I love the ages my daughters are right now. Sometimes I wish I could just freeze-frame time for awhile and keep my girlies at 6, 4, and 1. I love that Livi and Ava are old enough to engage in intelligent/hilarious conversation.
Over lunch yesterday, before we found out we’d sold our house, Livi had some things she wanted to know…
Livi: So, how much are houses anyway?
Me: Well, it depends. Some are $50,000 or less. Some can cost a million dollars or more.
L: How much was ours?
M: Which one? (sad that I have to even ask this question)
L: This one.
M: (I tell her.)
L: You have that much money?!
M: Uh, no, not exactly. We pay the bank a little (lot) each month.
L: When will you be done paying? Next year?
M: Ha! No, in about 30 years.
L: I really don’t think we’re still gonna live here then.
What, just because you’re six years old, and this is the sixth house you’ve lived in? Give your mom and dad some credit!
Still sitting at lunch…
Livi: Oops! I spilled a little milk on my shirt. (she always spills stuff, always, and especially milk)
Ava: (rolls eyes, as only she can do and turns to me) You know how we have the reading Grandma and the toenail-painting Grandma?
Ava: (jerking her thumb toward Livi) She should be the spilling sister!
Still at lunch…
(For reasons I can no longer recall, I made/served/ate lunch with the girls wearing only my bra and jeans.)
Me: Hurry up and eat your lunch. You need to get dressed to go to the bus stop.
Ava: What about you?
Me: This is what I’m wearing. (Livi and Ava giggle. I’m always threatening to walk to the bus stop in various degrees of nudity.)
Livi: No! You said it wasn’t going to get really warm until tomorrow.
Me: You think if it was warm I’d wear this to the bus stop?!
Livi: Yeah, why not? (she’s kidding—I think)
Ava: Or you could wear your crack jeans. (okay, so I have 3 pairs of jeans—one I wear only with my long black sweater because the rump is too tight, one I wear every single day unless I spill something on them, and one I only wear around the house while the other pair is being washed because when I bend over, you can see my…well, the “name” of the jeans says it all)
Me: You know I don’t wear my crack jeans to the bus stop!
Ava: Yeah, just wear your bra and your crack jeans! (She and Livi “crack” up laughing.)
Ava: (starting to cry) My neck hurts bad!
Me: (pretty much numb to Ava’s bedtime maladies at this point) Just get in bed. It’ll be fine.
Ava: It huuuuurts!
Me: Do you want some medicine?
Me: (shocked) Are you sure?
Ava: Well, maybe. Do you have any about necks?
Me: (trying to keep an appropriately somber face) Yeah, let me get you some cream. (head to the bathroom for tube of creamy petroleum jelly which “cures” 75% of Ava’s bedtime troubles—chewable Tylenol takes care of the rest)
Ava: (as I rub it in) I think it won’t work.
Me: (thinking to self) Shoot, she’s on to me. Maybe one of my free beauticontrol items can serve as my new “medicine.”
Off to shower and go play outside! It’s supposed to be 70 today. Mmmmm… I. Love. Spring. (if you missed yesterday’s blog, be sure to check out our fabulous news!)