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Abby monkey!

Once in a while I like to play a fun mental game where I imagine that I have just time travelled to the current day from a couple years ago, and I'm meeting my kids for the very first time. I'm going to hazard a guess and say that I'm not the only person who plays that game. It's probably an amusing ruse because it makes you try and see someone (or 2 someones) in a new way, with a blank slate.

Sometimes this game forces itself on me, uninvited. This turns into an impromptu game of, "Oh crap, I forgot I have kids. When did this happen?" Nothing particularly sets this off - not tonight at least - except for the general spectacle of both kids running around like neanderthals, pants off, bouncing in the cribs, swinging from the chandeliers, dunking things in the toilet, and then my head gets fuzzy and I have a very sharp realization of self. It's fun. And it makes me dizzy. There's really no point to this anecdote.

News from the day, courtesy of Jen who is on the couch having herself a sharp realization of self:


Today the girls had juice, and it was good. Lily ran out of juice, and this turned very very bad when Jen informed her that there was to be no more juice. A little tantrum was begun, and things went south. At this moment Abby wandered over, tapped Lily on the shoulder, and handed her the rest of her juice.

(when Jen told me this I spontaneously threw up in my mouth out of pure love for my kids)

Jen went to the rec center today for open playtime with Chris and Ella. One of the highpoints was Lily learning to kick. I've seen her kinda run at things and kinda kick stuff, and it works out hunky dory and she enjoys it, but Jen said today's feats were of a different ilk. She has worked out the skill of standing still, raising her leg, and letting it fall through the right arc for kickery. This is good news. I've notified the appropriate D-1 colleges that field quality women's soccer teams. Lily was all too cogniscent of her achievements, and the room would echo with random, "Mommy loookit!"s every few seconds.

Day three hundred and sixty. (5 days! Or as they say in aviation lingo: fife.)

Quality time. Just ask Elmo.

Stylin'