bullied by my own kid.

Tuesday morning convo:

Hadley:  "Mama, how come Auntie Val is WAY funner than you?"

Me:  "Funner isn't a word.  It's more fun."

H:  "Mama how come Auntie is WAY more fun than you?"

M:  "You are crazy.  What are you talking about?  How is she more fun?"

H:  "She takes her kids to do stuff.  Fun stuff.  All day.  Every day."

M:  "I take you to do stuff."

H:  "I know, but you do boring stuff, never fun stuff.  And you never have snacks.  Auntie Val always has snacks.  Lots of snacks."

So we went to the zoo.

With a wagon full of snacks.

And it was fun.

Way funner than Auntie Val.

(Val, thanks for adding a little competition...but I will wave my white flag now.  

I don't stand a chance against ya).

Everything he saw was a 'doggy' or 'da-doo', accompanied by this face.

my prediction.

I predict that she will have training wheels on her bike until she's 30.

And that she will redefine cool.

And if I were a betting woman...I would put all my money on the training wheels.

Hads...

You're a dork.

no worries.

'No worries' is the name of Nana & Pa's boat.

It is perfectly named.  

We rode the ferry over to Kingston.

The kids 'played' video games for 20 minutes and were pleased as punch.

Then we met Nana & Pa for some sun, food, and drinks.

And we had absolutely no worries.

(except I always worry a little that both of my children are going to drown, and that one of my nurse friends from airlift will be at the scene, after we frantically call 911, and as they fly them to Childrens, they will scold me & say...'what were you thinking letting your kids be by the water?".  Nurses don't like water).

But no one else had any worries.

We could have stayed there all day.

Oh wait.

We did.

It was fabulous.

ruinin' my game.

This kid is a total 'blog-block'.

I am constantly intervening to save his life.

Each week I just thank my lucky stars that he's still alive.

And each night I toast to him for making it another day.

(and to myself for keeping him in one piece).

Then I pass out from shear exhaustion.

Or too much booze.

I am not sure which.

memorial day weekend.

Lots of walks.  Lots of coffee.  Lots of rain.  Lots of treasure hunts.  Lots of books.  Lots of naps.

Lots of fun.

no brothers allowed.

"Hey Mama, when I am gone be sure Carson doesn't go in my room.  Just keep the door closed.  And if he does try to go in my room, then maybe lock the door.  But if you can't lock it, then tell him he can look at my things but he definitely can't touch them.  Especially my babies.  I don't want him playing with any of their things or waking them up.  And I don't want him in my make-up...actually, I don't even want him to play at my make-up table.  If he doesn't listen, just give him a time-out.  But not in my reading chair.  He gets drool on it.  So give him a time-out on the stairs.  And make sure he doesn't mess up my 'work' chart.  He always pulls off the stars and then I don't know what I did that day.  And don't let him rip my books.  My books are special.  Actually Mama, how about we just don't let Carson in my room while I am gone.  Maybe put a sign on the door."

Guess he can't read.

da booty.

Wonder if the Betty Ford Center has a ward for Pirates Booty addicts?

If so...we better reserve this kid a room.