That's not a mouse!

I've been working with Sophie on various words recently. I got her to say "mouse" (mow), and she says "Daddy" and "Mommy" perfectly. (She's the first of my children to call me Mommy and not Mama, for some reason.) She even says "Gabby" AND says it almost exactly like Gabby used to say it herself - "Bahbee". Utterly adorable, although she only says it if no one is listening - any other time and her Not A Performing Monkey light starts flashing on her forehead.

Anyway, I was changing her diaper while she was playing with a red fuzzy teddy and I started asking her if she could say mouse again. "Sophie, can you say mouse? Say mouse, Sophie. Mouse. Moooouuuuse. Say mouse, honey!"
She gave me a look that said far better than words that Mama is really not too bright, held up Red Fuzzy and said, "Bear." Get it right, Mom!

Gabby was working hard at learning to do cartwheels the other day. She's finally to the point where she can land on her feet, but she's still not straightening in the air enough, so she's practicing constantly. She came to me and told me very seriously that she was working hard. She said, "I'm going to practice lots and lots until I can do it. I'm persevering."
Zoe overheard this, nodded wisely and said, "I'm Rachel Zoe."

No Smoking

There's a sign on our door that says that. The last tenants here were terrible smokers - the house was yellow with smoke, the walls were dingy, the carpets filthy, and the whole place reeked. So our landlord decreed that there would absolutely be No More Smoking in this house. That's just fine with us, since we don't smoke anyway and don't want to live with it either.

So a few days ago, I was having a rather difficult day. We'd just gotten home from church, my hip was having a terribly bad attack and I was having a hard time staying upright, let alone cooking lunch for everyone. But everyone was hungry, and that's what mamas do, right? So I started heating the skillet and buttering some bread for hamburgers. I got one patty in the skillet and a piece of buttered bread in the other (dry) skillet (because Erich likes his hamburgers on a toasted bun), and the first skillet started blackening because I had the heat up a little high. So I grabbed another patty and put it in, but I lost my hold on it and dropped it right before it went in the pan. Right into the hot grease. Which splattered everywhere, including my hand and my face. Yeah, ouch.

I yelled, Erich dropped everything and came running, and found me hunched over the sink in tears as I ran cold water over my wrist. He got me some ice and tried to help as I struggled to get hold of myself, which is when I realized that the bread was quickly blackening and the burgers were burning. Then the smoke alarm went off. Dee-dee-dee-dee-dee! Have you ever heard a smoke alarm? Those puppies are LOUD.

Finally, I managed to get the bread out of the pan, the burgers off the heat, and the vent over the stove turned on, which is when Gabby came running in to find out what the ruckus was about. She stood there watching Erich and me for a minute, and then said plaintively, "But Mama, the sign outside says no smoking!" Poor kid couldn't understand why we laughed so hard - she got so embarrassed she stomped off. But her comic timing couldn't have happened at a more perfect time - I was desperately needing that release just then.

Thank you, Lord, for my kids, and for reminding me why I have them and enjoy them so much!