Daily grind

Just another typical day at 337 Crazy Town. Woke up to Lucy squwaking at 5 in the Bjorn travel crib next door to my bed, demanding floor exercise coaching (i.e. crawling warm-ups) and refreshment (i.e. boob), while Will showered in the "is that a fan or a Learjet?" bathroom.

Floor exercises in "the green room" from 5:30-6:57, called away by child M mere seconds after powering up the tube in hopes of catching a few minutes of Matt Lauer/Al Roker banter. First thing she says upon entering her room, "Who's watching TV? Somebody turned on the TV. Did you turn on the TV? I heard the TV. The ding when it turns on." Mind you, I killed it before getting her from her closet crib. But, she marched right in, did a sweep and declared, "Must have been Lucy and Kip. Oh well. Can I watch Scooby Doo?" 

My mumbled affirmative answer was met with a "Oh gee. Thanks, Mom. I love you, Mom. Don't you love Scooby Doo? I love him. I'm just gonna sit right here. Hi Lucy. Hi Kip."

Seven minutes later, while I'm downstairs romancing the Keurig, "COMMERCIALLLLL! MOM - COMMERCIAL." I yell back "JUST WATCH IT!" She yells back, "I DON'T LIKE COMMERCIALS" I yell back, "WHEN I WAS LITTLE WE HAD TO WATCH THE COMMERCIALS." She yells back, "I AM LITTLE NOW AND I DON'T HAVE TO WATCH COMMERCIALS."  Touché, child.

What else? My Little Pony undie request and subsequent meltdown when told the brand-new skivvies needed washing prior to wear. (Result - she's wearing MLPs.) Lucy gummed-beyond-legibility my Kroger list, flipped off the changing sarcophagus, and went through an outfit prior to 8:12. And, I had to wax poetic a from-scratch story during the ten minute drive to Tutor Time. (Telling an original story for ten minutes on the drive to school should be an event in the mom olympics.)

You know. Just another relaxing morning.

p.s. This one's especially for you, Grandma and Papa. To make you smile on a grey day.

Maizey-isms

Maizey's talent lies in talking. Though not the most coordinated toddler, the girl can talk a blue streak. Not surprising given her roots, but it's worth sharing that her vocabulary and vivid imagination make life in Ann Arbor very entertaining.

Upon seeing Will in his boxer briefs:
"Hey Dad, I like your panties."

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When Will and Grandpa Bill were talking about gas mileage:
"Grandpa, you're a yapper. Just yappin'."

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When requesting she put away her Playskool farm,
"Mom, I love you. I just don't like you."

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While driving in a freezing rain storm:
"Those wipers are making me cuckoo bananas."

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Me: "Why are you walking like that?"

Maizey: "Because my legs are just so tired, Mom."

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Me: "What do you want to drink with your breakfast?"

Maizey: "Eggnog. Pete likes eggnog. And I like eggnog. So, eggnog."

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Her media obsession has led us to live in a home with a "broken" television. Maizey listened patiently as Will explained why a broken tv is a good thing: "...well you can do a lot of other things. You can color, and play puzzles, and have tea parties, and sing songs, and do crafts..." Maizey waited until he was done, then exuberantly suggested,
"Or you can fix it!"

Media obsession case in point - after a couple of movie-fueled journeys to the U.P. she's now uncomfortably into Disney's Tangled. She's Rapunzel, I'm Pascal, Dad's Eugene ("my prince"), Lucy is Rosemary - we have no idea where that came from - and much to her chagrin, Betty is Mother Gothel. It's not uncommon to hear Maizey bellowing, "PASSSSCALLL! EUGEEEEENE!" and refusing to answer if not addressed as Rapunzel. In an Escanaba restaurant, neighboring diners approached Will and asked,
"Is Rapunzel really her name?" Ummm - no.

Never a dull moment.