Weel Daddies Don’t Eat Quiche

So Emma, at about 3AM the other night, woke up with another bad dream…

Mommy! I had a bad dweeem! (sobbing quietly)
Oh honey, It’s okay, it was just a dream.
The Daddy was twying to fwow me into a bit! (sup-sup)
Oh sweetie, that wasn’t real honey it was just a dream.

ah hah

Would our Daddy throw you into a pit? No. He wouldn’t do that would he?

No (sup) the Weel Daddy wouldn’t do that.
(a little perkier now)
Weel Daddies do Up-High, and Buttup-High, and Hipsup-High, and Towwewr.
(thinking of her favorite games)
THAT what Weel Daddies do!
…
Wheh is the Weel Daddy?

He is sleeping.

Oh. Ok, I want him.

Being 3AM I was sleeping like a runaway train; oblivious yet focused.

As it turns out, this was the third bad dweem she has had about me in the past couple weeks. In the other two I was withholding access to her Bibbit pillow and pulling the fuzz off of her Bibbit pillow respectively. Pulling the fuzz off her Bibbit could be construed as nightmarish under almost any circumstances.

So tonight at bedtime she brought it up again:

You the Weel Daddy.
Yes, I am the Real Daddy.
What do Pwetend Daddies do?
Well, that is a good question. But, if they are pretend Daddies can’t they pretty much do anything you want ’em to?
Uh huh…like twy to fwow me into a bit.

Yikes, kid! Knock it off with the Pwetend Daddy fwowing you into a bit already?
I didn’t do it and, frankly, I don’t even know what IT is?

As it turns out, “fwow me into a bit” has been further explained at some length and seems to be her way of saying something related to me (I mean Pwetend Daddy) trying to bite (bit) her big toe. That is really kind of a focus for a lot of things lately. It is where the really big coughs come from and the place that the last scrap of food goes at dinner…I suppose it’s really just ‘land’s end’ on her body.

Anyway, I haven’t exactly gotten to the bottom of “fwow me into a bit” yet and even Abby gave me a quizzical shrug when I looked to her for much needed help.

I guess there is no direct translation.

one in the hand

We all know that one bird in the hand is worth two in the bush but did you ever wonder how they got around? Or which came first…the bird or the egg?
This post will answer both of these questions in the way only a 3 year old can muster.

Today, trying to see the bird on her dress, upside down and backwards, Emma said;

I can’t see it Mommy?!
It’s right there. There are his eyes, his legs, his head, and his beak…do you see it now?
Yep…but where are his flaps?

With that, let’s move on to the question of origins and the relationship between predator and prey.

I think this evening we proved that the egg definitely came first and that the bird should be quite happy that 3 year old mermaids weren’t around on Easter when the egg was first laid because otherwise the bird wouldn’t have made it.

As proof, Emma and Abby had an Easter-Egg-dying-fest that was more like a feeding frenzy. Did I say mermaid before? Let us update this image to suit the circumstance, shall we?.
Get in your mind some cute little round fluffy…sharks! just moseying along, giggling and chewing on some licorice. There are perfect little blond twisps of hair flying about…and then some fool chums the water with this

“Easter Eggs!”

Now watch their behavior change, they make ever-tightening circles, they briefly dash madly about bumping off of things nearby to get their bearings and then, once they have zeroed in on the pungent smell of egg dye — they sense their prey is near; it is afraid — they pounce, without mercy.

After that; a confusing flurry, a bloodbath, all in the brightest blood you will ever see.
It is not for the faint of heart.

Sharks usually win.
But what a cute wittow shark.
Don't be fooled by their cuteness.

Three dozen eggs; colored, cracked, dyed, and stacked, in 15 minutes and 20 seconds…flat.
I know because my camera (time stamp range) tells me so.
For you non-math types out there (I include myself) that comes to a rate of 2.35 eggs per minute.

Don’t be fooled, these sharks are craft; this is the last thing you see before you dye.
They are fearless, egg-thirsty beasts.

This is the last thing you see...before you dye.

That happens

After I retold a story, at bedtime, about Biscuit (the cat) chasing Mr. Greypants (the rabbit) fruitlessly the other day Emma had her own story to tell me. I can’t do it justice but I want to remember it later, when too many work days have turned my brain to Limburger.

Mr. Greypants chased Basket around and then he chased him all’away down to here (pointing to her big toenail).
And then he wanted eats him but he didn’t bucause they were BOTH hungry and they wanted some FOOD!
(long pause to see what I thought about that and then emphatically)
That happened.

not your typical i liner

Today, while coloring, Emma struggled to “write” her name. Her squiggles have good form but I would guess that she is beginning to recognize that it isn’t the same as what Abby is writing.

