Blood, sweat and tears...over Uno.

Picture this: There are six people sitting around an old kitchen table in western Kansas. There's a curly haired kid who is my favorite curly haired child ever, there's the youngest, who is my favorite youngest ever, and there's a pretty awesome red-haired kid who shares a middle name with me.

Each kid is literally my favorite kid on the planet.

My parents and I are also there, and we're all sitting at the table, getting ready to play some card games. I mentioned casually to my parents that my blog is 10 years old this year. (Happy birthday, blog!)

A few minutes later, we are deep into playing a game of Uno. A great family trait that we have is that we don't like to lose — the curly haired kid has cheated at card games since she was three years old, all to avoid losing.

So we're playing this vicious game of Uno, with 9-year-old twins and a 7-year-old, and suddenly, the baby starts crying. I did not see what happened, but she was hysterical. Whatever happened was a very big deal to her and she was sobbing. I invited her into my lap for some sympathy, and she gladly accepted.

The sandy-haired baby crawled into my lap and cried into my chest. I patted her back, rocked her, and told her it was going to be okay, and then I asked her what happened.

It turns out that middle kid, the curly haired one, punched her in the mouth. Over Uno.

(Full disclosure: I did not see the mouth punch. Middle child claimed it was an accident and not a punch, but instead just a "poke.")

I pulled down the baby's lip and saw blood. Over a game of Uno?

The baby got over it pretty quickly and want back to her seat, which was beside her curly-haired sister. Each time it was the baby's turn, she asked who went after her. Then, she grinned this little evil grin and spent the rest of the Uno game giving her big sister all of the 'Draw 2' and 'Draw 4' cards, and also some 'Skip' cards thrown in there for good measure.

At one point, middle curly haired child did not play a blue card. It was at that point that I asked her: "You have a million cards. How do you not have a single blue one?"

Middle kid was not having it and ended up with a million cards. There were dirty looks and attitudes and cards thrown everywhere.

She was ticked and the baby got her revenge.

Sometimes I wonder if I'll run out of things to write about, 10 years after I started writing on my blog. And then my family gets together and there's blood, sweat and tears during an Uno game, and then I realize that I'll probably never stop writing.

Also, please note that the red-haired child is introverted like her aunt and stayed out of the drama.

And for the next game that we played, the youngest one and the middle child did not sit next to each other.

Vicious. 😆

At the end of the night my parents asked me if I was going to write about this.

How can I not?

(Please note that all the kids in this story are fine and lived through it with no permanent injuries.)

"You're disappointing and you have no brain."

I'm going to set the scene for you.

My favorite little red-head is 8 years old. She's smart, spunky, and has an attitude that she blames on her red hair.

My Dad, her Papa, said something to her that made her mad. I have no idea what he said because I wasn't paying attention. Whatever was said was probably was not that bad.

My favorite little red-head went right up to her Papa, looked him in the eye, told him something and then walked away.

She said: "Papa, you're disappointing and you have no brain."

And then I died in a fit of laughter. 

That insult is direct and concise. It's clean, with no cussing and she didn't even raise her voice when she said it. Her tone was even, her delivery was perfect and she was confident in her wording.

I give it a 10 out of 10. It's the perfect insult. 

"You're disappointing and you have no brain."

Also, I feel that way about a lot of people in my adult life. Thank you, little redhead, for giving me the perfect words and the perfect insult. I'm going to put that one in my back pocket and save it for future use.

867-5309

Going home means something different now that I don't do it very often.

I moved to the other side of the state a year ago. When it comes to little kids, that means that I went from being a full-time aunt on the weekends, oftentimes on Friday night through Sunday afternoon, to seeing my nieces once a month for a few hours at a time.

That's a bummer, yes, but it's a life change that was necessary for me.

Plus, it's made for some pretty hilarious little kid moments.

I went home for Easter last weekend. I was home for 25 hours, and I could probably come up with 25 different little kid stories to share.

I'll start with this first. 

My little curly haired niece, one of the twins, is 8 years old. She wanted to play 'Doctor' with her papa, my dad. Little curly haired K gets one of papa's shirts, puts it on and pretends it's a doctor's coat, and puts on a pair of my dad's glasses.

Good doctors wear glasses and coats.

Next, my dad sits down in a chair and starts answering the doctor's questions. 

But the question my little niece started out with had me trying really hard not to laugh at the kitchen table, where my mom and I were eavesdropping. 

Little K's first question to her patient: "What's your dog's name?"

