This evening Liam came home late, so I was by myself with the kids for a bit. I fed Rowan early and then brought him upstairs to have his bath while the girls were just beginning to sit down to eat. After awhile, I heard them abandon their meal and begin playing something fun, as their conspiratory squeals of delight could be heard from below.
After I got the baby to bed, the girls came up for their turn in the bath.
Me: “Frances? Did you finish your dinner, honey? Or is there still food in your bowl?”
Frances: “Me and Nora spilled some water all over the place, but then we cleaned it up with some towels. So don’t worry.”
Okaaaay. Love the confession and brutal honesty at this age. When I asked her again if she finished her dinner, she replied that she hadn’t. Which is why now—at 8:47 tonight—she is downstairs with her father eating a banana with peanut butter instead of lying in bed with me.
Nora: “Mama. When I grow up I don’t want to be the driver of a garbage truck. I want to be the guy on the back. But not a garbage truck. I want to be a recycler. You know, so I don’t…stink.”
Makes perfect sense to me.
Nora: “Mommy? When is Grandma’s birthday?”
Me: “December 23rd. Two days before Christmas. She’s a Christmas baby.”
Nora: “Just like Jesus! But Jesus’ birthday is on Christmas. Not two days before. Mom? When is Mary’s birthday? Not our old babysitter Maire. But, you know, Jesus’ mom?”
Me: “Yes, I know which Mary you meant. But I’m not sure. You should ask your dad.”
Nora: “But how does dad know our old babysitter’s birthday?”
Me: “I thought we were talking about Jesus’ mom.”
Nora: “Oh yeah.” Giggle giggle.
Me: “Because your father went to church school. If anyone knows Mary’s birthday, it should be him.”
Nora: “Oh. Okay.”
Love putting the hubs on the spot!