Thursday, December 3, 2009
When Dads are in charge, you get a Healthy Choice frozen entree, in bed, in front of a movie, and you don't even have to pick up your fork yourself.
I love how Frankie is holding her kitty (Snowy, Whitey, Cat Jumper or Baby Lover, depending on the day) and trying to look perfectly demure while Molly is also attempting her most winning smile.
I wonder how we got her to smile like this. I am thinking it involves me yelling "Poopie!Poopie!" or something else that thoroughly delights toddlers.
It is so nice that Frankie is old enough to cooperate with attempts at Christmas photos. You can see some fuzz in the bottom left corner that represents angry Molly peeling away from the camera at a furious pace.
Close, but no cigar.
My nieces have an extensive collection of Bitty Baby dolls and their accompanying tiny delectable outfits and shoes and little books and accessories that make you want to stab yourself with pleasure. Frankie especially enjoyed the double stroller to strap in her twins "Jude" and his sister "Judranne."
"Please don't interrupt my nightly running time sans clothes. There are places this fuzzy head needs to go and pieces of furniture my bare behind need to soil."
Our niece, Anne-Marie, who gamely played trains and baby dolls and whatever else Frankie commanded her to do.
Could there be a cuter face? Could there? I challenge you to find it.
My brother-in-law Chris and Dean play a Packer themed cornhole game. How did I manage to marry into this elegant family?
Again, close, but no cigar.
I don't know if Frankie's happy face is because of Anne-Marie and Emily's company or the bag of Cheetos. If I know her as well as I think I do, I am going to go with the Cheetos.
You won't find me playing cornhole games, you will find me reading my book. Wherever and whenever you look, you fill find me trying to read my book. Please, do not interrupt me reading my book.
Our niece Emily tries to match flexibility with a four-year-old. Impossible. Four-year-olds are preternaturally twisty and bendy.
How I wish Anne-Marie lived with us so that she could occupy my children on a permanent basis.
Frankie very rudely called Anne-Marie and Emily "that big girl and that really big girl" the whole vacation, despite full well knowing their names.
The Fayetteville Children's Museum, where Molly tried to steal carts from other small children and whenever Frankie tried to check out with another child as a cashier, she would be chatting away and then look up to find the other kid had left.
Why does overtired as an adult mean droopy and lethargic while overtired as a child means "I'm going to run a half-marathon in 7.2 seconds"?
Oh, how I wish that this picture wasn't blurry so you could really see the delightful details of Molly's expression. I caught her mid-theft of one of Frankie's trains. Frankie is screaming in the background and Molly has a very determined look that says possession is nine-tenths of the law.
There is nothing that warms the cockles of a mother's heart like when her children play nicely together so that she does not have to be involved and can instead catch up on slow-cooker recipes in Woman's Day.
While Frankie glues and colors and creates, Molly glues herself, colors herself, and creates a giant mess.