Low-hanging Fruit, or, How to ensure your dog gets plenty of Vitamin A.

Over the course of a typical day, there's a whole lot of nonsense coming out of Bug's mouth at a fairly consistent clip. What can I say? She's three, and she has a much larger vocabulary than she does the logic to wield it appropriately. For example, she recently had a full-blown tears-and-snot, hiccups-and-flushed-cheeks-style meltdown because she wanted me to somehow remove the already consumed dinner from her gastrointestinal tract because, get this, it was making her leg hurt. I double dog dare you to keep a straight face while your daughter flails on the grounds wailing at the top of her lungs,

"MY FOOD FROM NANA'S IS REAWY HURTING MY YEG! I WANT IT OUT!"

So anyway, it shouldn't be surprising that I don't always take her statements in a literal sort of way. Turns out, though, occasionally she's right on the money.

Such was the case earlier today when she ran up to me, breathless, and managed to squeak out the obviously hilarious, "Mama, Mister Baggins gave Lupe a potato!" before dissolving entirely into peals of laughter.

Why yes, that is my yellow lab eating a sweet potato, which was given to her by my one-year-old via the very low window in our dining area.

Doesn't he look proud of himself? And that's Lupe with the photo bomb behind him, 

perched on top of her dog house.

A boy and his dog, I suppose.

Sticky Sweet

"Mama, can I make it FASTER?" she pleaded.
"Just one click, Pollywog. ONE CLICK."

Famous last words, of course.

Her stubby little fingers bumped the electric mixer speed level all the way to 10, and suddenly a hundred thousand drops of wet cookie dough were launched into the deepest recesses of my kitchen, splattering banana pulp, buttermilk, and sugar onto every conceivable surface. There are probably still droplets whizzing through space, bravely venturing where no cookie batter has gone before, searching for a hospitable planet on which to kersplat where the tyrannical arm of the Clorox wipe cannot come to hurt or make afraid--there the dough will be blessed, AMEN.

I lunged through the heavy spray, risking life and limb, really, what with the sticky spray still shooting about, and managed to knock that switch back down to zero. The very second the whir of the mixer wound down into silence, well, that's the second we heard Daddy's key turning the lock. Bug looked at me and I looked at her and I swear to you the only rational thought that went through my head was, "Praises be, oh, praises be -- REINFORCEMENTS HAVE ARRIVED."

And here is what I thought about while I wiped and rinsed those cheeks and counters and cupboards and floor and innocent-bystander-brother who had been minding his own business 6 feet away with a tray full of Cheerios:

The cookies are worth the splatter. And so is she.

Things I am grateful for on Mother's Day and always.

My babies. I don't deserve them for even one second, but I know that I am never so much myself as when I am looking into one of those pairs of baby blue eyes, or covering those soft, round cheeks in kisses. I am lucky beyond words.

Mister Baggins once spit up an entire belly full of curdled milk on my arm while I waited in line at a paper supply store with nary a wipie to be found. (Rookie mistake.) Bug recently told me that of all the characters on Lion King, I most resemble Scar. (We both have brown hair, I guess?) And, you know what? I wouldn't change a moment or a word of it for all the gold in all the world.

The night before Mother's Day while I was at work, Daddy helped Bug craft a poster for me. Titled Mommy, You Are The Best... the poster was filled with hand-colored scribbles and genuine answers from Bug about all the things I am best at. I'm grateful for a man in my life who is such a thoughtful, hands-on sort of Daddy, the sort of Daddy who buys finger paints to stamp my poster with baby hands and feet, the sort of man who put Bug's little crayon-clutching fist in his own hand to write all her own answers down, and perhaps most of all, the sort of Daddy who understands that when Bug answers the aforementioned statement with Mommy, you are the best eater, that maybe that particular attribute would be best left off the Mother's Day poster, all indications of its accuracy notwithstanding.

Happy Mother's Day to every nurturing, gentle soul out there helping to fill this sometimes scary world my babies are living in with love. We're all in this together.

Yambs. Not the sweet potato kind.

Last week, before the weather around here reverted back to freezing, Stacey and I took the kids to Wheeler Farm for a picnic.  The point of the exercise, besides getting out of the house, was to really wear my kids out so they'd take a good nap. I had to work a full graveyard that night, so I desperately needed to sleep while they did. 

After a couple of hours in the sunshine, it was mission accomplished! I had a hard time keeping Mister awake long enough to drive the 3 miles back to our house.

 Don't worry, Bug has only been eating PB&J sandwiches independently for like 2 years, but she still manages to smear them from hairline to chin.

I had really talked up how great it would be to feed the ducks. Bug was in to it, but when I told him he couldn't eat the stale bread himself, Mr. Baggins just wanted to suck on his fingers.

He's trying to find the right moment to lean back, casually stretch, and wrap his arm around Scar-bug's shoulders. Too bad his arms are too stubby.

Rather than making eye contact, Paddy's dad used to look off to the side of the person he was talking to sometimes. You can see that a certain Bug inherited the trait from her Grandpa Jim. I have no idea what she is looking at with such a silly grin.

Cows licking a bowl full of who-knows-what. Baggins is jealous.

Bug couldn't believe there were actual baby sheep to look at. She still very often says her Ls with a Y sort of sound, so she kept shouting "YAMBS! YAMBS!" which made me laugh.

Also, how did her left leg disappear from this picture so completely?

This horse wanted to chomp on Mister's head like an apple. Luckily, he just knocked him into the dirt.

We are desperate for the weather to warm back up so we can hit the outdoors on a more regular basis. I've been tossing around the idea of a completely unplugged summer wherein Bug says goodbye completely to her friends Doc McStuffins and that piratey Jake in favor of, you know, humans and sunshine. Once it's toasty outside, it'll be goodbye folding laundry time, HELLO WHEELER FARM!