The Wrong Trousers

(This is for those of you who do not read my sister's blog. If you don't, you should. At least read her version of this story.)

So Marmot Dad comes home last night looking like the cat who swallowed the canary, having stopped at D. I. and scored a great pair of second-hand pants. (May I just mention, and don't you deny it Marmot Pa, that said Dad is a little obsessed with pants. And T shirts. He never seems to have enough of them and always wants plenty of backups.) Anyway, he triumphantly throws them at me to show me, I suppose, that he is as good a dumpster-diver/garage-saler/second-hander as I am (ha ha ha ha ha as if). I check the size (to make sure I don't have to hem them, because we got him some pants at D.I. about six months ago that needed nothing but a little hem and I STILL haven't gotten around to it). They say "18." I say, "These are women's pants." He denies it vociferously. They were in the men's section, he claims. So what if they were, I counter. These are a "pretty plus" women's size. My sister backs me up. He tries them on. Now I must honestly admit that if I didn't KNOW they were women's pants, I would probably not notice anything amiss. But they do make his posterior a little . . . more . . . rounded. And he himself admits that he noticed that the pockets were in sort of a weird place, and the zipper was a bit shorter than normal. "I did notice that," he says, as if to defend himself.  I guess it's good to know that we can do his shopping at Lane Bryant from now on. And let the record show that I have actual photos of him wearing a hideous pink shirt and (horribile dictu) pink shorts (thankfully not at the same time).

Today (new topic) is Tuie's birthday, sweet baby. He took three steps today for the first time and has been his usual sweet self. Except that he thinks he's too big for his high chair (keeps standing up) and want to drink from a cup (which he does badly).

M, on the other hand, was apprehended writing her name in ballpoint pen on her very lovely and nice pink pants. I wasn't sure whether to praise or blame, since she was writing her name on her pants and doing a very nice job of it. After all, she's only three. I toyed with the idea of letting her put on the last letter, the only one she lacked. She explained that "I couldn't find the tag." Cryptic. Then I realized she had seen me write E's name in permanent ink on the tags in the extra set of clothes I sent to her school.

As for E, she told me today that "Hunter is a boy I just HATE." I explained that we could not really like people but we shouldn't hate them. She justified: "Well, I hate him, but I try to be nice to him." 

Out next door neighbors got a trampoline. It's getting me down.

Little Microwave on the Prairie

So E and M are both way into Little House on the Prairie play. They spent all afternoon today being Laura and Mary and going to the college for the blind and packing up their wagon and calling for Jack, the brindle bulldog. After a while they decided they were low on provisions, so they took the toilet paper holder and used it for a gun to go hunting. They caught a polar bear and a Canada goose initially. M hauled in the polar bear (a big stuffed bear) for me to inspect. I asked her what she would do with it. "Take off its skin and microwave it and EAT it!" she explains. Then she says she loves polar bear meat. And duck meat. And porcupine meat. I ask her what she will do with the porcupine that she caught. "Take off its skin and microwave it and eat it! (pause) But first we'll have to take its porks off so they won't poke us."

The truly ironic thing is that neither child will touch meat for real (except a piece of rotisserie chicken about once every six months). But tonight at dinner they chowed down on wolf meat (quesadillas) and duck meat (nectarines) and even tried the goose meat (roasted sweet potatoes).

The Evil Pixie

So I go to take a shower this morning. I enjoin the girls to "babysit themselves," which makes them feel big and important. They do so. They are in Thing One (henceforward referred to as "E")'s room when I get out. Probably coloring, I think. Great, I think. I get breakfast for the baby and get started on some for us older folk. When I hear a little voice saying, self righteously, "Mommy, M cut off all of her hair and it got ALL OVER my floor, but I picked it up so it wouldn't make a mess." There are several things wrong with this statement, but of course the "cut off all her hair" got my attention first. Sure enough, there was an evil little pixie with an evil little pixie cut-slash-mullet grinning at me, not a hint of remorse in her eyes. As the story comes out, it seems that E put M up to it and even did some of the slash-and-burn herself. The result of which is no girl is allowed to use scissors again until some time in November, if ever. 

I called Marmot Dad to tell him the tale. His reaction: "I guess it's good we're not vain people." Oh, but we are a little bit. I was just planning the kids' Christmas portraits just yesterday, and now we'll have two cute little kids and one Liza Minelli (sp?), Jr. Actually, she bears a striking resemblance now to two of her Iowa cousins (unfortunately, both boys). My vanity, slight though it is, might necessitate buying some hair clips and maybe a sign that says "I am not a boy I cut off my own hair don't any of you people have kids?"

Little Tuie/Tuey/Tooey is, however, sweet and good and kind. I'm glad I've got ONE who is on my side.

(In)credulity

Thing Two: Santa Claus doesn't really exist right? (this is what we tell the kids--to save trouble and despair down the road)

Marmot Mamma: right

Thing Two: (pause) But we got presents last year at Christmas . . .

MM: . . . . .

Thing Two: (long pause and thoughtful look with big, innocent eyes) . . . Why?

another conversation

Thing Two: When will Heavenly Father come out of heaven?

MM: ummmm, I don't know.

Thing Two: Maybe heaven is near India. (The girls are fascinated with India these days because they've watched The Jungle Book. Thing One wants us to move there and plans to take her bike so she can get around without riding an elephant.)

I want to be a paper girl

We took the kids to the park on Monday night. Thing One has been fascinated with paper girls and boys for a few weeks now since reading The Paperboy, a great picture book. So she and Thing Two both took their bikes, their helmets, and several old newspapers and a rubber band. We first played catch for a while and then the paper delivery commenced. Thing One sat down and carefully folded the newspapers and put the one rubber band on the first one. She strapped on her helmet and, with great joy, hopped on her bike and took off down the path. As soon as she got to the first set of pine trees *BAM* there goes the first paper (fortunately she has been practicing riding with one hand for many weeks now) and *DING DING* goes the bell. Then she stopped, took off the rubber band, and wrapped up the second paper. Repeat. Then it was Thing Two's turn. They were so happy afterwards that they had actually gotten to DELIVER PAPERS (granted to squirrels and bugs) that they had to ride around and around the park path singing at the top of their lungs. Now they're trying to convince me to let them stay up all night and sleep during the day (which they are convinced paper boys and girls do). Thing Three is now trying to impale the computer keyboard. He wants me to write about him. Next time.