Magic

Aug14

We were invited to a friend’s house for dinner and a magic show. Masterminded by their oldest daughter, (who is a few years older than Ivy) it was quite a show. There were tickets, colored lights, card tricks, assistants, disappearing quarters, costumes, rope tricks, audience participation and small red balls that seemed to have a life of their own, all delivered with a remarkable amount of showmanship.

Needless to say my kids were enthralled and amazed. The entire drive home I heard about the magic show and this morning I was pulled upstairs to be treated to Ivy’s first ever magic show.

There were play-mobile figures that appeared and disappeared.There was a trick “wand” that, while clearly copied from a magician we had seen early in the summer, was executed hilariously.And there was a lot of under the table work and closed eyes from cooperative audience members.

At the conclusion of the show Ivy admitted to me that she was just hiding things under the table. I suggested that perhaps she could ask her friend to show her a trick. Ivy was quiet, then said with a sigh, “Yeah, maybe one day I’ll have a real magic wand.”

And there she had me speechless. Wishing for a Wand

Unsure whether to find an easy sleight of hand to teach her to bring a smile back to her disappointed face or support her belief in the magic of it all, I simply thanked her for a great show. My decision was promptly rewarded with a big smile and news that she’d be performing again tomorrow, when Dad was home from work.

Poor Jane

Jul22

As John braved the chilly evening, swimming out into deeper water with the older girls, Jane and I ran in and out of the shallows.

But before too long the two of us were chilly and had moved on to playing in the sand. Digging holes, building castles…

Me: “Look Jane! Now it has water all around it, like a castle with a moat, or an island.”

Jane: ” NO! It’s a LIBRARY!!!”

Soon Jane was cold, not even a sand library could keep her by the water, and off she went to the play structure at the edge of the beach.

Jane was happily playing on the slide.

Ivy, Clara and John were happily swimming out in the cold water.

A young park employee was happily(?) using a tractor to haphazardly move picnic tables about.

I was happily sitting on the sand.

And then Jane erupted with screams of terror.

“MOM! MOM! I scared! MOM! I scared!”

I ran to her side.

Jane pointed one little, shaking finger at the park employee, who was still bouncing about on a tractor, curly hair tucked under a bandanna, and cried:

“I scared of the pirate!!!”

Poor Jane.

She was so scared of the pirate.

She was so scared and I, her rotten mother, could hardly keep it together long enough to calm her down before dissolving into a fit of giggles on the beach.

Poor Jane.

It Was Time For The Roosters To Go

May20

Recently I posted about having too many roosters. Today I wanted to elaborate a bit on that part between having too many roosters and new package’s in the freezer.

Bare with me it won’t be as bad as it sounds.

…it was time for all the roosters to go.

And so, in an activity not usually reserved for Easter weekend, John and I butchered the extra roosters while the girls watched. The kids said goodbye to the pretty ones and pointed out the mean one that should go first. They drifted in and out, asked questions, refused my offer to share in the plucking and before it was all cleaned up they even learned a bit about hearts and intestines, lungs and gizzards.

We have been butchering our own chickens (and deer and an occasional turkey, duck or lamb) ourselves for their entire lives and so I didn’t have any concerns with the older girls, they’d been through this all before. But this was Jane’s first chicken butchering experience that she was old enough to really take in so I kept a bit of a closer watch on her. Perched on a stool through much of the process she gave a few birds one last pet before I handed them off to John and his axe. She asked a few questions, played with a few feathers and eventually left to play with Ivy who had declared the whole process, “Boring.” Perhaps it was because she was introduced to the scene at the tender age of two or perhaps it was because the rest of the family was unfazed but Jane seemed to take it all in stride.

A few nights later Jane was having a bit of trouble settling down to sleep. And by that I mean she was popping out of bed like a Jack-in-the-box every 45 seconds with a new ridiculous request. Having exhausted my entire line up of lets-go-to-sleep-now tricks I tried to give her a little pep talk about everyone who was sleeping.Your sisters are sleeping, the dogs are sleeping, the cats are sleeping…

Me: “…The chickens are sleeping, they are good chickens. I said “night ladies” and closed the door and they aren’t going to get up they are just going to sleep in their coop all night.” (Yes, I know, look who’s being ridiculous now. It was ridiculous sounding and ridiculous to think it would work – which it didn’t. Clearly I was desperate!)

Jane: “Then why Dad knock them?” (I’m sure you can see where this is going but it took me a bit.)

Me: “Knock them?”

Jane: “Yeah, why Dad knock them?”

Me: “What do you mean?” (A long day, it had been a very long day.)

Jane: “On the table with a knife.”

Me: “Ooooohhhhh! When Dad killed the roosters?”(Now that I’ve finally caught on I’ve immediately started to worry that perhaps she was not as okay with the process as I thought.)

Jane: “Yeah.”

Me: “They were naughty roosters.”(I’m still grasping at straws as well as panicking thinking that not only have I traumatized her with chicken butchering but now she’s never going to go to sleep! What have I done?!?)

