sleep is for sissies.

At this moment both of my kids are asleep in their own beds.

That's big. Real big.

Lately, we've been forced to do the whole "Family Bed" thing, and I've gotta say, it's getting o.l.d.
I'm not a fan.
I'm not a willing participant.
In fact, I would reaaally like my bed back.

I love my kids. I adore my kids. I want to eat their cute little cheekies for breakfast.
But I want to sleep in my bed alone.
With my husband.
And no one else.

We begin each night as a resolute front. David and I are a team. We're in this together. We're the adults. We're the boss (es). We will keep our pint-sized opponents at bay.

We brace ourselves for the weeping and gnashing of teeth that inevitably follows our declaration of "It's time to go to bed", and stand firm despite urgent pleas of "Just one more minute!".

We will NOT back down. Every child will sleep in his/her own bed ALL night.
Or for at least 6 hours.

David takes the girl.
I take the boy.

Divide and conquer. Victory is within view.

Our regimented routine is laid out perfectly. Deviation will most certainly equal defeat.
PJ's?
check.
Cuddles?
check.
Story?
check.
Good night.

On the Eastern Front:
David faces fierce negotiations. Agreement is made. There will be just one more bed time story.

At the West: I battle whining and lost pacis.

At the Eastern Battle Field:
David struggles to stand strong in the face of fierce opposition.

On the Western Front:
The boy's restlessness finally gives way to fatigue.

At the rendezvous point, I realize that David has not returned from his Battle Station/Thingy/Place/whatever you call it.
Despite the danger of re-entering hostile territory, I must leave no man behind.
I'm going in.

Very carefully, I nudge David.
He awakes looking grateful.
Crisis averted.
We quietly retreat to our quarters feeling quite proud of our hard won victory.

But oh how the prideful fall.

Our opponents are formidable.
And sneaky.
Bery, Bery sneaky.
(I think you underestimate the sneakiness).

Hours later, bleary eyed and un-caffeinated, we hear the enemy's battle cry.
Our defenses are weak.
We have no choice but to surrender.

Another battle lost as we sleep with toddler feet in our face and cricks in our necks.
In a FULL sized bed.

No. That's not an exaggeration. Just a slightly altered version of the truth.
The truth is much more frightening.

that's what little brothers are for.

Me:
Why does Charlie have a wipey on his head?
Avery:
I don't know.
----------------------------------------------------

Me:
(laughing) What is going on here?
Avery:
Bay Chahlie is a Bayayina (Baby Charlie is a ballerina)
Me:
Oh...
-----------------------------------------------------

Me:
Um...
Avery:
Bay Chahlie needs a ticket.
Me:
Of course he does.

---------------------------------------------------

Me:
Avery. Charlie can't have your flip flop.
Avery:
Why?
Me:
'Cause it's gross.
Avery:
Why?
Me:
Because it is.
Avery:
Why?
Me:
Because there are germs on the floor and... Never mind.

everything goes better with

Pock Pock.

Pock Pock is a culinary delight commonly known to the... common... as Ketchup. If you are a little bit fancy, you might call it Catsup, but only the truly refined refer to it as Pock Pock.

According to Wikipedia:
Ketchup is often used with french fries, hamburgers, sandwiches, macaroni and cheese, eggs, and grilled or fried meat.

Poor Wikipedia Writers.
Sad, little Simpletons.

As the world's foremost authority on Pock Pock consumption, Avery contends that Pock Pock is far from a mere condiment.
While meant to be used with any and everything, it can also be a main course in itself.

When used to it's full potential, Pock Pock is nothing short of magical.

With just a little of the red stuff, Toddler-Scorned foods metamorphose into acceptable fare.
"Sfelly" foods take on a delightfully pleasing aroma.
"Gwoss" foods become digestible.
Brown, uninteresting foods transform into bright and alluring cuisine.

Absolutely magical.

Exhibit A
Grey meat?
"Gwross!"


Pock Pock drowned meat?
Oh yeah...

Exhibit B
Corn?
"I don't want it!"


Corn a la Pock Pock?
"Yummy to my tummy!"

Exhibit C
Strawberries?
Wait, I thought you liked strawberries...

One good thing + another good thing = 2 good things.
(How did 'ya like that fancy mathi-ness I threw in there?)


I can't be sure, but this video may have been our earliest documentation of Pock Pock love. Look how leeeetle she was. Oh goodness.

God bless America for creating the greatest condiment of all time.
And Great Brittan.
And the Heinz People.

I owe you BIG time.

the rules of fashion

So the other day I was perusing the clothing in Target when I stumbled upon these:

Yes. They ARE bloomers.
No. I wasn't in the children's section.

They kinda look like these, don't 'cha think?

A little fashion rule I like to follow: If my 2 year old owns it, I probably shouldn't.

Well...I say that, but come to think of it...

I do own this little handy guy (which I made myself. with my SEWING MACHINE. I'm just sayin'):


and it does slightly resemble this:

In fact, I'm pretty sure that the table full of college kids sitting next to us at dinner the other night thought I was wearing exactly that.

