Monday, April 09, 2012


Easter Eve David and I went to see "Hungry Games" as Tate calls it. Relax, he didn't go with us, nor does he know anything about the story line. He's just misheard us say the name a few times. The kids stayed home with our sitter. We started using this sitter when Tate was a baby. So, naturally, she would put him down for bed earlier than she would put the girls down. We have never told her differently, I guess, because she still puts him down for bed and lets the girls stay up. We get a kick out of it, because Tate never questions her putting him to bed earlier than the girls. He just lets her. They all 3 have the same bedtime normally.

While we were out, David asked in mild alarm, "Did you get the stuff from the Easter Bunny?".

"Yes," I said casually. His eyebrows raised in surprise because I am never prepared ahead of time for anything. I had even stuffed all the plastic eggs a few days prior and hid them in a tote at the top of our closet.

When we got home from the movie, the girls were still awake, as we suspected. I figured he would get them nestled in their bed and we would drag everything out of our closet, position their baskets just so, then hide the eggs together...all 36 of them.

I headed upstairs to kiss the girls good night, but they weren't in their room. They were in ours, all nestled up under the covers of our bed.

"Uhhhh..." I began. "You guys aren't staying in here," I said in a confused tone. Trying to subconsciously alert David that this was not a good plan for tonight of all nights.

He snuggled in further under the covers. Then came the pleading look from all 3 of them. Reese knows how to lay it on pretty thick and said, "This would be the best Easter ever if we got to sleep in your bed."

Oy. I crawled in next to her and willed myself to stay awake until the girls fell asleep. When Reese's breathing evened out, I stealthily eased myself out from under the covers and out of the bed. The unmistakable sound of a low snore came from David's side. He had fallen fast asleep!

I tip toed to the closet and blindly felt around for the tote on the top shelf containing all their goodies. Poking my head out every few seconds to be sure I hadn't woken anyone. Needn't have worried. The girls stayed in their blissful slumber just like I wanted them to. And David, unfortunately, stayed in his as well.

I lumbered the tote out into the hallway and down the stairs. Tate's basket was nowhere to be found so I had gotten him a new one earlier that day. It was in the van. I plodded down to the garage and got it out of the front seat. I wasn't trying to be as quiet by this time, thinking for sure David would come tearing down the stairs any minute fearing someone was breaking into our vehicles. I cocked my head to listen for his hasty footsteps. They never came.

I arranged the baskets on the kitchen table and set to work hiding all the eggs in the living room. By this time it was 11:30pm. When the last egg had been balanced gingerly atop a window sill, I wearily hid the tote and headed up for bed. Again.

Reese had already rolled over to fill my spot so I headed across the hall to their empty bed for the night. Just as my heavy eyelids began to close, I heard the sound of dog nails scratching across the downstairs floor. I flew out of bed and, once again, stumbled my way down the hall and down the stairs. I had to safeguard all the jelly bean and marshmallow filled eggs. Thankfully, it was Mabel I'd heard, and she didn't even go through the living room. She headed straight for the backyard. After I made sure she was safely back upstairs, off to bed I went. Again.

A few hours later, it was Molly's turn to go downstairs. She is our dog who can smell a mint in your pocket 100 yards away. So you guessed it. Back down I went to guard those eggs. She didn't pay them any attention.

I think I heard the dogs go downstairs at least one more time during the night. But at that point, there was no way I was getting up again. I began concocting stories of explanation in my head for what I'd tell the kids if we found the living room in disarray the next morning with half chewed plastic eggs littering the floor.

Of course, once morning came and I saw the kids excitedly bouncing around the living room discovering one hiding spot after another, my sleepless Easter Eve was all worth it.

David, however, will be in the doghouse for quite sometime. I'm thinking hiding a cracked hard boiled egg in his car somewhere might possibly help me begin to soften towards him.

I'll end this with the humorous moment of discovering we could see every single one of Tate's stripes on his underwear showing through his light colored slacks. Talk about a wardrobe malfunction.

Thursday, April 05, 2012

Happy Bear

I blame it on my uber modesty and tendency to embarrass easily, but when we were teaching our children the names of their various body parts (eyes, ears, nose, etc) I chose not to teach them the proper name for "down there" parts. Some parents choose otherwise, and that is totally and completely their prerogative. I think that's fine. I, personally, couldn't bring myself to do it. I couldn't imagine my 2 year old talking about his or her "P" or "V" (see, I can't even type them out) in everyday conversation.

So, we referred to them as "privates". When Tate came along and the girls could plainly see the difference in his privates, we casually began calling his a "boy part". Ok, yes, it looks and sounds silly when I put it in writing, but it worked fine for us.

Beginning in Kindergarten, the school puts on a program each year called "Happy Bear". A very basic, age appropriate program about "good touches" and "bad touches". Of course, as a parent, this whole topic horrifies me to the core. But I thought the school did a great job of sending home information/literature beforehand about what to expect from this very brief program.

Imagine my surprise when little 5 year old Reesie came home from Kindergarten the day of the program and said, "Mommy, girl privates are called 'baginas'". After I choked on my lemonade, and was once again able to breathe normally, I said, "Well, that's close" and begrudgingly told her the correct pronunciation. Of course, she didn't keep this information to herself. She didn't waste any time teaching 3 year old Druebie the anatomically correct term as well.

Fast forward to this year. Tate's first time through the program. I just prayed he'd get through without excessive giggling. One of my friends went to the program and texted me afterward. She assured me Tate behaved accordingly. I asked him about the program when he got home and what he'd learned. Being male, he certainly never gives me as many details when relaying a story as the girls do. But he did retain a few bits of useful information.

Knowing I could put it off no longer I braved the question, "And did you learn the name for your 'boy part'?".

"Yep," he said confidently, "A peanut".

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