Don’t mess with a knight in plastic armor.
“Don’t move!,” my captor snarled at me in the dark, small dungeon. “Don’t even blink!”
How could I argue? Mice nipped at my heels, the walls closed in around me. And the aggressor, dressed in a knight’s helmet, wielded a sword. A sword! It stabbed at my arms, legs, and abdomen. “Your blood is dripping on the floor,” I was informed. Well, that sealed the deal. I was staying put.
“Somebody saved me!,” I screamed, but nobody came. “Be quiet!,” the masked knight ordered, finally revealing its face. A girl! A little girl! Are you serious? This half-pint was holding me hostage? “Come on, ” I argued, “Just let me go and I won’t cause any trouble.”
She stabbed me again, slicing open my arm. “Ahhh!!!” But my cries were …
Yes, this picture is creepy. That’s the point.
Do you notice something strange about this doll? I mean, besides her missing pants. (She was a garage sale find given to Anna by her great aunt, and perfectly sized for Anna’s new doll house. We can find new pants for her someday, right?) Yes, my creative mind immediately began concocting fantastical tales about how this silver haired plastic figurine may have lost the bottom half of her wardrobe.
But my daughter pointed out something else. Something much more insightful than my 12-year-old humor, “I see London, I See France…”
When I handed her the doll, she held it in her little hand, and stared intently for at least minute. Certain she would ask about the “wardrobe malfunction,” I prodded her with, “Honey, do you notice something strange about …
I love this man. (Photo courtesy of CLG Photography.)
Sweat trickled down the middle of my back, and popped up in beads on my brow. The storm door smacked shut behind me as I traveled in and out of the house, arms stuffed with the day’s gathering. Cool. Hot! Cool. Hot! Cool. Hot! I lingered a bit in the air conditioned kitchen before heading out for the next haul. Unloading groceries in a 110 degree heat wave is a tiring chore, but hubs and I were making good time.
As he heaved in two five-gallon water jugs, one in each hand, I marveled at his brute strength. It’s one of our many differences that I appreciate. Some of our other differences, though, have made the already difficult road of marriage and child-rearing a bit …
If I ever said I couldn’t wait for my daughter to get a little bit more independent, I take it back. If I ever said I can’t wait until she’s (insert age here) so she’s a little less emotional, I take it all back. All of the milestones I celebrated and encouraged, I wish they’d taken longer to happen. She just turned three, and yet her development has gone into double-time. I can still feel the smoothness of the top her infant head on my cheek as I rocked her so many nights ago. I can still see the hilarious faces she used to make when she yawned as a wrinkly, squawking newborn. She is wonderful. And beautiful. And she’s ours. I delight in seeing her make new discoveries. But someone, please make it stop! …
Parenting is messy. But sometimes it’s more fun that way!
No, that’s not a typo in the headline. This is my toddler’s favorite new expression. One that she says all wrong, but I just can’t bring myself to correct. It’s the sparkle in her eyes, the delight on her face as dances around the kitchen and wiggles her limbs.
Parenting little ones, at times, is like a party. It’s fun, unpredictable, and there’s always a mess to clean up afterwards. Some appreciate your efforts, others just show up and judge. But it’s fun. Or at least the intention is to have fun, no matter how it actually plays out.
Before the guests arrive, your house is fairly quiet. You’ve spent time shopping, cleaning, fantasizing about all the fun to be had. Everything’s prepared, laid out in …
Can you tell which one is Angie? Hint: She’s wearing orange. 🙂
Walking into her ranch-style home, you might not even know this woman has children. The carpets were clean and free of crumbs (unlike mine), the kitchen counters were actually visible (unlike mine) and there were no toys strewn all over the living room (unlike mine). It was relatively quiet (unless you count my little critters running around) and there was a general sense of calm (again, unless you count my little critters running around). Yes, you might think it’s a kid-free home, until you turned and saw nine perfectly-spaced 8×10 picture frames on her wall, one for each of her children. That’s right. Nine children lived in this home and not only was it clean as a whistle, but the children were well-behaved and …