The Screams of My Life
I'm supposed to be blogging, but I can't think about what to write because all I can hear in my head is the echo of Pie's screams. The screams. Oh, the screams! She woke up from her nap today with screams. The screams continued as we came downstairs. The screams continued as we cuddled on the couch. Did Pie want to be left alone? No. Did she want me with her? No. Let's listen: Hmmm, yes, the screams are about 1/2 a decibel higher when I stand up, so I'll sit down with her. Food, food! That always appeases a Pie. Sure enough, the screams abate with a Dora yogurt. Doodles wants a peanut butter (aka chocolate peanut butter, which I felt guilty serving him because it has 7 grams of sugar vs. 1 gram in normal peanut butter, until a friend pointed out that I don't serve it with jelly as most folks do, thereby coming out slightly ahead on the sugar account) cracker, and I oblige. Pie wants a peanut butter sandwich. Does she want a shape? Yes, she does. But apparently NOT THAT BUTTERFLY SHAPE! Scream, scream, scream. Pie is removed from the table. What appeased Pie today? Nothing. Really nothing. She went to bed screaming tonight.
New family rule: If what you're about to do needs to be prefaced by, "Watch this!" then you shouldn't be doing it. That includes propeling your body over the bar of the trampoline Pie got for her birthday. It includes any game that involves my cell phone and a full cup of milk. It includes any performance that involves launching yourself or another child through the air for more than five feet. If you have to say, "Watch this," it's probably better that I don't.
Peter came to town last weekend and we decided to take advantage of the nice weather and head to Kimball Farm. Doodles has been hassling us about playing golf, and Kimball Farm has minigolf. With tiny little clubs just the right size of little people. The site says the course takes about 45 minutes to get through. Except, of course, over Labor Day weekend. I felt bad for the kids because they loved actually playing (if by playing you mean Doodles whacking the ball, walking down to it, picking it up, placing it within an inch of the hole, and hitting it in, and Pie just randomly swinging her club over her head as folks around her test their reflexes as they dart out of the path of her club), but they got to play for about two minutes for every twenty, as the crowds were horrendous.
We played four holes before bailing for bumper boats. The minute Pie saw those boats, she tried to dive over the fence to get to them. "Boats! Boats! Boats! Boats! Those boats! Now! Pie boat NOW!!!" Before getting on, I made sure we could get off early when Pie freaked. We got on the boats. We started going. And good thing people could get off early. Because Doodles freaked. He was riding with Peter so they got out. And then he demanded Adam (who had his own boat) get out too. Luckily, he didn't ask me because there is no way Pie was getting out of that boat. That girl was howling with laughter. I struggled to keep her in the boat, as she wanted to check out the water, but she had a great time. Doodles felt better after a mammoth ice cream and a pony ride (Pie didn't want to ride the pony, but she didn't want to wear a helmet, and the folks there were nice enough to oblige).
Do I have more to say? I can't remember. Because--listen! do you hear that--are those screams? Ohmygod! The screams are coming from inside the house! Everyone, run!! Aaaaaaaaaaaahhhh!
New family rule: If what you're about to do needs to be prefaced by, "Watch this!" then you shouldn't be doing it. That includes propeling your body over the bar of the trampoline Pie got for her birthday. It includes any game that involves my cell phone and a full cup of milk. It includes any performance that involves launching yourself or another child through the air for more than five feet. If you have to say, "Watch this," it's probably better that I don't.
Peter came to town last weekend and we decided to take advantage of the nice weather and head to Kimball Farm. Doodles has been hassling us about playing golf, and Kimball Farm has minigolf. With tiny little clubs just the right size of little people. The site says the course takes about 45 minutes to get through. Except, of course, over Labor Day weekend. I felt bad for the kids because they loved actually playing (if by playing you mean Doodles whacking the ball, walking down to it, picking it up, placing it within an inch of the hole, and hitting it in, and Pie just randomly swinging her club over her head as folks around her test their reflexes as they dart out of the path of her club), but they got to play for about two minutes for every twenty, as the crowds were horrendous.
We played four holes before bailing for bumper boats. The minute Pie saw those boats, she tried to dive over the fence to get to them. "Boats! Boats! Boats! Boats! Those boats! Now! Pie boat NOW!!!" Before getting on, I made sure we could get off early when Pie freaked. We got on the boats. We started going. And good thing people could get off early. Because Doodles freaked. He was riding with Peter so they got out. And then he demanded Adam (who had his own boat) get out too. Luckily, he didn't ask me because there is no way Pie was getting out of that boat. That girl was howling with laughter. I struggled to keep her in the boat, as she wanted to check out the water, but she had a great time. Doodles felt better after a mammoth ice cream and a pony ride (Pie didn't want to ride the pony, but she didn't want to wear a helmet, and the folks there were nice enough to oblige).
Do I have more to say? I can't remember. Because--listen! do you hear that--are those screams? Ohmygod! The screams are coming from inside the house! Everyone, run!! Aaaaaaaaaaaahhhh!
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