Wednesday Update with Jenny Brown
Good evening. I'm Jenny Brown. And you're not.
Our top story tonight: Generallissimo Francisco Franco is still dead and Doodles is not potty trained.
In music class, I turned Sweetie Pie upside down while dancing, and a shower of crumbs came raining out of her crevices. I'd feel a lot better about the incident if only I could remember the last time she ate a muffin or a bread product.
In other news: I said to Adam, "You can't go away on your business trip. Your children scare me." He said, "They scare you?" I clarified: "Well, no. Your children don't scare me. Just Sweetie. Sweetie Pie scares me." He nodded his head and said, "Yeah, I know what you mean."
Breaking news: Sweetie Pie is still not weaned! In fact, she has perfected the "br*eastfeed me now" temper tantrum, where she lies on the floor, screaming as if she hasn't been fed in weeks, gasping for air, and looking generally pitiful for up to one and a half hours until someone (no need to name names here, people) gives in and pops her on the bo*ob. I'm sure she'd go longer, but I have my limits. Why is it the traits I most admire about my daughter--her willfulness, her spunk, her fiery streak--are also the ones that make her a most difficult child? My father said, "Just imagine if she were your older child! Boy, you'd have a hard time," to which I responded, "She would never be my older child. She could be an only child, but never an older child. If she had come first, there would not have been any more."
Words most heard in our household these days: "Doodles, get off your sister! Pie, let go of your brother!"
Trying to figure out how to go running sans Adam. My half marathon in New Hampshire last week was a personal record for me: 2:01:38. Feeling more ready than ever for NYC, but don't want to lose the momentum.
Broken news: I finally broke down and consulted La Leche about Pie's weaning. I take back every assumption I've had about that group. I spoke with a really wonderful woman who was extremely supportive and helpful. I'm confident with the plan we've laid out, Sweetie will be off the bo*ob by 2009. Get your bets in now: What will happen first? 1) Doodles poops on the potty! 2) Sweetie poops on the potty! 3) Sweetie gives up the br*east! My best guess: 2, never, never.
Hospital time in my future is inevitable: My children have discovered a game called, "Crash!" In it, they run at top speed around each other yelling, "Crash! Crash! Crash!" until they--surprise, surprise--crash into each other. I love my children dearly, but no one is calling them geniuses at this point.
To repeat our top story: Generallissimo Francisco Franco is still dead and Doodles is not potty trained.
Good night, and have a pleasant tomorrow.
Our top story tonight: Generallissimo Francisco Franco is still dead and Doodles is not potty trained.
In music class, I turned Sweetie Pie upside down while dancing, and a shower of crumbs came raining out of her crevices. I'd feel a lot better about the incident if only I could remember the last time she ate a muffin or a bread product.
In other news: I said to Adam, "You can't go away on your business trip. Your children scare me." He said, "They scare you?" I clarified: "Well, no. Your children don't scare me. Just Sweetie. Sweetie Pie scares me." He nodded his head and said, "Yeah, I know what you mean."
Breaking news: Sweetie Pie is still not weaned! In fact, she has perfected the "br*eastfeed me now" temper tantrum, where she lies on the floor, screaming as if she hasn't been fed in weeks, gasping for air, and looking generally pitiful for up to one and a half hours until someone (no need to name names here, people) gives in and pops her on the bo*ob. I'm sure she'd go longer, but I have my limits. Why is it the traits I most admire about my daughter--her willfulness, her spunk, her fiery streak--are also the ones that make her a most difficult child? My father said, "Just imagine if she were your older child! Boy, you'd have a hard time," to which I responded, "She would never be my older child. She could be an only child, but never an older child. If she had come first, there would not have been any more."
Words most heard in our household these days: "Doodles, get off your sister! Pie, let go of your brother!"
Trying to figure out how to go running sans Adam. My half marathon in New Hampshire last week was a personal record for me: 2:01:38. Feeling more ready than ever for NYC, but don't want to lose the momentum.
Broken news: I finally broke down and consulted La Leche about Pie's weaning. I take back every assumption I've had about that group. I spoke with a really wonderful woman who was extremely supportive and helpful. I'm confident with the plan we've laid out, Sweetie will be off the bo*ob by 2009. Get your bets in now: What will happen first? 1) Doodles poops on the potty! 2) Sweetie poops on the potty! 3) Sweetie gives up the br*east! My best guess: 2, never, never.
Hospital time in my future is inevitable: My children have discovered a game called, "Crash!" In it, they run at top speed around each other yelling, "Crash! Crash! Crash!" until they--surprise, surprise--crash into each other. I love my children dearly, but no one is calling them geniuses at this point.
To repeat our top story: Generallissimo Francisco Franco is still dead and Doodles is not potty trained.
Good night, and have a pleasant tomorrow.
2 Comments:
hahaha!! Now for them to figure out that "Crash, crash" really requires buckets on their heads.
Hmmm...I think your theory about Pie is correct, that's why Ella's an only!
That is funny! Thanks for the laugh!
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