Pre-Halloween Festivities and Sanctimony

We carved pumpkins tonight (after having promised the girls we would last night and not getting around to it because we had dinner too late). They were extremely excited about it. E drew on the picture on her pumpkin and Tuey's, and then M spent a loooooong time drawing hers: "I'm just putting on some finishing touches." They mostly have teeny tiny eyes and noses and enormous mouths with itty bitty teeth. Tuey's came out best. M made me carve about a hundred circles all over hers ("those are the touches" she explained). Then she danced wildly in front of them after we had lit them so they would look like they were dancing.

Speaking of dancing, here is the latest favorite activity of the girls: after it gets dark, and preferably on a night when the moon is bright, they put on their fancy Cinderella slippers and go outside to dance with Marmot Dad ("Prince Erik"). If they are really into the story they'll run down the sidewalk and leave one slipper behind for "Erik" to find and bring back to them. M started crying the other night because "I want to have stairs in front of our house!" You know, the kind of stairs Cinderella runs down at the stroke of midnight.

This post is apparently all about M. Here's one more story about her. E has been having fits left and right lately for no apparent reason. As soon as a fit starts, M will look at me solemnly and slightly sanctimoniously and say, "I would never treat you like that, Mommy."

Of course, both of them assured me last night that they were trying to be like Jesus and only do right things. M opined that she would probably be like Jesus by the time she was 20. One can only hope.

Tuey, for his part, is a full time walker now. Only occasionally does he have a need for speed so pressing that he has to scamper on hands and feet with his sweet little bottom in the air. He also has lots of words to say. His favorites are please (said "pih! pih!" while signing please and looking hopefully at my chest) and cheese (which he doesn't particularly like to eat, but he likes to say it).

The Blind Leading the Blind

A conversation from our ride home from preschool:

M: Brooke says purple in a funny way. She says "puhpol." (NB: M and E both say purple as "paypul.")

E: Well, she just talks different from us. She's little. (She's older than M.)

M: But she says paypul like puhpol.

E: No she doesn't. She says paypul.

M: No she doesn't. She says puhpol.

E: No she doesn't. She says paypul.

M: Mommy! E's contradicting me!

And here is E's take on everything in the world. We went for a walk tonight with the girls riding bikes. They are not allowed to ride their bikes across streets but have to get off and walk across. Sometimes M doesn't want to, so we tell her to watch how E does it and follow her example. Tonight Marmot Dad was trying to get M to hustle on off her bike and across the road and was trying to throw in some positive reinforcement along the way, so he said, "here, get off your bike and we'll walk across the road and you can be an example for your sister." At which point said sister cried out, shocked and appalled, "No! No one has to be an example for me, ever! I am ALWAYS an example for EVERYONE ELSE!"

So there you have it.

She also informed me that "preschool is so pleasant when Sam and Averie aren't there."

Tooey is getting good at walking, although he needs to start bending his knees.

True Stories

So, many years ago, before E was born, Marmot Dad had a dream that he was holding a little Mongolian boy in his hand and the boy's name was Tajil (or Tadjil, or Tagil, or what have you). We called E Tajil until she was born. Last Saturday I was asked to go to a law conference dinner to help host some of the international guests. I was initially seated at a table with three Mongolians. And one of them was named . . . Tajil. No kidding.

A few weeks ago my ditsy neighbor was over in our yard asking her daughter how school had gone. Daughter said that she was not allowed to eat her marshmallows for a snack at school because they were a sugary snack and their class is not allowed to have sugary snacks at their snack time. Neighbor says, "Marshmallows? I didn't know they had sugar in them." Flabbergasted, I reply, "marshmallows are ALL sugar, and a little bit of gelatin." "Oh great, that's all my two-year-old eats." Sigh. Sad but true. I saw someone over at said neighbor's house a few days ago measuring for an appraisal. I was hoping they were getting ready to sell, but no, they took out a second mortgage to finance the opening of a jewelry store. But we figure either way we win: if the shop does well, they'll move into a big fancy house in a big fancy neighborhood. If it does poorly, they'll move back to Idaho.

Another true story: E ate fish and liked it. Hallelujah. She even asked for some for breakfast.

And finally, E and M have discovered a new favorite game: ponies go to college. I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried.

