Busy Days, Busy Nights

Ready, sing along with me: "...where would I be without my woman?"

Sorry.  I blame the Bee Gees thing on Baba.

This is not, as you might think, a set of dining room chairs under a collection of blankets and old window sheers.  No, no.  This is a Princess House.

Inside is  a Princess Bed, made of all the throw pillows.

See?  Princess Bed.  I had already been up five hours at 9am the other day when this was constructed, so I was pretty much in the mode of "sure, I'll build whatever for you, as long as nobody bleeds and nothing is permanently destroyed".

He wants to hold the camera.  Badly.  And is almost frustrated enough to speak English to convince me, but not quite.  English is soooo duuuuuuummb.  (Seriously, I think that's what's behind this "talking with our lips closed" thing.  He just thinks the way everyone else talks sounds stupid.  And is a bit irritated with the Bigs in his life for harping on it so much.)

This is after we cleaned the living room.  We're building robots here.

This is our reading corner, which I think I took a picture of to prove that we have one.

See?  With books and everything.  We use it sometimes, too.  In spite of the low-sleep, and therefore high-cartoon, week we have had.

Yes, a picture of potty chairs.  Because when Mama has the camera, kids get ideas about compositions for her.  Buddy, by the way, has mastered the art of Standing Up To Go Potty Like Daddy.  Which was the only way I could get him to decide that going potty on the potty chair was preferable to just making Mama change your wet pants.

Miss Boo:  "Mama, I tried to build a robot, but I just built a sandwich."

She gets inventive, hyper, and irritable when she's tired.  Guess how I feel about inventiveness lately.  I don't want kids who have no imagination--we work to cultivate imagination--but imagination is a two-edged sword.  Not only can you scare yourself more effectively if you have a good imagination ("Mama! there's lobsters!") but it enables you to think of really creative ways to be naughty.

We spent this day picking things up (me) and flinging things around (them).  At least we weren't peeing in cupboards or writing on walls.

Because...yeah.  Both of those things had happened the previous day.

Her: Take my picture!  Take my picture! Take my picture!

Me: Stand still!

Her: Mama, I'm not still, I'm three.

Me: I know you're three.  The camera can't see you unless you stop moving around so much.

Her: Can I see my picture?

Now the other pictures were a few days ago.  This is today.  I realized I hadn't included any pictures of Littleman standing up (I think?).  Anyway, here's one of him standing at the window looking outside, his favorite thing lately.

He crawls at roughly 40mph.  Usually he's going for this window, the bathroom (because he likes to pull himself up on the side of the tub and because it is verboten) or the fireplace (because it is also verboten).  We're torn between being proud of his ability and the sudden need to babyproof the floor again.

Because yeah, we're still in the stage when anything--rattle, teething ring, clump of dog hair, sister's hair tie--goes in our mouth.

He crawls so much, so fast, that he doesn't realize he's hungry until he's STARVING.  Then he starts yelling at me because I'm not already feeding him.  And this is skipping over the fact that he's decided he needs to eat real food in the high chair when everyone else is eating at the table.  And the fact that he doesn't believe that Mama should hold the spoonful of rice cereal.  He thinks he can feed himself.  What does he look like, a baby or something?

High times in this house, lately.  But we are all surviving, and surprisingly happily.  How have YOU all been doing?

Cheers,

Breanna