Papa said his dog's name was Ralph. I have no idea how he answered that question with a straight face, because I was cracking up in the kitchen.

Your dog's name is important to you when you're that young.

Papa was eventually diagnosed and treated with Band-Aids on his ears and lotion on his face. 

After my little niece was done with her patient, my mom and I looked at the notepad that she was writing on during her appointment. She wrote her patient's phone number down as 867-5309.

And then we all laughed until our sides hurt.

If anyone reads this and doesn't understand that phone number, we need to have a little chat after you watch this.

For my own selfish reasons, I hope I influence my three nieces in a variety of ways, my love of music being the one thing I want them to inherit from me.

When your age is less than two whole hands and you know 867-5309 by heart, well, that means you're being raised right, in my opinion.

This is the cutest thing that I've witnessed recently.

I love that curly haired kid more than life itself. 

Literally.

One of the things I wasn’t expecting when my nieces were born was how much they would mature when they started school.

The twins are in second grade, and their baby sister is in kindergarten. 

The following conversation took place between the twins, who turned 8 a few days ago.

L: Do aliens have ears?

K: They literally do. 

LITERALLY, aliens have ears? 🤣

I’m sorry I can’t finish this blog post right now, because an 8-year-old just slayed me by using a word that I have a giant girl crush on.

LITERALLY.

Later that night, we had the twins playing Scrabble. K was in the lead, and was really proud of that, until L played a word and got 14 points from it.

K was no longer ahead, and that pissed her off.

K, talking to her twin sister: You have evil glasses. You have evil toes and feet. You have evil glitter on your shirt. 

Again, K is slaying me with words right now. 

K and I talked about words that rhyme. I spit out the word ‘bed’ and before I could even think, the next poet laureate of the United States started rhyming words.

These kids are the coolest kids I’ve ever met. 

Go best friends!

Also, you’d think a writer would be good at Scrabble, but I suck at it. 

I’m going to reverse your face.

I’ve spent a week in my hometown, which is a few days too many in my opinion.

These are my favorite quotes, in no particular order: 

Me: If both kids are hiding, who is seeking?

BFF: It’s quiet. I don’t care.

—

My Dad: This makes me want to pull out my little grey hairs.

Context: I don’t remember.

—

My favorite 7-year-old redhead, playing Uno: I’m going to reverse your face.

🤣

She’s the best.

—

Redheaded 7-year-old: Pop is delicious.

36-year-old aunt: Just wait until you’re old enough to put rum in it.

—

Same kid, looking at a photo of Eric Church that I took a couple of weeks ago: He’s real?

🤣

—

Redhead, while playing Taco Cat Goat Cheese Pizza: This is so stressful.

…it’s Taco Cat Goat Cheese Pizza. 🤣

—

This is not a quote, but a memory that I’ll remember forever.

We were watching the new Spider-Man movie, and everyone’s favorite friendly neighborhood Spider-Man was on the big screen making out with his girlfriend.

My favorite little redhead turns her body towards me, rolls her eyes at the top of her head and sticks out her tongue.

I feel the same way about men and love, child.

She’s the best ever.

Flies in

There are a couple of topics that are on my mind that I haven't touched on yet.

The first one is creativity.

There's no way to say this with class, so I'm just going to throw it out there. It's really, really hard to be creative when you're homeless.

(How's that for a sentence I never thought I'd say out loud?)

Before I sold my house in my hometown, I had ways I could be creative if I felt like it. I knew where all of my belongings were, so if I wanted to paint, I could paint. Not only could I paint, I could paint several things.

Canvas! Paint pouring! Watercolor! Pastels!

So many options!

Perhaps someone made me mad and I wanted to reach for an adult coloring book full of naughty words?

I did that often.

Or maybe if I was down, I could reach for my favorite book of all time, which always cheers me up. (The Five People You Meet in Heaven.)

I've learned through therapy that I have to have an outlet when things get bad. I can't just sit around and do nothing. When things get bad, I need to have my fingers doing some sort of art to get my mind off of things.

The thing is, though, when you don't have a permanent roof over your head, all of these creative outlets are packed away in boxes hundreds of miles away.

It sucks.

I do have some of my possessions with me right now, but I haven't found my art supplies yet. I don't know where my colored pencils or markers or paints are.

I did find my favorite book the other day, though, and I cried like a baby when I unpacked it. And then I hugged it (and its prequel) and then I cried some more.