She quickly conceded and asked for help from Mommy but this time there was a little more up her sleeve than just syrup.

Mommy! I CAN’T! You do it?!
Do you want me to write your name?
mmmhmmm

[writing…]

[emphatic] You need a line on theaw!
A line? What…here?
mmhmm…so they don’t fall down!

As anyone can plainly see; letters, names in particular, need a line under them so they don’t fall down the page.

Skipping the burpee challenge

I have decided, after some good news Tuesday night, that I will have to skip the burpee challenge this time around. Sorry but I am going to have to pre-emptively drop out of the burpee challenge and instead focus my extra energies on an endeavor many may call foolish but I call just good-sense; joining the gestalt of the online world as a contributing editor to a major online information source; eHow.com.

Today I announce that I have joined eHow.com as the Hobbies, Games, and Toys Editor.
My innagural article can be found here.

Enjoy.

BURPEE!

So I am starting the 50/100 day burpee challenge on April 1st.

I contacted a few of you via email at first and I figure I will hit a few more here. If you want to join in send me an email and I will add you as a collaborator on A Fools Burpee Challenge 2009 site. Bookmark it if you like.

This site will be a place we can commiserate with each other and track each others progress. It will also tell you how many burpees you have to do for a specific day.
I dunno, maybe it will just be another dead-end of a site, or maybe it will be useful.

Anyway, those of you that have said yes so far?…expect an email to join this site as a collaborator.

A garden

Yes…a garden.

Slow down just a bit now (Heidicoaster) it isn’t completely done but it is close. The only good place we had to put a garden was very rocky on top with clay beneath so we went ‘elevated’. I looked over the options at the local hardware store and was floored by the cost of 1x12x8foot boards.* So I trekked over to Second Use thinking I may find something there and did I ever. They had tons of solid doors that were A) the right size and B) the right cost…$5 each. Which, by the way, was dang near the cost of one lineal foot of 1x12x8ft hemlock.

So making a long story short, we have two big vegetable garden planters in our side yard with VERY decorative boxes. Now they just need some dirt, seeds, water, and sun.

The latter would be most appreciated by me.

Boxing Day

All Boxed In

* Wood these days is lower quality and more expensive. <sigh>

Let’s go party

Well, this one almost speaks for itself…but I find a little back-story is (always) necessary.

Barbies are ubiquitous at our house.

Easy enough to tell these ones apart!

The Mermaids are always asking for one or the other and in all honesty, I can’t tell most of them apart. Especially in the dark…and The Mermaids can.

Tonight was bath night and one or more Barbies usually join The Mermaids for a bath. After a while Barbies hair starts to get, shall we say, ripe. So tonight was wash-Barbies-hair night.
When I saw them all together I thought it the opportune time to document the names (aka test the veracity of there actually being 19 names for 19 Barbies). I was also flabberstounded that there were actually 19 of them.

If I felt so inclined I could reference this document when Ariel, Jessica, BeachBarbie, Ariel, Erica, or Jessica is requested in the future. (You’ll see what I mean.)

Probably won’t…but I could…if I wanted to.

So, share a minute with me to study The Annotated Barbie (180KB).

* Please note, this is a family friendly blog and Barbies in our house regularly dress like this, not just on wash-Barbies-hair night. Maybe it is because they always want to be ready for a bath? Who knows. I guess I could ask The Mermaids, I suppose they know.

ahhhhhhhhhh

My wireless network is now
* 100% functional
* with whole house coverage
* screaming broadband speeds
* and is adequately secure
* like it was about 6 months ago

And now I just jinxed myself; but right now I rejoice.

Rejoice is the right word too if you consider it carefully. I have transcended merely fixing something, it is more than just having un-broken something, it is a relief like waking up from that nightmare to realize you do still have your arm; there is a sense that I have formed life out of dirt.

It stems, I think…nay I KNOW, from the total domination of a technological glitch with a majestic shift from the frustrated and inferior servitude of Yes / No / Cancel. Indeed, we observe an epic shift over to the triumphant superiority of organic matter, using original thought, ferreting out the correct alignment of cold and unfeeling magnetic strips and silicone wafers…even if it did mean just following all those same unfeeling directions from start to finish without deviation like I swear I did the first time before I had to go and get all clever and make it so our laptop was a powerpalegic for six months while I indignantly blamed firmware upgrades.