Sometimes it Hurts

As a mother, I have always wanted my daughter to be my carbon copy with style. For the past two years and four months I have relished in the discoveries that yes she feels right at home in my world. We both love Chocolate Chex and have a unquench desire for milk. She got my brown eye despite my eight moth worry that I would only have blue-eyed children.
Yet, yesterday I discovered a minor difference between us, a slight disconnect between our brain synapses. When I was a little girl I loved band aids. I would create invisible injures, demand at every knee bump and scratch, and even was presented with my own box of band aids to fix my cravings. So as a mother I figured that my mini me pick up my love affair for these medically necessary stickers. So, I stocked our first aid drawer with Hello Kitty band aids waiting to soothe her two year old cuts, scrapes and invisible wounds. Yesterday Anna cut her toe. It spotted the living room rug during Family Home Evening and when we finally discovered the source of the blood, we quickly grabbed a girly pink band aid for her toe.
In my anticipation of her being over-joyed at the girly pink delight I was perplexed by her refusal to put it on. It was a band aid, the one sure fire remedy for bumps, bruises, headaches, coughs, imaginary or real. The real feel good tool. Well, since the blood was trickling down her baby toe our personal physician deemed it necessary that the cut be bandaged up. She ranted, she fought, but finally we securely wrapped her pinky toe. Then came the calming we sang, we cuddled, we even patted the kitty on the band aid. All the while she tried to wiggle off Hello Kitty. Finally we laid our tormented daughter, with a disgust of band aids, down, her foot dangling up in the air trying to get rid of that evil thing somehow.

Luckily, she kept it on and there were no blood splatters on her quilts or walls. Yet, as I came take her from her slumber this morning her first mumblings were, "take my band aid off now."

Anna, just remember that I can give you dislike of band aids but, much dissension past that will be scrutinized. Just so you know.

Spring Break Part 2

Day Four- Day four was not at all as planned. Anna continued to fever and spent a good deal of the day slumbering-two hours of which was spent on my torso. The rain made us all itch with cabin fever and want to go somewhere, anywhere. Aaron and I dosed ourselves with runs during the break of the storm. Around five, with a Motrin dosed girl we ran to the grocery store for essentials and grabbed some dinner. That quick trip even seemed to cure our ailments.

Day Five-Antelope Island. So we have lived a mere seven miles, give or take, from the causeway of Antelope Island for the past two years and have never gone out there. So we decided to go explore this natural wonder in an urban environment, as the brochure pointed out. Favorites: roping wooden cattle, spotting actual antelope, and the mirrored snow topped mountains.

Day Six and Seven: (excuse my lack of words, I never know how to narrate the normalcy in our lives. Then again, that is kind of what the higher purpose of this blog, right? Nevertheless, the pictures tell the story.)

Showing of their bunny loot and Sunday best

Anna's participation in the egg breaking game that I slaughter everytime I say its proper name and would spell even worse. See the guy my cute sis-in-law married? Anna spent half the evening on his lap. Watch out Steph.

Lania and Anna,

Spring Break So Far

Monday- We found out that Anna is only required to resume her pirate duties for two hours a day. Also she is scared, Frances Bread and Jam scared, of the bug puppets at the Natural History Museum. On the other Hand, she feels quite like a kindred spirit to the alive glow in the dark scorpion on display. Go figure. Also, Harris needs constant nourishment for his lanky body and watch out, if you don't eat you lunch fast enough he will help himself to the remains. Unless it is a green salad. I can have the entire thing to myself.

Tuesday-Anna can peddle her tricycle all the way down to the corner of our street but struggles to make it all the way back. Our street must have an incline invisible to the naked eye. I find me being a spinning instructor for toddlers, "push, pull, keep your cadence up, Anna." Late nights are disappointing when they end at eight-thirty. What's the use of that? I have now liked Adam Lambert, American Idol, three weeks in a row, go figure.

Wednesday- To much tricycling makes a tired girl whose tummy has seen better days. Doesn't stop her for wanting her daily dosage of milk. One nine year old boy can consume half a box of Honey Nut Cheerios if eaten by the handful for breakfast.

Stay tuned for the conclusion of our week including Aaron takes two days off, in a row, yes it is hard to believe.

Dads and Donuts

Yesterday I thumbed through the school newsletter that came to me along with a jumble of kid enticing ads for community events and programs. As I skimmed the calendar of events I noticed, yes, tomorrow, is donuts with dad, the paper indicating this was a change to the regular set date. So as all good wives I dialed Aaron's cell and realized that if we had any emergency that should pull him out of a patient's room this was it.

"Aaron, it's tomorrow." I said.

"What?" he said.

"Donuts with dad. Can you go?" I said, thinking can you bend over backwards and make your self the target of eye rolls and impatient patients for your nine year old son and a sub par donut.

A side note: Other than alliteration how do dads get to consume donuts and moms are paired with muffins? Now if they were of the poppy seed or cream cheese variety we could talk. In this one instance dad's get the better end of the deal.

So I left Aaron to solve that puzzle and went to solve how to get red punch out of the carpet. Both consuming tasks.

So did he go? Well, yes but they had their own private breakfast dining on donuts and hot chocolate from our corner donut store. Doesn't everyone have one? We do. OF course that was after he got a ticket for a rolling stop and he debated and stressed over the psychological effects missing one Donuts with Dad would have on Harris.

I don't know what they talked about. I only know that I married a man that caters to his children's need for donuts and who's number one son is a good reason to endure traffic tickets, eye rolls, and grumpy patients.