over her shoulders too, yet she has clear visibility to wobble around the living room in it.

* * *

Potter is a pretty typical St. Bernard in his old age. He spends the majority of his day in one of two positions. Curled up on the floor or sprawled out on the floor. He breaks the monotony by licking himself or chewing on his paws.

With a few memorable exceptions he refrains from chewing things that don't belong to him, so I was little surprised when I investigated a strange noise and found him gnawing on something in the front foyer.

Thinking it was a stuffed animal, I quickly went in for the rescue. But it was only an oven glove. The sturdy kind you use instead of pot holders, but not the rubber kind that would be impervious to geriatric dog teeth.

And more unfortunately for us, my rescue came after three of five fingers could no longer be found and I'm assuming are working through the irritable bowels of our dumb ass dog.