Painting, photography, design and all of the other creative things that I like to do are all secondary loves in my life. I'm good at some of those things, all right at some of those things, and mediocre at some of them.

But those all secondary loves of mine. My first love in life will always be writing.

I never thought my writing was worthy of being in pretty journals, so I never bought them. I always just bought notebooks that kids use in school to write in.

But recently I've learned that maybe I am worthy after all. 

A few weeks ago, I bought a set of three journals. The one I'm currently writing in in black, just the right size, and has a moon and flowers on it.

My writing is worthy of being in it.

Some of the writing I can share on here, some of it can only be shared with my closest friends. (I'm so, so sorry, guys. Haha.)

It's been years since I've written with pencil and paper.

I've learned to find that creative escape and just roll with it. 

--

Every time Raven goes outside here, I hold the door open for her.

She takes her sweet time. Sometimes she gets lost and I have to pick her up and toss her outside.

I've been telling her for a few days that she's really good at letting flies in. Fyi, letting flies in means you're cute, but you're pretty much worthless.

I wrote this tonight. 

I thought you'd like it.

--

Flies in

 

I saw my brother’s kids

the other day

A red head and a curly blonde-haired kid

‘I love you 100’ they’d say

 

It’s summertime in Kansas

100 degrees in the dry summer sun

I gave those kids a flyswatter

And then I let them run

 

They screamed and ran around

started smacking things

Watching them reminds me

of the songs we used to sing

 

On the swings

On the playground

As I left to go home

I hugged them and told them I’d see them around

 

Their baby sister

Blue-eyed and dirty blonde hair

I just want to sit her down

And explain all the drama she’ll fair

 

Sometimes you meet someone

who’s only good at letting flies in

And then when that door finally shuts

Your whole world will spin

 

Three little girls,

Seven, seven and five years old

In 10 years, they’ll meet a boy

Then they’ll be whirled and twirled

 

Three little beautiful girls

I don’t know how to tell them this

In 10, 15, or 20 years

Their whole world will be amiss

 

Stay little as long as you can, girls

Don’t play with make up yet

Instead

go outside and sweat

 

Play your little heart out

Jump on the trampoline

Sing as loud as you can

Dance in the basement with Papa and a tambourine

 

Sing about rock and roll

About coconuts and chicken wings and all those times when

Do this before you fall for someone who’s only good at

Letting the flies in

 

Take a wooden spoon

Sit on my kitchen floor

Bang on the tubberware containers

While your Grandma laughs in the door

 

Please color me pictures

To hang on my fridge

If you keep painting and drawing me more

I’ll move them on the door just a smidge

 

I look at these beautiful kids

And wonder when

I’ll find someone who is good at something

Other than letting flies in

 

Girls, go fishing with Papa

Whenever he wants to

Lie about how big the fish is

It’s okay if some things are untrue

 

Please name the fish

Flower, Sparkles or Cutie Pie

And give that fish a kiss

before you meet a guy

 

I can never explain

how much I love you

Please run to me, let me spin you around

Before all the drama and boys ensue

 

Please don’t grow up too fast

And when I ask for a kiss

Go to the cabinet, pull out a chocolate one

Place it in my hand, God I’ll miss this

 

Kids, the only thing your aunt excels at

is finding men

Who are only good

At letting the flies in

 

Please hug me as hard as you can

I’ll take you swimming and sledding

And then I’ll take you home, tell you I love you so much

And tuck you in under your Spiderman bedding

 

I’ll go back to my house

Reach down deep within

And silently wonder when I’ll meet someone

Who’s good at something other than letting flies in

 

Girls, there will be a day

When your daddy will walk you down the aisle

And it might take a while

But I’ll be right beside him, with a smile

 

And I can’t wait for the day in your life

When I find out

who flies in

Like a dream come true.

My favorite youngest niece turned five this month.

Five!

When she opened her birthday present, which was a Barbie car, she screamed. Later, when she was playing with it, she declared, "This is like a dream come true."

Happy Birthday, C. May I always keep making your dreams come true. 

 

Cheating pants

Picture this: Aunt Monica is in the front yard, playing with three little girls.

I'm drawing with sidewalk chalk, calm and peacefully, when my favorite little redhead, who is 6 years old, comes up with an idea.

She's in the mood to run, and she knows she can outrun her sisters. So, basically, my favorite redhead is in the mood to win.

She attempts to line her sisters up by my car, which is parked in the street. Only, her sisters aren't having it and keep doing sisterly things, like not paying attention to the race.

