Like When I'm Sleeping...

Earlier today I was going over vocabulary words with the babe. I write down a few 3-4 letter words and she attempts to read them. Being that she's only four and can't really "read", we do our best by sounding out the letters in each word I give her. One of the words I gave her today was "END".

She sounds it out as usual:

"E-Na, Wait"
"En-A, No, Wait"
"Enn-Da, Oh!"
"Ena Da!, Right?"

I look at her and ask "What in the world is Ena Da?"

After she stops laughing hysterically, she says "you know...like when I'm sleeping I'm ena da bed"

I think she should get an A+ based on humor alone.

Join me at Urban in Suburban, my new blog where there's a lot less poop and a lot more sense.

I Want To Go Home!

Just a quick note before I head out the door.

This weekend we went upstate for Mother's Day and stayed at an all-inclusive resort. The front desk gave us bracelets to wear in order to be served in the dining room. When we were heading out to dinner, I grabbed the bracelets and told everyone they had to put them on. Angelina asks "What are the bracelets for?" I replied "For dinner". She stares as me and screams "What?!? Bracelets for dinner? Yuck! I want to go home!" and immediately starts crying.

I laughed, we ate...chicken.

Join me at Urban in Suburban, my new blog where there's a lot less poop and a lot more sense.

Too Much, Literally.

Just a quick memo so we don't forget this night too soon. We just put Angelina to bed and, as usual, she's fighting the sleep looking for ways to stay up just.five.more.minutes.

This is a new one. She's upset at me. Really upset. Why? Because I won't sit on her bed and count to 2 million with her. Apparently I "never do anything fun!!"

That's all.

Evolving Poop

I know, I'm poopy, I haven't kept up with this blog as originally promised. Over the last few months I've just been going back and forth with the whole idea of this blog, blogging in general actually. I'm still not sure I want the commitment, but I like knowing it's here to be able to jot down extra special moments like these...

Today we were driving home from Brooklyn on the Belt Parkway and the kid and I were admiring the clouds on what seemed to be the nicest day, weather-wise, in about 2,768 days. She says to me, "How did God create the sky?". I went completely blank and couldn't muster up any answer whatsoever. So I asked her to use her imagination and tell me how she thinks it was created. We went through ideas of marshmallows, food coloring, water paints, angel tears and so on. She finally brought up the fact that the blue must come from the water on land because that's how the rain falls. While she was on the right track, she's four, and couldn't elaborate on how the water actually gets up there to begin with. So we thought for a while.

"Eureka!" she says, "there must be an invisible pipe that goes from the ocean to the clouds letting the water up until the clouds get too full and it rains." I was amazed at how logical that seemed. This is the most well thought out, creative, answer I've ever heard her put together, ever. All of a sudden, she hit's me with intelligence beyond her years and beyond my imagination.

"Actually Mom, the pipe must be the color of the sky otherwise we'd see the water on it's way up".

That sentence has been playing over and over in my head all afternoon. I'm just amazed.

Poop Low Down

To encourage the flow of poop and to help me transition back into writing, I've decided to do a weekly interview with the Kid. Something funny will eventually come out of this, I just have to keep on pushin'


Me: With the holiday season upon us, can you tell me which holiday is your absolute favorite?

Kid: Um. Winter! Winter because you can build snowmen. Also, Christmas is in Winter and I just love Christmas.

Me: What about Thanksgiving?

Kid: Yah, that's a good one, too. It's yummylicious, I think. Is it?

Me: Yes, it is. Tell me what you're thankful for this year, because last year you were only thankful for mushrooms.

Kid: Silly...mushrooms? I said that? Well, this Thanksgiving I'm thankful for you.

Me: Are you enjoying school?

Kid: Yes, let's talk about something else.

Me: Ok, what about after school? What do you plan on being when you grow up?

Kid: After preschool I want to be an architect. Probably on a Saturday.

Me: Interesting. What kinds of things would you build when you're officially an architect after preschool on Saturdays?

Kid: I would build houses and parks. They build houses, mom. I'd make parks with swings, slides and a beach. All the houses would have swings in them, too.

Me: How much would you charge to build someone a house?

Kid: 15 bricks.

Me: Anything else you'd like to add in before we wrap up this interview?

Kid: No. I'd like to play my harmonica now. But first I have to use the potty, are we really done?

Me: Yes, thank you for your time.

Kid: No problem.

Dear Santa

Mentally, I'm not 100% back into blogger mode, so I'm cheating today. Here's the image of the letter to Santa that the kid wrote today. She spoke, I typed, no editing done. This one really doesn't qualify as "poop", but it's too cute to not share.

Poop - The Early Years

My first blog entry, here at least. This time is different though. I won't go off course, I will stick to the poop and nothing but the poop. Ok, that was lame but I couldn't resist, sorry.

Anyway, those who know me...hey. For those who don't, here's a brief explanation of why I'm here, what all the "poop" is about, and where I'm going with it.

I was a blogger long ago. Not too long ago, but long enough for me to have forgotten what the pain was like and delusional bored brave enough to have another stab at it. My original intentions were to talk candidly about motherhood, I strayed too far and got lost along the way. I learned that I'm not that awesome when it comes to writing about myself. Fine, lesson learned. So, here I am to talk about the next best thing, my daughter (she's really the first best thing, but that doesn't flow as nicely, I don't think.)

She's a character. She's three. She says lots of funny poop. Most of which I forget within the span of a laundry cycle. So to ensure that I get to fully embarrass her (which is a motherly right, you know) on her wedding day in 74 years, my plans are to journal all the poop she says and present it to her on a platter. A silver platter of course, it is a wedding after all.

Just for the record, I'm not usually one to say "poop", more of a French hussy type of gal, but again, she's 3, it's a wedding, I'm keeping it classy.

Enjoy.

P.S. Most of my posts will be straight from my Facebook status updates, it's a bad habit, so if you want to skip all the bull..poop, feel free to friend me HERE.