A break for once


How sad is it that I finally have a break, only because The Peach has the flu (or something flu-like)…

She sits here in the bed next to me, watching preschool songs on YouTube because she doesn’t actually want to do much else.

My Peach hasn’t gotten really sick since she was a baby. Even now, with this her temperature is only hovering around 100. The puking last night was epic unfortunately. Our downstairs toilet is currently sitting in the hall, waiting for the spackle to dry from the huge hole the plumbers had to cut into the wall. Only at that point will it be possible to put it back in and have more than one functioning bathroom. Not complaining. I know we have more than a lot of people. Just explaining why The Peach spent 20 minutes in the kitchen last night throwing up, first all over the floor, then into a bowl. After about 5 minutes, The Zen Master and I stood there, alternately patting her back and emptying out the bowl between each round of retching. After about 10 minutes, The Peach’s seemingly neverending puke became interspersed with profound weeping and pitiful requests to wipe her mouth, and ultimately, to take off her shirt. I mean seriously, who wants to throw up for 20 minutes. When she was all done, she stood in the kitchen, crying, while I rubbed her back and The Zen Master finished cleaning up the mess.

She then went upstairs with her daddy, reluctantly, as she wanted to stay with me. I was cooking dinner. Gross right? I promise, no puke in the mac n’ cheese.

Ok, only after I had thoroughly convinced her that I was unavailable. Then she settled for dad...

Ok, only after I had thoroughly convinced her that I was unavailable. Then she settled for dad…

After awhile, she insisted on coming downstairs to tell My Mom what happened. My Mom apparently has some killer headphones because she had not heard a bit of the disgusting cacophony that had transpired directly outside of her door.

“Mima. I pruked. I pruuuuked in the kitchen.”

“You what honey?



“She puked. In the kitchen. A lot.”


“I pruked all ober de fwoor. It was scawy. I don’t wike to pruke. I don’t hab a feber.” (She did have a fever, but was, for some reason, insisting that she didn’t)

“Oh, I’m sorry honey. (then to me) She looks like crap.”

Then I took her back to our room. And called out to work for the next day (that’d be today). My Mom is perfectly capable of caring for a sick child, but she has no car. If something were to happen, I’d rather there be access to a car so she could take The Peach to the doctor. Besides, I wanted to be home with her. Like I said, The Peach hasn’t been sick with more than a 100.4 fever for 24 hours since… ever.

snotShe’s a bit better. She had some toast this morning. She’s hungry, but it’s hard to tell a 3-year-old that you don’t want her to eat gogurt because she might puke and mommy really doesn’t want to clean up vomit with a strawberry smell from her bedsheets. Ew. Now I’m gonna barf. Plus she has this wet, croup-y sounding cough and is maintaining a low-grade fever. Plus she’s all… Not-Peach-Like. She’s quiet and cranky and all she wants to do is snuggle. Which is fine by me although it will probably lead to my own sickness in a few days. Joy. Oh, and the snot-faucet is on. But her nose hurts, so she is phenomenally resistant to The Snot Nazi. Every time I come near her with a tissue, it becomes a mini-wrestling match to see if I can actually wipe her nose before she flips her head away, leaving a trail of snot-slime on my arm, the blanket, her shirt or whatever else she might be in close proximity of. I’m pretty sure she got snot on Fairy Dog last night.




You know what? Sick kids are gross. I’m just waiting for The Zen Master to get it now.MjAxMy0yNjhiZWMyYjkzYjYxYzM3




Spreading the joy…

I love watching my girls together…

"You Dance wif me!!!"

“You Dance wif me!!!”

"I Fwyin! I Fwyin!!! EEEEEEE!!!"

“I Fwyin! I Fwyin!!! EEEEEEE!!!”

Even Fairy Dog and The Beast are feeling the love.wpid-20140907_055220.jpg

Mommy crack again

This one actually works!

Posted from my phone because I’m too lazy to get my laptop.

Couldn’t help myself

Both of my children are fucking crazy.
Had to share.

