I stepped on a slug and other stories from normal life.

Right now the girls are fighting over who gets to sit in my lap. Since they don’t really use words to communicate, the fight looks something like this: Annie is in my lap, happy as a clam, Louisa is trying to claw her way into my lap (which I’m totally ignoring by the way), screaming and crying the whole time. So since Annie is happy, I put her on the floor to pick up Louisa. So now Annie is screaming and trying to climb into my lap, while Louisa enjoys the comfort of her throne. Repeat the entire process 3 or 4 times, and you have a good idea of how I just spent the last half hour of my life. You ask why don’t I try to check my messages with both kids in my lap? You obviously have never tried to type with two wiggly toddlers in your lap. Some things are JUST NOT POSSIBLE.
So yes, I stepped on a slug. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this, but I have an irrational fear of worms. I thought I was ok with slugs, but I guess not. I was outside washing the windows last night (bare foot of course) and the little guy snuck up under my foot. Of course I had a minor panic attack, which included the standard Ick-I-stepped-on-a-slug dance.
On a completely unrelated note, Alex has this thing about eating his sisters breakfast. Every morning he asks if he can have a bite, which normally turns into several. Lately I’ve just been telling him no. It’s their breakfast, he’s already eaten, it’s not like he’s starving. He shouldn’t expect people to share their food with him. (I’m a mean mom I know). It’s not that he can’t have more food, he just can’t have their food. But yet, we have this same battle every morning!
Finally, I just have to comment. My weird son hung not one, but two frying pans on my living room wall. I have these tiny hooks to hold the curtains back, they are just an invitation to hang stuff on. It’s pretty normal to come in and find key chains or action figures suspended from these little things, but today there were my frying pans. What will he think of next…

1 comment:

Dad said...

A slug, huh? I remember a time when we lived in New Albany, that you (age 5, maybe) came and got me and took me outside to look at a greasy spot on the front step. "It used to be a worm, but now it's nothing!" you told me proudly. Is the slug "nothing", or just wounded?


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