Speaking of...

The other day at breakfast, the girls were looking at the flowers on the table.  Jorja asked if they had drank all their water.  I said that I had put some in yesterday.  Then Ginny said that she would like water to drink for breakfast.  Jorja then piped up, "No Ginny, you should say, 'speaking of water, I would like some for breakfast.'"  Where does she get this stuff from.  Then she did the same thing at lunch time.  It was Friday and I was getting her backpack ready for school.  I asked her what she wanted to take for a snack.  Then Ginny said she wanted a granola bar for her snack.  Jorja said, "No Ginny, you should say, 'speaking of snacks, I would like a granola bar.'"  Sheesh.

Friday morning, CeCe had her one year shots.  She did pretty good, all things considered.  She cried of course, but who wouldn't.  Julie works Fridays, so had all three of them to take with me.  Ginny was a little upset by the whole thing - she doesn't like to see her sister hurt.  "Will there be a hole?"  she asked me.  Poor thing.  She held it together though and didn't quite have any tears.  They've changed things again though and combined some vaccines.  There were only two needles instead of three like the other girls had.

Ginny is now pretty comfortable pooping in the toilet.  So much so that she and Jorja have started discussing it.  Ginny had went yesterday and Jorja asked her, "How many turds did you have Ginny?"  "Six," she said, "they kind of looked like a flower."  If only they smelled that way.

Last night Jorja came into my room in the middle of the night quite upset because something was wrong with her clock.  "Daddy!  Daddy!  You've got to come see my clock!  There's something wrong.  It says '1 h two dots h.'"  I tried to assure her that it was fine, but she was not letting go of this, so I went to look.  I have to admit that in my semi-conscious state I was a bit confused myself.  It really did say '1h:1'.  Then I looked closer.  Somehow the clock got turned upside down.  It was 1:41.  As Pooh and Tigger say, 'this mystery is history.'  Later.

Feliz Navidad (or something like that)

I sit here this evening in silence, at least for the time being anyway.  Until someone wakes up and wants something - a soother, drink of water, to go pee.  Julie is out at our church Bible study group this evening which we both usually attend.  Today I am on poop patrol though.  Let me back up.  Wednesday evening as we were getting the girls ready for bed, Julie was feeding CeCe her bottle.  She was no sooner done than she threw up.  She has always had little milk spit-ups, but this was her first full blown puke.  So it was back to the tub with CeCe and Julie hit the shower.  The next morning (I was conveniently at work), the diarrhea started.  We had three solid days of that - a full outfit change with every diaper change, full bedding change if it happened there, Lysol the crib railings.  Oh yes, it has been fun.  If I had known about all this stuff before we had three kids, I would have bought stocks in stain remover and Lysol.  Anyway, we managed to keep it off the carpet this time although it was close.  There were two instances when I walked down the stairs to the family room to see some bubblin' crude coming over her pants and heading for the floor. 

So yes, here I sit.  We didn't think that any baby sitter would ever come back if we left her with the situation that was going on here this week.  So I took the older two to Sunday School this morning and Julie went out this evening.  I don't want to jinx the night, but I think CeCe may have started to turn the corner.  She kept the same outfit on all day and only had one semi-solid poop.  All right, enough about poop.

I was driving Jorja to piano lessons yesterday and I switched the radio station from the country one to the eighties one.  Steve Windwood's 'Valarie' was playing.  I've always liked Steve Windwood, but I digress.  Jorja asked me, "Dad, is this your station, the '80's on eight?"  I replied that yes it was.  "You know, your station isn't that bad," she replied.  Thanks Jorja, I'm glad you approve.

I had a couple of errands to run this afternoon and CeCe was napping and Julie was doing some Christmas baking (yes!!) so I took the girls along with me.  I was standing in line at the post office in Shoppers not really paying much attention to the conversation the girls were having.  All of a sudden, Ginny looks at the woman behind us and says, "Maybe she could be our mother."  This caught my attention.  Then Jorja said, "You think she's our mother?!"  and then the two of them laughed hysterically.  I had nothing.  What do you say to that?  I looked and the lady, and she was smirking, so that was all right.  What did she really think?  Were these two kids looking for a new wife/mother like something from Sleepless in Seattle?  I told them to stop being so goofy and wished the letter to the Philippine consulate in front of us would move along a little quicker.

Jorja likes to think that she is Ginny's teacher some days.  She especially likes to sound out words for Ginny when she hears something new.  She does it syllable by syllable to help her sound the new word out.  I forget what the word was now, but this was going on the other day.  Then Jorja said, "I know almost all the words, except Spanish, I only knew a few words in Spanish.  Like Natalise La Di Da.  That means Merry Christmas."  How does that go again I asked her.  "Nah - Tah - Lees - La - Dee  - Da" she says to me very clearly and slowly so that I too may learn this second language.  Thanks Jorja, but I think we'll have to play a bit more Bony M. this year.  Later.

Focus

I'm not sure if it's just the age or her personality, but Ginny always seems to have her head somewhere else than the task at hand. When I'm helping her put on her sandals or flip-flops, she is laying down, trying to get a toy for CeCe, saying how thirsty she is, anything other that cooperating. All she has to do is hold her foot fairly stiff so that I can get the little piece of plastic between her toes. "Ginny! Straighten out your toes. Look here. Focus!" When she is getting dressed, sometimes she has trouble with her pants, especially if she is putting on leggings. So I go to help her and again, all she has to do is point her toes down. "Ginny! Point your toes. Focus!"

Yesterday I took Jorja and Ginny around the block, Jorja on her bike and Ginny on her tricycle. I must be a sucker for punishment, because that is a long way to assist the tricycle rider. She does pretty good with the pedalling part (much better than Jorja ever did), but the steering leaves something to be desired. Jorja is miles ahead of us, and waiting. "Okay Ginny look where Jorja is. Aim your handle bars for her." So we start pedalling. Oh look, dandelion...hard left. Oh look, puddle...hard right. Oh look, bird...even harder right. "Ginny! You have to go straight. Look ahead and drive that way, not all over the place. Focus!" At this point she stops, looks at me and asks, "Dad, is Focus a boy or a girl?" Apparently not a girl. Later.

Dark socks

Here I sit once again, up too early. It started with CeCe again, and was followed by the other two girls. So they were all up by 6:30. This should make for a fun day - they are such pleasant little creatures when they're overtired. So am I for that matter.

The girls seem to be fascinated with marriage these days. They play this game where Jorja does Ginny's hair and makeup for her wedding. Ginny sits so still while Jorja applies the imaginary blush and eye shadow. It's quite cute to watch. Anyway, usually when they talk about getting married, they want to get married to me. Julie had a little chat with them the other day and explained that someday they would meet a special boy and fall in love and get married. Somehow the supper conversation turned to spouses a couple of nights ago. Ginny said he would marry a special boy, but that "I don't like dark socks!" You don't like dark socks, I say, that's one of your requirements for a husband, no dark socks. "Yes, only light." It's good to have priorities I guess.

Lately the girls have been into telling jokes - variations of 'why did the chicken cross the road?' and 'knock knock' jokes. They make up their own animals and people in the jokes which aren't usually even remotely funny.

"Knock knock"
Who's there?
"Monkey"
Monkey who?
"Monkey in the tub." *hysterical laughter*

Yes, they are pretty good. So on Sunday we are coming home from church and Ginny pipes up, "Why did Jesus cwoss the woad?" I reply that I don't know. "Jesus cwossed the woad to get to ...(pause while she thinks)...the Jesus!" Yes, they're not exactly comedy writers yet. Later.