Jane: “Cause they were peckin’ me?”

Me: “Yup.”

Jane: “Those naughty roosters soup?”

Me: “You got it!”

Jane: “Okay.” (Phew!)

Jane happy with her answer curled up under her blankets and stayed there for three minutes before she came downstairs with a new problem.

I’m starting to despair that my two year old will ever learn to stay in her bed and go to sleep but I’m proud to say she knows just where her soup comes from.

Rope Swing

Apr30

Lately I’ve been quizzing the kids in anticipation of my yearly “What’s your favorite…” posts and while those will be coming soon I couldn’t resist sharing this answer a bit early.

Me: “Clara, what’s your favorite thing to do outside?”

Clara: “Swing on my favorite part of the rope swing!…” Clara on rope swing “…I always think I’m going to marry it. I have dreams of marrying a real rope swing!”

Empty Threats

Apr14

After threatening to stay up all night if one of her sisters couldn’t sleep with her in her room, Ivy then told me that I had to let her get up and color or she wouldn’t be able to stay up all night.

Nice try girl.

Nice try.

In other news: Jane told me she couldn’t go to sleep because the trees were cold.

Then Jane told me she desperately needed yet another sip of water for her parched throat that was possibly, but not likely, dry from the enormous amount of talking and yelling she had been doing or there would be no way she could ever fall asleep. Or at least I’m sure that’s what, when translated out of two year old speak, she was attempting to convey.

I said, “No.”

I said, “You’ve already had enough water.”

I said, “You have to go to sleep now!”

Then she whined and complained and got out of bed and caused general havoc while making noises at decibels that were without a doubt contributing to the aforementioned parched throat as well as threatening to wake her siblings.

I said, “OK! FINE! I’m getting the water.”

*sigh*

Nice try Mom.

Nice try.

Who?!?

Mar20

Ivy, as usual, was the informer – “MOM, there is pee on the carpet” (Of course it was the carpet, it’s always the carpet)

Clara, predictably, denied all knowledge of anything.

Jane when questioned, following her older sisters teachings, blamed someone else: “It was the snowman.”

Me: “What did the snowman do?”

Jane: “It peed”

I was not about to take that info at face value.

In addition to the fact that I’ve never seen a peeing snowman this information was coming from the same girl who earlier told me that, “Dad going to shoot winter.” Jane is not the most reliable source in the household.

But, as I cleaned up the puddle, I started thinking.

I knew the cats were locked in a different bedroom.

The older girls claimed innocence that I had no reason to doubt.

Jane, a much more likely culprit, was wearing a diaper and she only knows how to get them off on her own not put them back on.

The dogs were outside.

John was outside.

I was sure I hadn’t done it…

So, who am I to doubt my little girl. Maybe Jane was right, maybe it was the snowman.

And, if there was indeed a peeing snowman in the house, of course he peed on the carpet – it’s always the carpet.

m.o.t.h.e.r.h.o.o.d.

Mar17

Did you know motherhood actually stands for Millions Of Terrible Horrendous Evils Roused Her Out Of Dozing?

Previous to children, I would say my worst waking up experience was when my Dad slowly dripped cold water on the face of my morning hating, teenage self. And, sadly, I deserved it.

Then motherhood happened – it turns out that’s not even close to the worst way to be woken up.

Here are just five of the millions of terrible horrendous evils that will wake you up that I have discovered since becoming a mother:

1) The sound of a crying child anytime within the first hour of sleep. (Things in the Night)

2) The movement of the sleep crawling baby that’s about to dive off the end of the bed. (The Disease Part III The Sleep Crawler)

3) Having a small child gently touch your face. It sounds innocent, it’s not. (Nnnn…ummm… OK.)

4) A small child’s finger stuffed up your nostril. (This is the most terrible way to wake up ever. Ever. But when Jane did it to Ivy in the car I about died laughing. I might be a terrible person.)

5) The words: “MOM THE FREEZE POPS AREN’T FROZEN ANYMORE!!!” ( Just Imagine)

Recently I learned a new terrible phrase to wake up to.

The new horrendous phrase was delivered by Clara in an irritatingly cheerful voice:

“Mom, you’re going to be disappointed you have to clean this up.”

It was a phrase so evil in it’s possibilities that it panicked even my still asleep brain. So, while flashing through the many terrible scenarios that might be awaiting me, I clawed my way to consciousness while mumbling, “Whaaat?”

Clara answered me with a smile: “I barfed in my bed. I was just petting Cassey and then she scampered away.”

I listened, deeply regretting the fact that John was already gone for the day and didn’t move. She wasn’t in the barf, the cat was smart enough to leave the area, nothing was going to get any worse than it was if I just didn’t move for two more minutes.

“Mom, why aren’t you getting up? Jane already put a blanket over it!”

I got up.

It didn’t help the day.

