Blessing #2 turned six on Thursday!

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I desperately need a new vacuum... so let's hope my luck is working overtime when it comes time for to decide the winner in this Dyson contest. You can try out your luck (just as long as it doesn't get in the way of mine!) over at 5 Minutes for Mom.

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It was Career Day at school, so this morning I dropped off...

a mommy...

a ballerina...

and my not-in-school-yet-but-also-participating Clark Kent...

ready to run into the phone booth, rip off his shirt, and turn into Superman.

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Blessing #4 turned 3 on Friday!

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“Bird! Look, Moma, a bird!”

My eyes follow to where the little finger is pointing. Not seeing a bird, I ask, “What’s that, honey?”

With a little more excited volume in the usually (usually, but not this morning) subdued and soft-spoken voice and a little bigger punch of the finger, she emphatically says, “that bird,” while pointing at the man walking next to us.

I, obviously displaying my blanked-face confusion, am met with an honest and sincerely innocent question about the man. My Blessing asks, “Is that boy a rooster?”

Now, remember, this boy is, in fact, a man. A very large and intimidating man. A very large and intimidating man walking right by us with my daughter’s finger pointed at his head. A very large and intimidating man sporting a bright orange mohawk and a Ronald McDonald-red goatee. Yes, I suppose he did look like a rooster, though I’m not sure he appreciated the association.

There are some things that kids say that are a little bit embarrassing when they’re 2 or 3. Hey, they’re 2 or 3, and kids say funny, though possibly embarrassing, things. But they’re young, and you laugh it off.

On the other hand, there are then those things that are quite a bit more embarrassing when said by your child who will be 6 in less than a week... yes, that would be Blessing #2. (Fortunately, as opposed to his spiked 'do, my hair was down and covered my burning ears!)

To make the situation even more amusing, B#5 was right there with us… sporting his own modified mohawk. He woke up this morning with the went-down-for-the-night-with-damp-hair bedhead… and looks quite a bit like a rooster himself.

And his mohawk is even a little orange.

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Well, the P.I.-for-hire desk never made it to the driveway. But Blessing #1 found a new way to serve the neighborhood. It seems that Nancy not only solves local mysteries, but apparently she also runs a lemonade stand in The Lemonade Raid. So on a rare sunny day last weekend, B#1 got her stand ready, too. B#2 was her helper, and they excitedly worked to get it organized. They made a sign and some lemon-shaped nametags. (The first sign said fresh lemonade, and I casually mentioned that it wasn't exactly fresh since it was from a mix. B#1 questioned me on what it should be. I said it'd be more like freshly made or fresh tasting... A new sign was soon made. It was the combination of the two suggestions and said freshly tasted lemonade... which made me laugh. So, to appease Monkey Moma's I-guess-it-wasn't-so-subtle giggling, a third sign was made that said freshly prepared.) I made the lemonade, and they set up the table and chairs in the front yard. Some of our nice, retired neighbors made their way over to purchase some 5-cent lemonade. They had about four customers and ended up with a few dollars to split between the two of them. Good tipping in the lemonade business, eh?

An update on my little Gypsy:
I think my sneaking suspicion was right on.... the proof is in the picture! (And just to make it a little more obvious, I've even given you an arrow!)

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There is, possibly, no better way to welcome a new day
than to unknowingly step, barefooted,
onto the slimy, ooey-gooey banana slice
that the Baby Blessing has thrown to floor...
and the subsequent squealing (by both Moma and Blessing) that follows
with the feel of the cold, squishy mess oozing underfoot…
yet still being unable to resist a smile
when seeing how proud he is to have made his Moma shriek.

His happy grunts were accented by happy clapping.
(That would be his clapping, not mine!)

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#3 number 2

***for similar B#3-conversations and more B#3-insight into poop, click here, here, and here*** You will learn something, and you will definitely laugh! ***

Blessings #s 1, 2, and 4 are outside playing. B#5 is napping upstairs. B#3 is contentedly playing wooden trains in the living room. I am in the family room, folding a family-size serving of laundry. It is quiet. I am enjoying the peacefulness… and, honestly, I have actually been enjoying folding the laundry!

In the quietness, I hear footsteps in the entryway, slowly coming around the corner. B#3 is standing there, hands behind his back, looking like he’s got something on his mind.

Monkey Moma: What’s up, bud?
B#3: Moma…. Do you know why my hands are in my pants?
MM: Does your bottom hurt?
B#3: No…….
MM: Do you need to go potty?
B#3: No-oooo…
MM: Well, what’s wrong?
B#3: Well….. uh…. When I was playing trains, I, uh… well, I thought I needed to toot. But when I tooted, it wasn’t really a toot. It was a toot-poopie. I’ve got toot-poops in my unders.
MM: Oh… I see…
B#3: Did you know that, Moma? That’s why they’re called toot-poops. ‘Cause you think you gotta toot, but really what comes out is poop.

Back to the laundry…

Now I hear a squabble in the backyard. I hear the baby waking up.

I sure hope I get to the bottom of this pile before dinnertime.

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