Posted from my phone because I’m too lazy to get my laptop.


On the lighter side…

The Peach has quickly become acostomed to living in a house with stairs. She is learning not to play on the stairs and it has been impressed upon her that she is not to go up or down without a grown-up (or Princess Punk). Of course, we’re still working on the rules, as evidenced by an incident on Saturday when I was distracted in the kitchen. As I turned around and frantically searched for my toddler who was less than 2 feet from me 15 seconds earlier, I hear The Peach saying, “Come ON Mommy. Huwwy UP! I wantto watch Peppa Piwg!” From her perch at the top of the stairs.

Last night on the way to bed as she’s scrabbling up the stairs on all fours with me patiently plodding up behind her we had this delightful heart-to-heart;

“I go-win up de taire!”

“Yes, you’re going up the stairs.”

“Wookit Mommy! I go up de taire!”

“Yeah babe, you’re going up th… Did you just lick the floor?”

“Nooo. I not wick it.”

“That’s good, don’t lick the floor, that’s yucky.”

“I not wick de foor. I wick DE TAIRE!!!”



Please Don’t Eat the Daisies

Have you ever read “Please don’t eat the Daisies,” by Jean Kerr? Or seen the movie starring Doris Day? The title kinda says it all. It’s referencing all those things that you say as a parent that really should never have to be said. Here are a few of phrases recently heard in the NewLife household…

  • “Ohhh… Don’t lick the table.” (this phrase is frequently used with various substitutions of the last word… window, floor, dog, your sister’s foot…)
  • “Be careful the poop doesn’t roll onto the floor.”
  • “Um… Why are there biscuits in my purse?”
  • “No, you sit on the potty THEN pee.”
  • “Don’t play with your vagina in the kitchen please.”
  • “I said, Don’t diddle yourself in the kitchen!” (This was, at least, directed at the toddler and not anyone else in the household)
  • “Please get off of Fairy Dog, he is not a trampoline.”
  • “Could you wait till we’re inside to take your shoes off?”
  • “Ew! Don’t put the butt thermometer in your mouth!”
  • “Please don’t grab Mommy’s butt while she’s making bacon.” (Seriously)
  • “NO! If it’s in the garbage, it is not a toy.”
  • “No, it’s not a balloon, it’s bacon. Eat it.”
  • “Please don’t put syrup in your hair.”
  • “No you can’t take a nap on the bathroom floor.”
  • “No toes on the dinner table.”

Those are the ones I can remember off the top of my head. It just seem that, a minimum of 5 times within a day, I find myself saying something that will completely halt my chatter (an amazement in itself) and cause me to think,

“Did I Seriously just say that out loud?”

A future receptionist?

Called My Mom this morning to remind her to call her sister about the possibility of us going to NY next week.


(rustling and scrabbling) “Ohmygoodness… Give me the phone honey… Hello?”

(laughing probably WAY too loudly for my office,even with the door closed) “Um… Hi Mom”

“I swear, I didn’t even hear it ring! She just… And… I’m so glad it was you! Oh. I guess now she wants to talk to you. Hang on.”

“HI! Hi mom!”

“Hi baby!” (I now have a ridiculously goofy grin on my face)

“I bidogrw ornslegew”


(very slowly) “I biwdin le-go.”

“Ohhhh… You’re playing with your legos! Awesome!”

(delighted she has gotten through my thick skull) “Yeah!! I biwdin!”

“What are you building honey?”

“I biwd a tower!”

“A tower! Wow, that’s great!”

“K bai.”

(more rustling) “Got it! She almost hung up on you.”

“I was just calling to remind you to call your sister.”

“Oh! right! OK, I’ll try to fit it in, we’ve been very busy this morning. OH! Oh. Ok, she wants to say goodbye. I’m just going to let her hang up this time since I gotta pee.”

(rustle) “wuh you bai”

“I love you t…” I realize the phone has disconnected.

Hm. I think she’s get fired pretty quick.

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