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Sophie: What the hack is that?
As I carried Sophie into the store the other day, she exclaimed “Oh Mama! Look at that pretty man and his hair!” I looked around quickly and spotted the “pretty man”. He was a rough old fella, with a long grizzled beard and bushy white hair sticking out at all angles.
Sophie has been pretty constipated, lately. She’s taken to giving names to all her bowel movements, in order to help us understand the size of the success. “I think it’s a Mama Poop”, or “It’s just a Baby Poop” or the worst; “I have to have a Papa Poop!”.
Sophie has become very insistent on proper behavior from her sister (and even at times, her mother). She is often telling Kinsley to “Be Happy!”
When I was sick with the flu and one time didn’t make it to the toilet (I’m sure you want to hear about this), Sophie was standing to the side, watching me vomit. Then she said “Papa should spank you for getting that all over the floor”.
She has also been spending much of her time being The Baby Hippo. The good part of this deal, is that often The Baby Hippo can be prevailed upon to do things that Sophie would never consider doing without much protest, including going to sleep quietly!
Kinsley: Mama, I wrote on my blog, a long time ago, that children don’t like to eat vegetables!
Sophie: In Heaven, there won’t be any Hippos.
Kinsley: No, there won’t be any hippos, but there will be elephants. But not African elephants, just India elephants.
Kinsley: Is God bad, or good?
Mama: He is very good, in fact, He is perfect, and He is the only reason we even know what is good…
Kinsley: Well, does God kill people, or not?
Kinsley: Well, I couldn’t go live in Heaven right now, because once this house falls apart, then we have to go live in the house at Granddad’s office.
Kinsley: Oh, Sophie, I have so much to teach you… ’bout riding bikes, and how to pedal, and building houses and stuff..
This is a Mama (notice the massive size) “shungeling her baby while the papa and the girl are laying in bed, telling stories”…
Kinsley: Mama, do sheep turn into goats?
Mama: No, they are two completely different animals, but they do have some similarities –
Kinsley: But Mama! When the papas come and cut off all the sheep’s hair, and lay it over the fence, and the hair turns into a blanket, then the sheep turns into a goat!
Sophie: (Not wanting to be left out) Yes, Mama! And Hippos, too!
I’ve mentioned that my children are insane, right?
Everywhere I look, I see more evidence of their sheer insanity. And then once they start talking, any doubt which I may have had is erased. They’re certainly insane. They got that from their father.
Kinsley informed me last night that she had “heard that when you are a baby in your mama’s belly, you have to be naked”.
A few nights ago when Dan was reading her a fairy tale, and he read the phrase “She was broken-hearted”, Kinsley said “Wait, wait, wait! Did someone break their heart? Who broke their heart?”
At nap time yesterday: “Mama, I can’t go to sleep when Papa is not home, because Papa is the best man I ever seen for helping little girls go to sleep in their beds”.
This morning: “You know Mama, when little girls carry stuffed animals around, people will say ‘Oh, that’s just darling!’”
When Kinsley smashed her finger a few days ago, Sophie kissed the injured spot and told her sister “It’s okay Kinsley, at least A Hippo didn’t bite you…”
And Sophie’s answer for everything lately, from diaper changes, to naps, to eating – “I too busy”.
I went to bed in a cozy t-shirt. Sophie woke me up this morning by complaining that my shirt had “spots” on it. She was correct, as I had splattered a bit of beach on this favorite shirt just the other day. I sleepily tried to put Sophie off, by telling her that it was okay, it was just bleach, and I already knew about it. She wasn’t buying. She woke Papa, to tell him of my sloth. “It’s like food on there!” she complained.
Kinsley then clambers up and puts her chubby baby hand on my forehead. “Mama, you have a fever!” she announces. I don’t.
“Well, I guess I’d better stay in bed all day.” I tell her.
“No, Mama, if you got up, went downstairs, and cooked breakfast, then your fever would get better.” Darn.
Next Kinsley announces that she has a new song, which she made by “collecting up all the words, and putting them in her song”. It’s a very long ballad, inspired by the more boring of the minstrels from the middle ages. It apparently requires rapt parental attention.
Sophie pats Papa again and says “Sooo, Papa – my juice is empty and you need to go downstairs and get more”.
The girls begin an argument about whether The Boy will be named Truxton, or Addie (Addie is Sophie’s new, and more contrary idea).
Then they need to write letters to each other, each extolling the sweetness of the other sister.
The phone rings. Kinsley insists that we go downstairs and answer it.
The day has begun.
This is Sophie. But we can’t tell her that, because she’s convinced that when she dons these lovely glasses, she becomes a hippo.
The glasses were her father’s. From way back in his bachelor days when he had no wife to help him make such important fashion choices.
The Hippo is reading from Winnie The Pooh.
A very deep and thought provoking book, by the way.
This is actually preferable to Sophie’s other condition, which is Hippo Schizophrenia. When she is suffering from this other condition, she hears a hippo talking to her. A hippo who, in fact, carries on very long and belligerent conversations. A hippo who “lives in her neck”.
This is more or less my view of my lap, lately. Everybody wants to shungle, as Sophie says. They’re a brood of needy little people….
But at least they’re sweet. Kinsley was reading to Sophie, and then showing her what all the various animals were.
Then, they went back to Getting Cozy, which really is rather frantic…
Shoes come off… everybody wants to feel the baby…
And the whole scene really only lasts a moment. Then everyone has to climb down to look for a certain book, get a drink, go potty, or attend to some other pressing matter. Then the whole process begins again.
This is Tom. According to Kinsley (as she explained to Sophie) this turkey is “a tiny baby, who was just living with his mama and papa – but now we are going to eat him, because babies are usually the best kinds of animals to eat.”
And this is the heart of the baby turkey, apparently. Sophie insists that the baby turkey has been waving at her from the counter where he was draining. As I injected him with the marinade, Kinsley explained to Sophie that “this is how we give shots to baby turkeys.” It’s all very graphic.
Kinsley asked to pet him. Then she pronounced him “so so slimy!”
Kinsley keeps saying that she “can’t wait till we get to eat the baby turkey!”
There are probably hundreds of posts on this blog entitled “Morning Coffee” but what can I say? It’s something that happens daily, and is often photogenic…
Sophie calls it “Hoffee”…
For those of you who are concerned about the sanity of an already tired Mama who would give her two toddlers coffee in the morning, just relax. Yes, I know that were they to consume my normal coffee, it would put hair on their chests, peach fuzz on their palms, curl their toes, and give me gray hair – but this is mostly just a cup of warm milk with (as Kinsley says) a “tiniest tad” of coffee, and whipped cream on top.
On the other hand, maybe the “tiniest tad” explains that picture…
