Motherhood

Not a Snack

This weekend was a super fun one for me and the girls. Well, mostly. As with most weekends, David was working, which can be a little tricky since most of my girlfriends are spending Saturday and Sunday enjoying activities as a family, making our play date options limited, thereby stretching my creativity. But this weekend was saturated with fun and festivities. We started Saturday morning at a trial (read: free) toddler art class followed by a trip to South Park to enjoy the sunshine on their playground and food court Chick-fil-A.
6ddd0a0a-8821-4e52-87df-241424d9fe28We’re currently potty training, and Nora Beth is doing a fine, fine job thanks to a very strong natural inclination toward treat-motivation (me too, muffin. Me too.). Any chance to score a Hershey’s Kiss, and girlfriend is ready to potty. After our nugget noshing, while Annablair snoozed in her wrap against my chest, we ventured to the toilets before trekking home for nap time. As ever, Nora Beth obediently tinkled, while I promised her a Kiss in the car (she turned down my lower case kiss offer, which felt very disrespectful). We washed hands, a new (is this a sign of my parenting skills that at 2 years old I can safely say that hand washing is new? Ehhh.), much talked about pastime in our house, and as I was readjusting a quickly-becoming-hungry Annablair, Nora Beth darted toward the door of the bathrooms.

I moved as swiftly as I could without threatening to drop my 5 week old (which has already happened once in her life, and I’m really trying to spread out the traumas), but arrived at the exit just in time to see her little bob waltzing its way into the men’s room. I darted after her, but apparently was moving through JELLO, or her chunky little legs are deceivingly fast, because by the time I got to her, she was standing at a urinal, holding a urinal cake and ever-so-sweetly proffered it toward me asking, “What’s DIS snack, mommy?” I assured her it was not a snack. Or a Hershey Kiss. But that if she put it down she could wash her hands again. We also didn’t see any male nether regions, so praises across the board.
img_2690On our way home, Annablair was protesting the loss of her paci, and apparently I uttered, “What’s the matter, my sweet angel!” (an endearment I wasn’t aware I had ever used before). Several minutes later Nora Beth began to fake cry and announced, “NorBeff sad, Mommy!” “Ooooh no, why?” I asked diligently. “No no no,” she said beseechingly. “Say, ‘oh my sweet angel!'” Poor neglected sweet angel child. Since then she has been calling all manner of items and people in our lives sweet angel, which makes me feel very much like I’m living inside the pages of a Precious Moments scene, and I’m not complaining a bit. And I still can’t stop laughing.

And to think, that only brings you through Saturday at 12:30 of our weekend.
img_2705Whew. Somehow all of these sweet angels managed to pack even more fun into the next 24 hours with church as a family, acai bowls with Nina, stealing multiple strangers’ balls and water bottles at a park in Uptown, and a buzz through Imaginon. May I always stay grateful for a life that never allows for the mundane. img_2706

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