Holiday To Do

Here's my "To Make" list.... it's really quite depressing to me that I haven't gotten much done yet. I guess I just haven't been in the holiday spirit. You can go ahead and call me Scrooge.



I Spy bags - finished 1 of 6
(EJ, Five, Beastie, The Babe, and my nephews, Spidey & The Buddha)



Fabric Ball
(The Babe)



Fleece baby blocks - finished 2 of 3
(Monkey)


Felt Board
(EJ, Five, Beastie)


Fleece Mouse
(Five)


Hooded Capelet
(My mom)


Popsicle stick Sewing Basket
(My grandma)

Papier Mache Faux Bois
(My dad and stepmom)

And then I need to come up with something for MIL, FIL, my grandpa, and my stepdad. The next couple weeks look insanely busy.....

Who are these kids, and why are they calling me 'Mom'?

[Sigh.]

One of those days.

Monkey has spent pretty much all day screaming like a little banshee. His bottom hurts, especially when he pees, so I guess my next step is to do some elimination communication until our diaper covers get here. I was changing his diaper while he screamed, and suddenly he stopped yelling, which should have been my clue. With a smile on his face, he let 'er rip and peed all over me.

The Babe has been horrid all day. Screaming and crying and wanting - no, needing - a nap, but not taking one. He dumped my soda all over the couch, peed on my bed, and then ruined a project I spent a day and half making. (Ruined as in, not fixable. Ugh.)

Beastie was fine until lunchtime. Daddy got the kids a sub sandwich to share, and she decided to take all the toppings off and splat them on the floor. This would have been okay if it was just lettuce and tomato, but it wasn't. It was lettuce and tomato and gobs of mayonnaise and black olives and pickles. Ugh. Then, she smeared the mayo all over her legs, and then, then, she threw a huge fit because her legs were all dirty, but she wouldn't let me clean her up.

Five has spent her entire day antagonizing me. She figured out that if she puts a certain toy by the window at just the right angle, it'll shine a light right in my eyes. She's been following me around the room all day with that thing, shining a beam of light right into my eyeballs and making me want to scream. This has been resolved, because now it's afternoon and the sun's on the other side of the house. Ha.

EJ has been no trouble at all, because she's at school. I can't wait till they're all in school.

And what are they doing now? Monkey's sleeping, finally. The Babe is crying (as usual,) and Beastie and Five are sword fighting with my expensive paintbrushes. In between hitting each other with them, they're whacking the Christmas tree.

Is it bedtime yet???

I'm a big girl, stupid.

Ah, Beastie. You knew it was coming, another Beastie story. Just wait till The Babe is talking - then I'll have two to provide fodder for my little blog.

So. Beastie and I are talking, and I say to her, affectionately, "Are you Momma's big girl?"

She furrowed her brows. "No. I'm Daddy's big girl, stupid."

I turned my face so she wouldn't see me laughing. I don't know where she got "stupid," especially as a pronoun. We don't use that word much, and when we do, it's an adjective, as in "the stupid dryer ate another baby sock."

I controlled my laughter and turned back to Beastie. "That is not a nice word," I said. "We don't say 'stupid,' okay?"

"Not a nice word?" she asked.

"No," I said. "Stupid is not nice. When you feel mad, you need to find another word to use."

"Another word?" she asked.

"Yes. Don't say 'stupid.' That makes people feel sad. Use another word."


So now, when she's mad at me, instead of calling me "stupid," she calls me "word."