When Ponies Go Bad

On Thursday while E was at preschool, M and Tuey and I went to one of our favorite haunts, D.I. We scored big time. The girls want nothing more than My Little Ponies for Christmas, but I've been severely griped about spending $5 (each!) for ugly plastic ponies that, frankly, look a little slutty. Well, someone apparently cleaned out their pony collection, and I managed to select six sparkly ponies, one with wings (that always makes the girls happy) for $.25 each. I thought I was so clever to hide them in the basket under a pair of pants. But I guess M has pony radar, because she found them somehow and almost went through the roof with joy. So as a compromise I told her she could select ONE for herself and one for her sister to play with right now, and then we would put the rest away for a surprise for Christmas. So she did, and it worked out pretty well (even though she told E "there are two more of these for you!" but I'm hoping she forgets). And the girls have played with them nonstop since Thursday. I mean nonstop. They even took them over with an extra for their friend Max to play with yesterday.

So today I'm sitting on the floor picking things up when I hear "oh no! A wild animal! Get it!" I look around to see an orange pony and a purple pony holding PISTOLS and they both say "BANG BANG!" and then go to get the wild animals, skin them, and eat them. Yes, pistols. The girls had taken little pegs out of the CD tower (the pegs that hold up the shelves) and shoved them into the ponies' hooves and then taken their maurading gang of ponies around the house to destroy and devour.

Marmot Dad says this is particularly ironic considering the ponies' general effete and lackluster looks and personalities. Aren't they supposed to love everyone and fly around spreading happiness or something? (I missed out [thankfully] on the whole '80s pony phenomenon. MBC??)

I also found the game Operation at DI and have put that away for E's birthday (she's thought she is an underprivileged child ever since she got to play the game at a neighbor's house).

Now here's a recipe (from Moosewood Cookbook) we had at a neighbor's house last week. Very tasty on crusty bread:

grind in food processor or blender:

1 C walnuts

some parsley

add and blend to a smoothish paste:

1 C feta cheese

1/2 C milk

1 clove garlic

pinch cayenne or red pepper flakes

Eat and enjoy. 

Theology

A true conversation from this morning, which Marmot Dad told me "please blog. Please blog now."

E: I was so scared last night until you told me I didn't have a crack in my eye (she dreamed that she did). (pause) Mommy, why did you pray to Heavenly Father that I would only have good dreams, and then I had a bad dream?

Mom: (stymied)

M, the junior theologist: well, maybe Heavenly Father will help you some time (meaning some other time).

E: He helps me all the time.

M: Because he loves little children. (pause) And we are children. (another pause) I dreamed about the Jungle Book last night.

Boys will be boys

Here's what gave Tuey great joy tonight. He was eating applesauce, and he always eats it as messy as he possibly can--puts his sweet little face right down in the bowl and gops. He got some in his nose, and then he thought that was the funniest thing he had ever done. He started grinning and snorting applesauce in and out of his nose and laughing hysterically at himself. I'm afraid we're in for years and years of burping contests and the like at the dinner table.

As I was making the applesauce, E came in and said, "Mommy, what is that delightful smell?" Oh yeah, she knows how to play me.

M took the Lego box outside this evening (somehow evading my watchful gaze), stripped down, filled it with water, and was going to swim (in 55 or 60 degree weather). I nabbed her before she got it completely filled and decided to let her swim to see that I was right about how freezy cold she would be. Instead, she sat on top of it and wee-wee-d into the water. That naughty girl.

How (Not) to be a Domestic Goddess

I get toast tonight as an after-dinner snack for the girls. With fresh, homemade peach jam on top. It was as fresh as it gets. E ate about four bites and then was done. I asked her what the problem was. "I don't want to eat this." "But you asked for it." "But I don't want to eat it. I'm afraid worms might start popping out of it."

Back story:

So a couple of years ago my sister came over and we decided to break out some apricot jam. When we opened the jam, said sister spied a small, well processed worm on the top of the jam. I've been a little leery of apricot jam since then, I must admit. I don't know if E can remember this at all, but she told me the whole story: "and then when Aunt opened the jam a worm came popping out." I assured her there was no popping of worms, just a little worm lying there calmly, waiting to be discarded. But she's not buying it.

The good news is, she remembers in her version of the story that AUNT made the worm-popping jam.

In my own defense, that is the ONLY jar of jam in about 20 years of jam-making that has EVER had a worm in it.

In other news, E asked me yesterday, "will I ever have to wear hoop skirts?" (Do you sometimes HAVE to let an alligator eat you?)

M and Tuey had checkups today. Shots for everyone. M tried soooooo very hard to be stoic. She bit her lip and held in her little tears as long as she could, but it all came bursting out. Tuey just screamed bloody murder. He weighs 19 lbs. -- 75th percentile for height, 3rd for weight, skinny little guy.

Yesterday M was the angel who came to Joseph Smith. She came and asked him, "How do I look, Joseph Smith?" I didn't know there were narcissistic angels in heaven.

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.