So --new rule:
If my 2 year-old owns it, I probably shouldn't.
Except gigantic bibs. Those are fine.

"a" is for avery

I found this teeny little letter "A" during my Goodwill adventure a week or so ago and decided to do a little mod podgin'.
Spell check didn't like the word "Mod Podgin'", but it IS a real thing.
I'm positive.
Cause I'm obsessed with it.

Here's how it looked when I started:



Here's how it looks now.



And here it is in it's new home in Avery's room.


I loooove Mod Podge.
Which reminds me...

I found a little blog called World of Mod Podge the other day and I had to start following it. Immediately.

It is quite possibly the funnerest Mod-Podge-dedicated blog in the whole wide world.

Oh, Spell Check - you reaally didn't like the word "funnerest", did you?
I'll bet that really ticked you off, didn't it?
That's what you get for being so bossy all the dad-gum time.

In fact, I've got more where that came from.

Take this Spell Check:
Mod Podginess
Mod Podgery
Mod Podgilicious
Mod Podgily
Mod Podgiosity

Ooh. I really like the word Mod Pogiosity.
I think that's my favorite.

Wow. This post is going downhill quickly.
I've really got to get more sleep.

festival fun

Last weekend, some of my girlfriends and I took our kiddos to a local festival for a little play date action.

Usually the Southern heat creeps in like a soggy wool blanket sometime in early May and doesn't leave until late September.
It gets seriously, mind-blowingly hot here.

Mercifully, Lady Heatwave gave us a break just in time for our outing. We definitely needed it, since 3 of the little munchkins were under a year old.

The perfect weather made our walk from the house to the park actually bearable. Sure it took us a million years to walk 3 blocks, but that had more to do with the fact that we were walking with an entire preschool class of kids than anything else.


We like to stop and smell the flowers around here. Literally.

The kiddos decided to bust a move as soon as we got there.
I wish I was that uninhibited.
Doesn't that look fun?


Before chowing down on some yummy, over-priced, super-fattening festival food, we did a little craft booth browsing.
We found a vendor selling these cool tire horse things.

Miller and Carter each gave the tire horse a little test run.
We tried to convince Avery to hop on with Carter, but she wouldn't have it. I'm not sure if she was more afraid of the tire swing, or the vendor's raspy smoker voice.

For whatever reason, Avery preferred to watch from the sidelines. While TWIRLING HER HAIR. Argh! Where the heck is Mybecca!?!


A group of middle school cheerleaders had a face painting and nail painting booth in the kiddy section.
Avery, of course, just had to have a pedicure.

She loved having her toenails painted.



While Miller and Carter chose the face/hand painting option.

Poor Miller was hoping to get a car painted on his face, but the only options were some scary 1970's sedans.
Doesn't every 3 year old boy dream of owning a 1970's station wagon one day?

His mommy suggested a baseball instead.



After the body art session, we headed over for some fun and games.
It took Miller 2.5 seconds to smear his "baseball" and one meellion years to carefully choose his prize.
Little boys are awesome.


The girls scored big time when they won fancy, glittery batons.

First, they played with them like batons, but later they became magic (or as Avery says, "maggick") wands.
Clever, huh?
The girls put on a S.H.O.W. for us.
Fancy, fancy moves.
Lots of jumping.
Lots of squealing.
Fancy.



All those crazy moves made the girls a little parched, so we headed over to the sno cone booth for a little recharging. 'Cause sugar and food coloring is the perfect afternoon snack.

I love the way that Miller is looking at Avery in this picture. Too cute!


And that's how you know it's time to go home.

Goodwill Party

I gave it another go.

Because I'm crazy.
and because I love a bloggy party.
AND because Sarah called me a wus.
Me.
I'm sooo not a wus.
and just to prove it, I faced my fears head on and went back to the scariest place on earth.

The place where you can actually purchase things like this oh-so-modish piece of art:

or this faaaancy shoe doo dad:

this creepy head thingy:

or the ever present Goodwill staple:

You can get your very own foot-fungus-making machine:

or perhaps something a little more practical...

ugh. I just threw up a little in my mouth.

Just when I thought all hope was gone, like a beacon of light, a lovely little gem entered the room via squeaky rolly cart.

No. Not that.
That is the picture that you would see if Avery were writing this post.
She was so pumped about that crazy cash register. Especially when she found DORA play money inside.
Jackpot.

No - this is what I'm talking about...
Helloooo Little Lady!

$9.99 seemed a little steep for Goodwill to me, but it was too cute to pass up.

The best part? Since it was already painted, all it needed was a little cleaning, a little sanding... and a little more sanding.
So - I put my little munchkin to work. Kathy Lee style.

What a busy little worker bee!

Keep working! More sanding! More!

So easy even a two-year-old can do it.

I found myself covered in white dust after the sanding was over, but felt some serious satisfaction with the end result. I really enjoy painting and sanding furniture. It's kind of fun.
Every piece of furniture I "antique" brings me one step closer to getting the nerve up to distress my armoire...

See? I'm not a wus. I'm not. I'm not. I'm not!