It's kind of like herding cats.

Finally, they all three line up, and the two other sisters start running well before I say the word 'ready' in the phrase, 'Ready? Set? Go!'

So, two little girls are running their hearts out, and get to me, where I'm sitting on the front porch. The little redhead never moved from my car, maybe 30 feet away, and now she's very angry and upset.

My favorite redhead spits out the most sour insult that she can think of in her little brain. She says: "You guys are cheating cheater heads and you have your cheating pants on today!"

Just then, a neighbor walks past with his dogs, gives me a look, and starts laughing. (In little redhead's defense, her sisters were totally being cheating cheater heads.)

I'm going to keep that insult and lock it away until a day that I can use it. If and when there comes a day that the little redhead (or her sisters) grows up and gets cheated on in a relationship, I'm going to take her some ice cream and a bottle of wine.*

I'm going to tell her that the guy is a cheating cheater head who had his cheating pants on that day. I will tell her that eventually, she will find a guy who wears adult pants and not cheating pants.

I'm looking forward to that day, not because her heart will be broken, but because I know how to help it.

--

*If she's old enough. If she's not, then it will be sparkling grape juice.

Also, the kids had me draw them with sidewalk chalk, and then they all started sitting on each other's sidewalk chalk character. The 'My butt is on your face!' comments were out of this world.

It was glorious.

My weekend consisted of a bunch of random things I never thought I would say out loud 10 years ago, and I'm completely all right with that.

I saw a few little girls on Friday, Saturday and Sunday. I had some vacation time to take off of work, so I had a long weekend and three little girls to hang out with.

I got nothing done around my house. It was glorious. 

On Friday afternoon, I picked the twins up from school. Friday nights with them are usually short, because they're so mentally exhausted from school they'll crash early at night.

The curly haired twin, little K, was completely over life and in meltdown mode after dinner at a certain restaurant with golden arches and indoor playground. In her defense, I would have a meltdown, too, if I was expected to leave a playground when I didn't want to. 

After I dragged her out of the playground, she told me she did not want to sleep at my house, but she did want to come over for a little while to play. 

Sure, kid.

We drove down a street in my hometown called Wyatt Earp, and there's a statue at the corner of one intersection.

Little K asked about the statue. I told her that it was Wyatt Earp, a famous cowboy from a long time ago.

Little K: "Wyatt Earp died?"

Yes, little K. He lived and died a long time ago. 

Little K: "He's dead like George Washington?"

Yes, little K. Both men died and are in Heaven. When we got to my house, the emotional meltdowns continued.  (Please note that I genuinely like when this happens. I get a kick out of watching kids melt down at not getting what they want. It's adorable, mainly because the kids go back to their parents afterward.)

Little K was very upset once we got to my house. I bent down to ask her what was wrong. With big, dramatic tears in her eyes, this little girl started to wipe her eyes as she wept. Then she told me what was wrong. 

"George Washington is dead!"

There I stood, in my house that was built in 1900, listening to a little girl cry about George Washington. 

I soothed that meltdown over by telling her that Mr. Washington was very old and lived a long, happy life. 

She bought it for a while.

The second meltdown came a little while later. Little K stood in a corner in my kitchen, not playing with her twin sister. I went and asked her what was wrong. 

Again, there were tears in her eyes. 

"Monica, I don't know who I'm going to marry when I'm all growed up."

Cue more tears. Meltdown mode!

This one was a lot easier for me to explain. I bent down to her level, looked at this adorable child in the eyes, and said: "Little K, I don't know who I'm going to marry when I'm all growed up, either."

That comment was enough to get Little K out of meltdown mode. She laughed and went on with her curly-haired life. 

---

Later that night, I traded Little K for her little sister, C, while my favorite little redhead stayed with me. (It was basically musical chairs, only with adorably cute little girls.)

At bedtime, C was concerned about monsters. 

"Monta, what if a monster comes through the door and eats me?" Which, I might add, is a valid concern when you're in preschool. 

I sat on the bed. Little C, I said. I will not let a monster near you. I promise.  

And if a monster manages to get through my brand new lock on my front door, and figures out how to open my stupid, old doorknob on this 100+ year old house, I will take that monster out so fast, you won't even know it happened.

Little C looked at me confused.

My favorite little redhead, one of the twins, explained it in terms her little sister would understand: "Aunt Monica will kick that monster's butt!"

