Sunday, January 24, 2010
It's Sunday morning and instead of worshiping in church (or crying in the corner of the nursery, whatever your preference may be), the girls and I are home watching Curious George. Frankie is on day seven of her illness (though we are seeing the light) and Molly was up half the night barking like a seal. I have finished my stomach ailment and moved on to Frankie's upper respiratory infection. Dean, despite having to sleep with the barker and be up at 4:30 a.m. every morning, remains healthy as a horse.
I thought I would take this opportunity to post some very belated Christmas photos.
Molly still thinks that when I say "SMILE!" she should shrug her shoulders.
They are both wearing new Christmas pajamas. Frankie got the pig nightgown from her Grandma and Grandpa, but always accessorizes it with summer capris. Molly got the monkey pjs from her Aunt Gina. She calls the monkeys "ooooots," after the sound they make. Molly, can you say horse? Neigh. Can you say dog? Woof. Can you say monkey? Oooot.
Christmas day lunch was provided by the bemused woman in the apron.
Jude, practicing his "I'm cool on a motorcycle" look for when he is a teenager. He's got some work to do.
Molly and I went all over Muskegon in search of the Snuggie. It was THE hot gift of 2009.
I am guessing there is a rousing nude round of "My God is so big, so STRONG and so mighty...." going on here.
From Molly's delighted look, I can only surmise that she just had some really good insulting remark for our father.
Sylvie has always had worried muscles in her forehead that are not delineated in human anatomy books.
This one snuck in because I can tell she is shouting "SEEE!" as she has sprung from where I posed her next to her sister in order to run to the camera to see what the picture looks like.
Yes, that is my hand spraying "I Can't Believe It's Not Butter" directly into my child's mouth. That is how we do things here.
85-years-old? SHUT UP.
I don't know where Frankie is in this picture. Molly strolling with Frankie's new double doll stroller? I'm shocked I don't see a blurry snarling form hurtling toward her.
Formidable shula competitor.
I don't know who let Little Orphan Annie into the Christmas celebration.
Two keys to peaceful cousinly co-existence: Ice cream and an interesting iPhone app.
We were so glad that Opa made it here for Christmas, even if he didn't bring his hair or his off-color jokes with him.
Taking a time out from being super fuzzy to give her mom a hug. I need a haircut so badly. As soon as I start putting it up in the style that my late grandmother told me made me look like a rooster, I know I need an appointment.
Matt and Sylvie taking a break from the chaos of opening presents for two solid hours.
It's the best we could do people.
This shirt gets worn every night under the pig nightgown.
I must have given them something containing high fructose corn syrup.
See the extra forehead muscles? The second set of eyebrows made entirely of muscle?
Were they the wrong color?
I still think Jude could've pulled off one, too. The girls are happy because they are drinking what I labelled, a hideous mistake in retrospect, "wine that little girls can drink." I hope Sylvie didn't go to preschool and talk about Aunt Shushkia and the wine for "lil' goils".
Modeling Molly's new set of princess shoes.
Molly hops on Jude's toy, giving a backward glance laced with at least a hint of self-awareness at her crime.
The moment of shame over, she proceeds away whistling Dixie.