Later Clara accidentally almost killed the same cat, (we now know that we don’t tie ropes around our sisters’ necks OR the cats’ necks) Ivy came down with the virus the rest of us had that I thought we were done with and Jane went to bed with the cries of “I WANNA COOOKIE!” still ringing through the house.

Perhaps the day was the result of the universe getting even at me for laughing at Ivy, or perhaps it’s just m.o.t.h.e.r.h.o.o.d..

Thanks to Perfection Pending for hosting the Manic Mondays blog hop, click on the button below to see more or join in!

Confetti

Feb25

Do you ever having trouble conveying the bigger picture?

That’s the sort of trouble I’m having with Clara and if I don’t figure out how to get the message across our house will be filled with confetti.

You see when she cuts things into teeny tiny pieces with scissors and I say, “Don’t cut things into teeny tiny pieces with scissors”, the next day – she cuts things into teeny tiny pieces with scissors.

To her credit (?) she has yet to cut the same kind of thing into teeny tiny pieces. Only once have we cut up, a bracelet, a flower, a list, a note, a picture Ivy drew or, most memorable, a nightgown that her little sister was wearing.

No matter the item or my response I get the same reaction from her every time, it goes something like this…

Me: Clara, what are all these little red things?

Clara: Oh that was just your ribbon from your chocolate.

Me: But Clara, I was going to keep the ribbon and and use it for something else.

Clara: Oh.

Me: Clara, you need to ask before you cut something up!

Clara: Sorry, Mom.

I walk off irritated and a few moments later Clara shows up with a small pitying smile on her face and a hug for me as she says,

Next time I won’t, Mom. Next time Dad gives you chocolates for Valentines day and they have a red ribbon I won’t cut it up, OK!

She gives me a hug and another smile and a look as if to say, “I don’t know why it matters so much but I’ll humor you and promise never to do it again if it makes you feel better but it’s really sad for you that you have nothing better to worry about.”

And she won’t.

I’m sure that the next time John gives me chocolates on Valentines day that are wrapped with a red ribbon she won’t cut it into pieces without asking. And the next time Jane is wearing a monkey nightgown she won’t try to cut a dress for her doll out of it.

But if the ribbon is blue and the nightgown has horses…

Confetti.

Honesty and Chocolate Cake

Feb17

At this moment in time I think it’s quite possible that Jane is too honest for her own good.

I was making a chocolate cake for a friend’s birthday when Jane piped up, ” I help you?” Fellow chocoholic that I am, I knew that “help” did not in this instance mean that she wanted to actually help. But rather, “Hey mom I’d like to sit on that stool and eat all the chocolate that you’ll let me.” Sympathetic to her plea, I set her up on a stool and gave her a frosting beater to lick. But soon she was eyeing what I was doing.

I’m not going to lie, what I was doing was both interesting and delicious. I was in the final stages of assembling the Chocolate Quake Cake from Sprinkle Bakes. After baking the cake and making the frosting, you’ll have used three(!) full cups of cocoa powder. In making the chocolatey wonder, first you stack and frost two layers like any normal cake but then a third layer is cut up into random chunks and stuck it all over the entire thing. Sounds crazy, tastes awesome. I highly recommend it!

But, back to the kitchen. Jane’s stool is at the counter, just out of reach of the stove where I am working. (Not a coincidence.) Jane turns her chocolate covered face and sees the giant pile of cake chunks I’ve made, drops her frosting beater and asks if I’ll scoot her stool closer. Now I know all she wants is to get within arms reach of the pile of cake chunks which I’ve already started sticking on the cake as fast as I can. But I ask anyway. “Jane are you going to snitch my cake if I scoot you closer?” And she, honest girl that she is, says “YEAH!” and I explain (still frantically sticking on pieces) that this cake is for our friend and we can’t eat it yet because we are going to give it to her for her birthday. But if she can just lick her frosting beater and hold on, perhaps I’ll have a few leftovers at the end.

Jane is two. This schpeal of mine results in nothing but the full on hysterical cry of the deprived child – for at least five seconds – before she sniffs, sobers and asks politely if I’ll move her stool closer. “If I move your stool closer what will you do?” “EAT CAKE!” Again, we go through it, nope, can’t eat this cake, short hysterical crying, sobering, sniffles, polite asking. “Sure, I’ll move your stool but you can’t touch the cake.” “I NEED CAKE!” And while I completely understand the sentiment, I repeated that we couldn’t eat this cake – yet. Again with the crying. Again the polite asking. Again the refusal. And again, and again.

Let me tell you, I have made this cake before and I don’t remember it taking near so long to stick all those little chunks on top last time.

Eventually, I covered the cake, we called in the sisters, had a mini chocolate cake feast with the leftovers and life was good.

You know, I appreciate her honesty, I love that she asks politely even in the middle of a tantrum and I hope she keeps those wonderful qualities for life. But I just gotta think it would have been easier on us both had she just snitched a piece of cake without saying anything.

Today I’m linking up with Manic Mondays where Perfection Pending and others share parenting stories. Not to complain, of course, but to share the crazy!