Yes, I would, kids. They both giggled. I told them that if a monster would to appear, I would kick him in the leg, punch him in the nose, and then give that monster a good, old fashioned throat punch. 

The kids giggled. 

"Monta, are there monsters in the closets?" Little C asked me, referring to my bathroom closets. 

I told her no, but the truth is that I have no idea what's in those closets. I can't reach them and have never opened them. But for this conversation, Little C, let's just say that there are no monsters in this house or in those closets. 

Also, I left out the part about how monsters aren't underneath the bed. The girls will figure that out eventually, I thought, when they date someone who has no intention of ever loving them. (I hope it never happens to them, but it seems like it happens to everyone.)

When I knew the kids were sound asleep, I called Grandma to tell her the shocking news about George Washington's death. 

Then I played a song for myself and passed out for the night. 

There were no monsters in sight, either.

--

--

Monsters

Eric Church

I killed my first monster when I was seven years old

He melted like butter in my bathroom's sixty-watt bulb

Kept a three-cell MagLite from Daddy's workshop drawer

Under my pillow and I'd pull it like a sword

Anymore when a restless feelin' keeps me up at night

Fallin' on my knees is my new turnin' on the light

I keep my faith intact, make sure my prayers are said

'Cause I've learned that the monsters ain't the ones beneath the bed

The wolf hunts a hungry man and the devil a lonely heart

A minefield of bad decisions lay hidin' in the dark

Greed stalks, sickness steals, and pride lays a wicked trap

You can't avoid 'em all, no, you gotta trust me on that

Anymore when a restless feelin' keeps me up at night

Fallin' on my knees is my new turnin' on the light

I keep my faith intact, make sure my prayers are said

'Cause I've learned that the monsters ain't the ones beneath the bed

Daddy, check my closet, leave on the bathroom light

I smile and say "All clear" when I tuck him in for the night

But Daddy, I'm still scared, can I sleep with you instead?

I kneel down beside my little man and I bow my head

Anymore when a restless feelin' keeps me up at night

Fallin' on my knees is my new turnin' on the light

I keep my faith intact, make sure my prayers are said

'Cause I've learned that the monsters ain't the ones beneath the bed

I've learned that the monsters ain't underneath the bed

-

I woke up the next morning to a four-year-old in my face. 

"Monta, it's morning. Can I go home now?"

Yes, child.  But first you must clean my house at 9 a.m. on a Saturday in pink sparkly boots, I told her. 

I'm just kidding. I did not tell her to do that. She did it by herself.

Perfect

The perfect snow does not happen very often in Kansas.

There are ice storms, wind events, hail, earthquakes and thundersnow. But a good, old-fashioned snowstorm that dumps inches of perfect, wet snow all day doesn't happen very often.

It happened this week. When I woke up yesterday morning, I knew that it was the perfect day to take the kids sledding. (I know that because I wanted to go sledding.)

I cleaned off my car, struck out at buying sleds at the first store I went to, then called around town to find them.

Oh, man. It's been a really long time since I had that much fun.

Plus, when the kids said they were cold, I pulled out my favorite Christmas Vacation line: "Yeah, well, it's all part of the experience."

I read a comment on Facebook of the decision to close school for the day. Something like: 'That was the best decision ever. There were families building snowmen all over town and families out sledding everywhere."

I agree, school district. Best decision ever.

We only had a little bit of fun. A little bit. Look at that smile!

My people.

Houseguest

About a week ago, I loaded up my favorite little redheaded niece in preparation for our date.

I took her out to eat, and then picked up her sisters and Grandma to go see Frozen 2.

During lunch, my favorite little redhead kept saying, "Monica, I'm so excited to see this movie." As am I, child. (Not really.)

We got ready to leave the restaurant, and we were running kind of late. I walked to my car, opened the back door, and told the redhead to get in the car.

She was hesitant, so I told her to get in the car because we were running late. And then I looked in the back of the car, where I saw one booster seat instead of two.

And then I realized that the car I was trying to get my niece to crawl in to was not my car.

Oops!

In my defense, the car was unlocked and looked exactly like my car. (Aunt of the year award goes to...) I went over a couple of parking spaces, got said child into the right car, and off we went.

Every time I've gotten into a car with that little redhead since then, she looks up at me and says, "Gee Aunt Monica, I hope we get into the right car this time."

And then she looks at me and rolls her eyes.

I have no idea where this child got her sarcasm from. I mean, I have no idea whatsoever.

:)

Moments

Hey girls, what's your favorite Christmas song?

