Now that's what I call devotion

It seems like every time I turn around lately Brookie is sick. If I had a nickel for each time she's thrown up over the last six weeks, well, I'd be buying another can of Lysol with it (lemon scented) (the BIG can).

The last time she was sick she couldn't even keep Tylenol down. Since she had a pretty high temp she was feeling extra puny. I sat by her and held a cool washcloth to her head while I stroked her hair and talked about anything I could think of to take her mind off being sick.

Things like the time my Aunt Martha was chasing my mom across the backyard (with what sounds like murder on her mind) when they ran upon a fishing line Dadpa had strung across the yard. Mom saw it and went under it. Aunt Martha didn't see it and ran full speed ahead and managed to hook herself right in her nose. That story always brings about much chuckling (from everyone but me because I love my Aunt Martha too much to ever laugh at her pain) (hi Aunt Martha!!) (Muah!).

I also told her about the time Big Mama's daughter actually got to go see Hanna Montana backstage because her mom's blog was so popular that they gave her tickets free tickets. Brookie thought that was the coolest thing ever. As I told her about it her eyes got bigger and bigger and bigger.

And I told her about the time my dad told us that scientists had finally perfected a hand that could operate on it's own, without a brain or even an arm. He talked about all the great things that hands like that would be able to help us do in this world. He then told us that unfortunately the hand was mysteriously missing and that he hoped they found it soon. We were quite enthralled by the story, but soon forgot about it and went back to playing Atari (yes, I'm old. Shut up). Later that night, when it was pitch black outside (we lived way out in the country) we heard something at the window in my brother's room where we all sat still playing Atari (hey, that Pong was addictive!). When we looked out the window we saw a white hand crawling up the screen!!!! Oh my goodness...we were scared half to death! We ran to mom's room and told her that we'd found the missing hand and that it was on the house! Then we asked where dad was...we wanted to tell him. She didn't know. Instead of figuring out that HE was the one outside the window wearing a white glove (and pantyhose on his head) we assumed the hand had killed our dad! Finally, we figured out the truth and Dad laughed so hard it's a wonder he didn't wet his pants.

After telling these and several other stories I took Brookie's temperature again and found that it was still rising (and she was still throwing up). I knew it was time for drastic measures.

A suppository.

Brookie was not at all keen on the plan. When I explained where it went she started shaking her head and she held her butt cheeks together with her hands. I knew this was not going to be easy. We ended up having to hold her down and force it in, only to find that she has the amazing ability to shoot things out of her rear. I'd put it in and she'd shoot it out. Seriously, it was astounding (and infuriating). Finally, I gave up and put her back in bed. The last thing she said to me before falling asleep was, "And don't blog about this!!"

Dang. Foiled again.

The next morning she was feeling better and kept down some toast. While eating breakfast she looked at me and said, "Mom, I've been thinking and if it will help get me Hannah Montana tickets then you can blog about my bobo shooting out medicine."

Hannah, if you're reading this, THAT is a true fan. She not only has up your posters, watches your shows, sings your songs and wears your clothes...she is willing to humiliate herself in front of tens and twelves of my blog readers just to have a shot at seeing you in concert. If that doesn't make her your number one fan, I don't know what does...

Okay, maybe it makes her your number two fan (hee hee, get it...number two???....I crack myself up...oh gosh, I said CRACK...I'm on a roll).

Although I must say that it would take a hook up my nose, a mutant hand on my window AND something bigger than a suppository shoved up my bottom to make me go to one of those concerts.

No offense.

Sisterly Love

Hello interpeeps! Did you miss me? I missed you. I've been in bed for a few days feeling so bad that I didn't even feel like checking in with my blog buddies. You know it must have been BAD if it kept me away from here, cause I love you people like a fat kid loves cake (and that's sayin' a lot).

I finally pulled my miserable self out of bed earlier today and walked through the house. That was a big mistake. I promptly screamed and ran back to bed and hid under the covers. You should have seen the place! Cave yourself up in your room for a few days and a renegade band of outlaw tornadoes bust in and destroy the place. Either that or my kids made the mess. The investigation is still underway.

While I was helping the CSI team look for evidence I came across a bunch of wadded up paper towels in both of the girl's rooms. Upon closer inspection I discovered that the paper towels contained messages. Apparently the girls were throwing notes back and forth to each other across the hall. I thought I'd share a few of the notes. Get your tissue ready and behold my daughters' idea of sisterly love.

From Brookie (age 7) to Lauren (age 13)

Love you some. You can get all on my nerves, but still I love you. but I think of you in my head sometimes and it is not good.

Love you,

Brooke

From Lauren to Brookie

Well me too, but sometimes I just want to slap you in your face, but I don't because I love you.

Love you!

Lauren

Makes a mama proud.

She should be selling used cars

I had to wake up bright and early this morning on account of the horrible thing that we people in the teaching business call morning duty. I find it very fitting that the word duty sounds like doodie, because, well, morning duty stinks a lot like real doodie.

Since I had to be at work early for stink duty I was trying to hurry the girls along. That was rather difficult to do with Brookie bent over the toilet heaving. She had been sick since last Friday, but she seemed better on Sunday. I was worried and thought I should stay home with her, but Dave said that it was just sinus drainage and that she needed to go. So I brought her crackers and sprite and her clothes and she got dressed in the bathroom.

When we got to school I went to the gym for morning duty and Brookie went to my classroom to spend some quality time with my trash can...lots of quality time. The two should be quite close now because when duty was over she was still bent over it. And when my first group ended she was still bent over it. I probably need to get them BFF necklaces because when my second, third and fourth groups were over she was still bent over it. I decided enough was enough. She needed to go home.

