Nora: (runs upstairs) “Mommy? Can we have a cookie?”
Nora: “How about some apples?”
Nora: (runs back downstairs, shouting as she does) “We were right, Daddy. She said no we can’t have any cookies. But yes, we can have apples.”
I love that I’m so predictable.
While out hiking on a trail in the woods.
Frances: “Mommy? Look at my walking stick. It has a tail. I’m petting it. See?”
Me: (chuckles; notices the bunch of green pine needles to which she’s referring) “Yep. I see.”
Frances: (leans in close to whisper) “For real life Mommy, it’s just a branch, not a tail.”
No one will ever say my kids lack imagination.
Getting ready for bed.
Nora: (in tearful hysterics) “I want footie pajamas, Mommy!”
Me: “Well I’m sorry, but they’re in the washing machine.”
Nora: “I’m as mad as mad can be at you! As mad as can be! And it’s not fair!”
Me: “Well, life is not fair.”
Nora: “I want footie pajamas!”
Me: “I understand you’re disappointed. And tired. What else would you like to wear instead?”
Nora: (throws herself on bed) “I’m not disappointed! And I’m not tired! And I don’t want to wear anything else!”
Me: (runs downstairs to retrieve clean, but wet pajamas from the laundry machine to add insult to injury) “Fine. Here. Wear them then.” (hands over pajamas)
Nora: (suddenly stops fitful rage, inspects garment, proceeds to put on) “Hmmmm. They’re not as bad as I thought they’d be.”
Me: (shocked she’s actually going through with it) “That’s because they’re made of fleece.”
Nora: (pauses, realizes she’s a tad bit uncomfortable) “Well, maybe they’ll be dry tomorrow and tonight I’ll just wear something else.”
Me: Finally. The voice of reason.
She ended up insisting on wearing socks, and tucking them into her pants, as well as tucking her shirt into her pants so that she could mimic as best she could the appearance and feeling of being in a one-piece.
Drama, drama, footie pajama. Bedtime now for this mama!