Girls: Old Town Road.

Me: Head, desk, repeat.

Sparkles Applebloom

When the clock struck midnight on New Year's Eve, I was putting shoes on because I was heading to the make up store.

Okay, I was putting shoes on Sparkles Applebloom, the Barbie I was playing with. And the make up store we were going to happened to be in my bathroom.

My Barbie playing buddy, little L, who will turn six years old this month, told me that my Barbie was named Sparkles Applebloom.

I love being named Sparkles!

I asked little L what her Barbie's name was.

"Monica," she said. "My Barbie's name is Barbie."

She looked at me like I was the dumbest person on the planet. Sorry, child. I honestly did not know. Also, I got an eye roll for that one. When I pointed out that she rolled her eyes, she did it again. Haha.

I got my midnight kisses and hugs and snuggles out of the way, and we eventually told stories before bedtime.

My story involved a princess, a mountain and a waterfall, and a very good looking prince who did not have any ex-girlfriends contacting him from across the country.

My favorite redhead one upped my story with a tale of a 10 million pound frog.

A 10 million pound frog trumps a love story any day. I can't compete with her storytelling.

This child is awesome.

---

Happy New Year! May your new year be filled with kids and sparkles and frogs.

Mermaid

My favorite little redhead and I were looking at Christmas presents at Grandma's house.

Little redhead is working on letters and sight words in kindergarten. She found my gifts and asked me who the name on the gifts were for.

Well, little redhead, what's the first letter on the name tag?

M, she said.

All right, I said. Out of all of the names in the family, whose name starts with an M?

Little redhead thought for a minute. I could see the wheels in her head turning.

"The presents are for a mermaid," little redhead said. She was excited she figured it out.

I didn't have the heart to tell her the presents were for Aunt Monica (me). Grandma and Grandpa most certainly went shopping and bought a mermaid presents instead of their daughter.

:)

A miracle, they are.

Picture three adults, sitting around a fireplace in a beautiful house.

Two of these people work to pay for that beautiful house. The other is just a warm, cozy houseguest who is sitting nearest to the fire and too lazy to get up, go outside in the cold and leave.

I'm that houseguest.

We were talking about small children, the joys of them, how they are a blessing from above in all of their pooping, barfing glory.

Kids are a miracle, I said. (I also did not help clean up the vomit from one of those miracles that had covered the floor about an hour earlier.)

Then we started talking about being outnumbered by children.

Me, single and childless, with a beer sitting by a fire: "I never understood why people put their kids on leashes. Then my brother had kids. Now I know why people put their kids on leashes."

---

I ran into another friend about a week ago, and something she said hit pretty close to home.

After getting out of a bad relationship, she said, she spends every day thankful to be single.

I understand, friend.

That hit me right in the feels.

“Monica, that’s stupid.”

Little K and I had a date night last night. (That's what happens when you get Purple at school instead of yellow.) We were outside, walking back to my car, when K very dramatically said she was freezing.

I pointed out that it was snowing, and then I had a thought.

“Hey K,” I said. “Do you think Anna and Elsa are freezing, too?”

She looked at me. “What?”

“Anna and Elsa. Do you think they’re frozen right now, just like we are?”

K, who is 5, almost 6, looked at me.

“Monica, that’s stupid.”

That's what I'm here for, child. 

Greatest

“Monta, this is the greatest playground ever. I remember it in my head.”

-C, 3.

She's brilliant and beautiful, like her aunt.

Backwards

Me: Do you know how much I love you?

L: I love you 100.

Me: Yes, well I love you 110.

L: I love you 120!

Me: Well I love you 167!

L: Well, I love you 16!

Me: Dude, you went backwards there.

She's brilliant, just like her aunt.

Once upon a time, there was a little red-haired girl that completely stole my heart. I loved her the minute I set eyes on her the day she was born.

L, now 5 years old, asked me to tell her a secret yesterday. I am fresh out of secrets appropriate to tell a 5-year-old, so I whispered in her ear that I love her.

L's response: "That's not a secret. You tell me you love me all the time and I'm so sick of it."

She's going to be buckets of fun in 10 years.

Her little sister, C, started counting for me yesterday.

"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, twenty!"

I told her good job. She's brilliant, just like her aunt.

From the mouths of babes.

"Monta, I know how to go to preschool."

"Monta, my teeth are shinier than yours." (I know, child. I know.)

Monta, why are you wearing that necklace?
Because it matches my shirt.
No it doesn't.

:)