So I called her dad and he said that was nonsense. That I didn't need to miss work. She'd be fine. I explained that she was feeling terrible and heaving so much her tummy was hurting. He said she seemed fine yesterday when she was playing with her cousins (who were visiting from out of state) and to tell her to suck it up and go to class.

He can be a tough dad. I tried to talk to her about trying going to class, but it's rather hard to talk to someone with their head in a can. So I made an executive decision, took the day off and brought her home. Afterall I am the mom and am the one equipped with motherly insticts. She was obviously sick and the man had no idea what he was talking about.

Once I informed all the teachers that I was leaving so they wouldn't send students to my room I took Brooklyn home and put her to bed. I was a little nervous about making my own decision when her father had suggested something else, but I kept reminding myself that I knew better than he what was best for her.

I checked on her often and clearly the child was on her death bed.

The first time I peeked in on her she was in a pair of my heels. Clearly she was very sick. Everyone knows that dressing up makes you feel better. The poor dear was taking it upon herself to force herself to get better.

And apparently Madame was feeling poorly too because she dressed her up as well.

She even tried that age old method of 'feeding her cold'. Oh yes, she was a very sick girl.

And finally I found her in some kind of ritual with her Barbie. They used a fiber optic light to take the place of fire. I'm guessing she was praying to God for forgiveness for exaggerating her illness and making a fool of her gullible, soft hearted mama.

I really hate it when he's right.

The List

Apparently there is a pecking order of the best farters in my household. Personally I do not like the word fart. I prefer to call them puffs, but I am using my Brookie's terminology, so fart it is.

As you can tell she is a delicate flower full of gentility and grace (cough, cough).

Brookie (who takes after her father) told me all about this ranking last night. I was as shocked as you are. According to my seven year old fart analyst it goes something like this:

1. Madame (our Boston Terrier...she does let 'em rip. A lot. And they do stink. A lot.)

2. Brookie (I am sure it pained her to give the number one spot to the dog)

3. Dad (I am thinking he's been under-ranked about...oh...two spots)

4. Mighty Dog

5. Lauren

6. Mom

After sharing the list with me Brookie said, "Sorry Mom, but you just don't stink bad enough to make the top of the list. I hope I didn't hurt your feelings."

Don't worry honey, you didn't.

Brookie hearts Build-a-Bear

Brooklyn and I ventured out yesterday with the bajillions of people who went shopping the day after Christmas (I kid you not, there really were bajillions...or maybe even trajillionbajillions). All the traffic made me long for home and it's population of 14 people. The reason we braved the masses in the metroplex was to visit the most glorious and wondrous place on the earth (according to Brookie), Build-a-Bear. Personally I find all the unstuffed animal skins lying about a bit too Silence of the Lambs for me (kidding Brookie, now stop reading my blog and go clean your room!!).

Mumsie gave Brooklyn a gift card for 100 dollars. That is mucho monieo (I speak fluent Pretendish...that means I pretend I can speak another language) for a little person such as herself to spend in one place. I didn't think she could actually spend that much in one shopping trip.

I was so wrong.

We walked out of that store with outfits and pajamas and shoes and panties and glasses and hats and purses and coats and....well, you get the picture. When all the glorious shopping was complete we headed back to my parents where the population was much smaller (and the people were way nuttier...too much pumpkin cheesecake appears to make people way too jovial).

I took the following picture exactly six minutes after we left Build-a-Bear.

She shopped til she dropped. The child has no shopping stamina. Clearly I have failed as a mother and a woman.

Brooklyn's Good Hair Day

Brookie had her little Christmas program tonight. She looked so cute! I really feel like we reached a milestone tonight. She actually let Lauren and I curl her hair and she liked it! This is a big deal people. For the past seven hundred and ninety-two days she has worn her hair in a ponytail. No bows. No clips. No ribbons. Just a plain old rubber band and a plain old ponytail. My heart was breaking and my fashion sense was begging her for mercy. How could a child of mine care so little about her appearance? It just didn't make sense! She was worried about stuff like comfort. And warmth. What was that all about?

But tonight, finally, the Angel of Fashion and Style smiled upon my family and blessed us with the gift of big, beautiful hair. (Okay it didn't stay big, I tried like the true child of the eighties I am, but she told me to not get carried away. So, I had to tame it. Sniff. Sniff.). But it was still beautiful and best of all it was not in a ponytail. Praise be to God in the Heavens.

She did great in her little program. The only glitch was her shoes. She wore shoes that maybe didn't fit perfectly, but the LOOKED GOOD and really, that's what matters here (I am kidding, they were a little big, but didn't hurt). She was afraid they would fall off so she walked out onto the stage like some kind of Fashion Diva Nutcracker...all stiff legs and pointed toes. She was afraid her shoes would fall off so she didn't want to bend anything (not sure why that helped, but whatever keeps her happy). She was front row center and did great. Actually they ALL did great. I was very proud of all the children from every class. They were all adorable.

Now for the pictures. Let me apologize for the poor quality. I keep taking pictures with my phone and it doesn't really take good quality pictures, but I don't care because I love my phone. I mean love it, love it. The way I love chocolate and my kids (not necessarily in that order). Anyway here are the crummy pictures my beloved phone took of my lovely daughter (with her hair curled...yay!)

Please ignore the Playboy Bunny in the second picture. That was from my past life. Before I was a mom. Or a Baptist.

(that was a joke people)