Just when we thought

I promise I will have pictures eventually. Not today.

Just when we thought

we couldn't love anymore,

He said, "You three,

will soon become four."

Tantrums and picnics

You ever been this hungry?

Needed to do the double hand shove? All I can hear is Mike Myers in a thick Irish accent slowly saying, "Get in my belly!"

And when we don't need food, we need rest.


A lot of rest.

My mother's day card. I must be really special for Little to use those Mickey stickers. And I got two Donald's. Mommy is doing something right. Well...

At least, I previously had done something right. This is because I will not let her sit by the hot water heater. I know. DHS should be immediately contacted.

I did manage to get invited to a picnic. Little preferred using her Cozy Coupe to maneuver back and forth through the house, until all of the items had arrived at the picnic. This went on for forever.

Daddy got invited too.

We had "ba-getti."

We ate it with our "Torks."

And Daddy did not have to lift one finger.

Not even to lift his cup to his mouth.

Because I can

I just haven't felt much like blogging. I don't know why. I just don't wanna.

And that's why I haven't. Because I can do whatever I want to do. As long as Little is fed, clean, changed, content, rested, watching Mickey.

It should be no surprise to anyone that Little can do a lot of things because she can. So why am I surprised by this?

Why am I surprised that Little still, still takes a pappy? Because she can.
Why am I surprised that Little refuses to potty train? Because she can.
Why am I surprised that this morning she demanded that I take her metal grocery cart full of wooden vegetables, fruits, and pantry items and place it in my car to carry to Memaw's? Because she can.

So when I refused to pack up that buggy, those groceries, because I can, it was no longer for discussion. I won.

But the potty training thing, Winner, all 36 inches and 27 pounds, is Little.
I have waved the white flag. The war is over.

She won't really tell me why she will not potty train. She admitted that she liked having her diaper changed. Well, now she also likes something else.

She likes having a bath in the sink. Not like when your sweet precious little one can first sit up, and like every other Southern woman, you place that sweet love in the kitchen sink. No.

I am now having to wash her hair like she is paying for for my services at Mommy Salon. Towel under her neck and chest. Head in the sink. Loving life. This has been going on since Thursday. It ends with me soaking wet, my cabinets minutes away from mildewing, and the floor needing a caution sign.

If I wasn't concerned my camera would drown in all the hoopla, I would have it handy to take pictures.

And because I can, Husband, I am sleeping late Saturday. Write it in your calendar. I know your reading this.

Genius

I managed to do some cleaning out of Little's toy box. It was a spontaneous cleaning event. When Baby Pink, our beloved baby doll, has lost her spoon, Mommy must become an archaeologist and dig through the years of toys.

I will stop here, and inform you that I cleaned out the toy box so well that Husband has not even noticed.

One might ask if that upsets me. The answer is no. Let me tell you why.

Before a child stakes claim on your home and all of its contents, everything belongs to you. If you want to throw away anything, you can. No one complains. No one notices.

But after that precious little one comes, nothing is yours. (Not even bathroom time.) So when you cut a piece of Christmas wrapping paper too short to wrap the intended present, you keep it. It is still in the guest bedroom on May 3. Why? Because the world would stop turning if Little did not have access to that particular piece of wrapping paper.

Where was I? Oh, toy box. So I gathered up toys and put them away without any notice from anyone.

Genius. Yes I am.

Mother's Day warning

Warning to everyone: Mother's Day is Sunday.

Yes, I know we just had Easter.

You should have seen the look on mine and Husband's faces when our pastor announced Mother's Day projects for this weekend.

The Royal Wedding

I'll admit it.

I set the DVR to record the big event.

And I was nearly late for work, because I could not stop watching it.



There is something about this royal family that makes some Americans feel like they are our own.

Maybe it's because our parents were watching when Prince Charles married Princess Diana. (Probably more like our moms, but you get my point.)

Maybe it's because our generation watched Diana's funeral.

And it's quite possibly because we all love fairy tales. The Cinderella stories.



What I love most about the whole event is that there was no scandal. There is no controversy.


On a side note, Kate's dress was phenomenal. She is beautiful.

And Little loved the carriage ride. You know, the horses.

Okay, Harry. Batter up.

Easter weekend

We vacuum in heels. Who is this? The next June Cleaver?





We dyed Easter eggs. We made such a mess.










Some turned out good. Some not so good.

I tried to explain to Little that we have to keep the eggs in the refrigerator, so they will dry. Pouting ensued about the eggs being in the fridge.



This is the pouting stance. Won't look at you. Arms crossed. Now, we are pouting because we can't go down to the pond.



The best part of the Easter party, at least in Little's eyes.




The worst part of the party.




We hunted eggs three different times this weekend. This is at Big Daddy's.

Please forgive the next footage. This is raw.



Morning hair. How appropriate she likes the barrettes from her basket best.



And even though we are terrified of the Easter bunny, he still came to see us.



Now let's get serious. Yesterday in church, I had a particularly mortifying experience. Little was determined she was going to sit with her Memaw. I told her she could, handed her bag over, and pointed her down the outside aisle. She made it safe and sound.


For about five minutes. Then, she comes back up the same aisle, but this time she proceeds to wave (the only thing missing was her crown). Everyone turns and smiles at us.

Don't for one second think this is the embarrassing part. It would not be.

Now on Easter Sunday, every church is full of visitors. Ours is no exception. Yesterday, some visitors happened to sit in front of us, Apparently, we seem like a nice, wholesome family. Like a family you would want to sit in front of.

Well, when Little gathers up her Sunday School crafts, she begins to head back up the very same aisle to return to her Memaw.

No, ma'am. I would not let her go. Well, we teared up, began to cry, and suddenly got a little loud. So I pick her up to remove her from church, and before I could get out the doors............


She loudly says, TWICE,


"What are you going to do to me?"

Let me say, contrary to her Oscar winning performance, I do not routinely beat her or torture her.

Mortified!