Always Remember That

Mallory: Mommy, will you read me this book? Me: Sure. The Animal Alphabet . How about, I'll say the letters and you name the animal in the picture. Mallory: Okay! Me: Here we go. A is for... Mallory: Lizard! Me: Well, actually, that's an armadillo. Good try! B is for... Mallory: Cow! Me: Yeah, that's a buffalo. They're kind of like cows, though, so you were close. C is for... Mallory: Moose! Me: Mallory, that's a camel . It doesn't even look like a moose. Let's move on. D is for... Mallory: Whale! Me: Well, okay, you're in the ballpark, but that's a dolphin, actually. E is for... Mallory: Bird! Me: That's a kind of bird called an eagle. That was a good guess. F is for... Mallory: Wolf! Me: That would be a fox . G is for... Mallory: Monkey! Me: And that would be a gorilla. But gorillas and monkeys are similar, you're right. Okay, I know you'll get this one. H is for... Mallory: Pony! Me: Horse! It's a horse ! A pony would be smaller th

Mallory went to play with her across-the-street friends last week. I think that I’ve previously referred to them as Maggie and Lizzie, so I’ll stick with that although those are not their actual names. Anyway. Mallory used to love to play with Maggie and Lizzie, would beg every day to play with Maggie and Lizzie, and in fact spent every Friday of last school year over there. Well, she came home last Sunday and said, “I am never going to play at Maggie and Lizzie’s house again. You can’t make me.” Upon questioning, she would only say that they were mean to her. She wouldn’t provide any other details, but she has remained steadfast in her refusal to play with them. A couple of times she’s said, “Can I play with Maggie and Lizzie –“ and then caught herself and said, “—oh wait, they’re mean, never mind.” I don’t know exactly what happened. I have noticed in the past that the oldest was a bit snotty to Mallory, but not earth-shatteringly so. I certainly don’t think that their mother would h

I feel like I should apologize for not updating for so long. Then I feel a bit immodest for wanting to apologize – what, do I think there are so many people waiting with baited breath for my next post? It’s a weird thing, having a blog. My reasons: I was in internet blackout mode for much of last week (insofar as possible, given that I work in web design) for fear of Harry Potter spoilers. I’ve been busier at work than I normally am. And my kids haven’t done anything interesting, funny, or adorable lately so what’s to write about? (Joke.) Our parish priest died in his sleep a few nights ago. I was talking to my mother-in-law about it, and she said she can’t figure out the reason behind it. (By which she meant the cosmic reason, not the actual reason – he died of sleep apnea, apparently.) I was struck by that. I’ve never been one to believe that “everything happens for a reason.” Is there a reason that Aimee’s friend , a young woman of three young children, may not live to see her kids

Since two-thirds of my regular readers have asked this question, here’s an answer. I read all the time. It’s true and it’s no doubt to my detriment. The only times I ever got in trouble at school, it was for reading when I should’ve been paying attention to the teacher instead (2nd grade – Mrs. Duggins; 6th grade – Mrs. Thurman). If I didn’t read so much, my house would be much cleaner and my kids would have up-to-date photo albums. If I didn’t read so much, I’d probably be in much better shape physically and I would have completed the redecoration of my house. People say that life is the thing, but I prefer reading. (Somebody else said that, but I believe it!) Specifically. I read while I brush my teeth. I read while I blow-dry my hair. I read at red lights (a very bad habit, I know). I read while cooking dinner if the children are otherwise engaged. I read during my lunch hour (panic ensues if I forget to bring a book with me to work – I try to keep a spare magazine in the car for th

I promised fabulous tales of our fabulous vacation, didn’t I? As it turns out, I don’t have that many. It was fabulous, but it can also pretty much be summed up with : One house, seven kids, seven adults, lots of laughs, lots of whining, Scrabble at night. My girls were obviously affected, however, by spending a week with their four boy cousins. For example, one morning a few days after we came home, Chris told Phoebe that it was time to get dressed. She looked him over, pointed to his boxer shorts, and said, “You dress your butt, Daddy!” Which was certainly an unprecedented turn of phrase. As for Mallory – well, once we got to my mom’s house, she decided quite quickly that cousin Rhett was her new boyfriend. (This makes sense – her school boyfriend has reddish hair and glasses just like Rhett does.) She spent a full morning chasing Rhett around declaring her love for him, to his utter mortification. The day Aimee and the boys left, she and Rhett entered a negotiation over the ownershi

Dear Phoebe, It's your second birthday! You're the second child, so you're used to seconds -- second-hand clothes, second-hand books and toys -- not to mention a mother who's doing a second-rate job of maintaining things like your baby book and photo albums. I know that shoved in the back of my sock drawer is the post-it note I used to record contractions the night I went into labor with you, and I think I saw your hospital bracelet tucked in the back of our kitchen junk drawer. I did scribble down most of your "firsts" on a calendar: first tooth -- six months; first step -- ten months; first word -- doggie; first time you slept through the night -- well, we're still waiting for that, aren't we? Life has been so busy and full since you came along that I just don't have time to sort out all the memorabilia. Maybe when you're twelve I'll get around to it. I never had second thoughts about you, but I admit there were times I second-guessed mys

Vacation was lovely. Am back at work and very sleepy. No energy to tell fabulous vacation stories. Just this one little snippet: Mallory has a stuffed dog that she carries around and sleeps with and hugs and squeezes and calls George. Well, not really. The point is, it's her favorite. So last week Phoebe got hold of it, Mallory was enraged, and either Chris or I intervened by saying: "Phoebe, this is Mallory's special puppy. She doesn't have to share it because it's special, so you need to give it back." A few hours later Mallory gave me a hug. Phoebe saw, came running over, shoved Mallory aside, and said, "No, Mommy's SPECIAL to me!"