bad form

Sometimes Often, The Kidling is wiser than I wish she were expect. I mean, I am glad she is the most phenomenal human being I have ever encountered and could ever hope to interact with in this lifetime, but seriously. Can’t The Mama get away with something now and then? Case in point: doing odd things in odd places.

As you might have guessed, this wee blog is powered by many strategically placed notebooks. I have been known to make a dash for them in the middle of dinner, frantically yank them from my handbag whilst running errands, and enter near-panic mode when I cannot locate a notebook when genius or hilarity has recently ensued.

Thank goodness for the backs of cash register receipts.

So The Mama thought nothing of  my recent perch for jotting down The Kidling’s most recent flash of brilliance. Until…

Alice: Are you going potty?

The Mama: Yeah.

Alice: While you’re writing!?!

The Mama: Yeah. Isn’t that weird?

Alice: Yeah. And kind of gross.

The Mama: You think?

Alice: Yeah.

A better blogger than I might ask for your input. “What say you, dear readers?” or a similar question to solicit your thoughts on matters related to this particular story. But guess what? I don’t care. Because without frantic scrawling in marker on construction paper, in pencil on gum wrapper, and in the occasionally properly-placed notebook, the book of alice wouldn’t exist.

So there.

And yes, I wash my hands.

shower safety

Alice is a bath kind of gal. Kids and baths are a time-honored combination that The Family, for the most part, respects and observes. Furthermore, Alice has a boatload of bath toys and loves to splash around in our tiny little clawfoot tub for absurd amounts of time. In spite of this, now and then I let Alice take showers. By herself. And it is amazing. She hops in dry and gets out 20 minutes later soaking wet while I do whatever I feel like.

“Does she wash?” you ask.

Do I care?

Being the responsible mama I am, I always check in on her a few dozen times while she is screwing around showering. I find her doing all sorts of things: squeegeeing the walls, throwing a bar of soap around, playing with the pouf-sponge-thing, coloring with her shower crayons… and occasionally, washing. Last night, though, I walked in to find her laying on the floor. This doesn’t sound too odd until I tell you we have one of those itty-bitty stand-up showers. Yes, this is different from a standard stand-up shower: it fits into a corner and has one side cropped out.

Perhaps this is why Alice calls our bathrooms “the mini-rooms.”

When I found her laying down, I inquired about her antics and was informed she was laying there so she could wash her belly.

Ummm, okay.

So I went back to putting away the laundry and chatting on the phone. After folding a few sweaters, I popped my head back into the mini-room. This time, Alice told me, “I smell a fire,* so I need to stop (put up her hands in freeze-frame style), drop (sat down on the shower floor), and roll (miraculously managed to roll her wee body on the itty-bitty floor of that tiny shower in our mini-room).”

That’s right, folks. Shower safety. Now we need a mascot.


* After some pondering, I determined that by “smell a fire,” Alice really meant “saw some steam.” Close enough.





on boogers

This isn’t my first post about boogers (see here, here, and here ) and I’m sure it won’t be the last…

While driving on a recent afternoon, I looked in my rearview mirror to see my little munchkin munchin’ on a booger. Like any good mama would, I told her to stop immediately. So what did Alice do? She took it out of her mouth and attempted to hand it to me.

Don’t ever say my life isn’t glamorous.

I told Alice “no thank you” but not for the reason you might assume. Oh no, I told her I was too busy driving to take it right then. As if there is ever a good time to take a four-year-old’s slobbery booger. Remember that bit? About my glamorous life? No? Neither do I. Because it just isn’t true.

Eventually traffic calmed enough for me to reach back and take the booger. Really. Then I rounded a corner and had to hold it there on my hand until I could safely dispose of it. This, of course, got Alice to thinking. Always the optimist, Alice noted, “It’s a good thing it’s a sticky booger because that way it will stick on to your hand until you are ready.”

There is no such thing as ready, Alice. Not for that.