What the Blank

M and I moved into a charming (if I do say so myself) little bungalow in a neighborhood teaming with kids. Much to M's delight and for the first time ever, there are children mere steps from our front door. Maggie eyes glaze over at the sight of eight year old Lilly playing across the street. When the weather is nice they roam the yards like a pack of wild dogs, going from house to house depending on who has the best snacks. (No one ever comes to our house.....apple slices?!)

For days Maggie had been talking about Blank. Blank this and Blank that, I thought it was some cute pseudo swear word that Jack had taught her. Finally, finally Maggie referred to Blank's cats. You mean Blake's cats? The 5 year old neighbor BLAKE? She nods her head in that exasperated didn't you hear what I said manner.

It's been heard........

"It's been heard that the Easter bunny has never been seen by anyone. What do you think of that?"

I think at 6:30 am in January that is a hard question to process. "Hmmm....."I say to Maggie "why do you think that is?" She shrugs her shoulders and runs off to make a dog sled team out of her stuffed animals. (I couldn't make this stuff up.) And herein lies the reason I love being Maggie's Mom; the random questions followed complete disinterest in the answers. Or how about the sudden attack of kisses followed by a sudden attack of surliness, all for completely inexplicable reasons. Oh, how lucky I am.

Be still my beating heart.

Maggie has become adept at the house shuffling. I call her and she can't be bothered to come to the phone. Jack must drag her to the phone, put her on speaker and force her to talk to me. This also holds true in the opposite situation; she can't be bothered to talk to Jack either. I tell myself this is a sign of a happy child. I'll keep repeating the mantra until I believe it.

Last week, I called the little monkey from New York and the above paragraph held true as per usual. If all is right with Maggie, then all is right in my world too, so I went to Bryan and Doreen's for dinner. Bryan and Doreen live in the middle of nowhere, about a 5 minute drive to any type of cell phone reception. This would be considered the middle of nowhere in 2009, right? I check my messages on the way home and lo and behold there is a message from Maggie, " I miss you Mommy, I love you so much. I hate Daddy, he's mean. I just want you, Mommy, where are yooouuuuuuu?" The message was left no later than 30 minutes after I called her the FIRST time. It ripped my heart out. This kid has my number dialed and I'm afraid I'll be powerless to resist her for the next 20 years or so.

The pig stays

When asked what is the difference between a guinea pig and a hamster, Maggie irritated by such a pedestrian question, replied "hamsters have wheels in their cages." Clearly. The guinea pig, Calypso, is the love of M's life, except when it comes time to change the bedding. I think the name Calypso sounds more like an entertainer at an adult club, but I've grown to love the pig too. Whenever someone enters the room she squeals, well like a pig.

The thing is we have pet "issues" at our house. We tend to kill fish and tadpoles. I did find Maggie with the last fish in her hand trying to pet it, perhaps that has something to do with the high death toll. Tadpoles never seem to make it anywhere close to adulthood. I'm allergic to cats and my travel schedule doesn't warrant a dog. So Calypso is staying and I'm keeping my fingers crossed that she'll survive the frequent baths and the parade of neighborhood children.

Pass me the smokes old lady.

Poor Maggie has been sick for weeks. This week she sounds like a 60 year old male smoker. When she talks to me it's a little bit freaky. That voice just shouldn't come out of that little mouth. Next thing I know she'll be calling me Mel and telling me to pass the smokes.

As a product of parents who were lax in the affection department, I tend to go overboard. I'm always telling M how much I love her. Lately my affections have not gone unnoticed. Last night M told me that her favorite body part was "my love." While this is sweet, everyone who knows us can confirm that her true favorite body is my boobs. This is what I get for popping my slow to gain baby on my breasts every time she cried; I didn't want the little peanut starve. She clearly did not starve and in the process I created a boob monster. We actually have a rule in our house..."no touching mommy's boobies." I mean, really!! I keep telling her that she needs a girlfriend. I even tried to pass Aunt Eileen's clearly superior breasts off to her, but neither party was interested.