sad = not happy

From a recent conver with Zee:

"Mommy?" [said in a small, dramatically quiet and emotion-laden voice]

"Yes, baby."

"I'm sad."

"Why are you sad?"

"Because I'm not happy anymore." [said in a matter-of-fact, yet mildly petulant and accusing manner]

There is a philosophical school of thought for this, though I can't think of it right now.

Mr. O's no longer the big cheese.

Mr. O has graduated from the infant to toddler room at daycare. Shocking news for him - he's no longer the big dude, and there are GIRLS in his room. His infant room was a bastion of testosterone for a year. Yet he learned how to blow kisses. He was a little put out by the transistion at first, but perks such as getting his own little chair and eating Cheerios with a spoon have won him over.

In related news, Zee was holding hands with one of the young men in her classroom, and they were running around and laughing maniacally when I went to pick her up. They were partners in a Go Fish tournament, and they must've done well. Her father is not pleased.

God-frickin'-dangit

Mr. O has some malady whereby his symptoms include not eating and general crabbiness. I have even asked him, rhetorically, "What. Do. You. Want?!" No response but wailing. There is nothing so frustrating in the world as a screaming child who can't quite communicate in complete sentences what the problem is. Hugs were no good. Offerings of graham crackers and bananas were met with an emphatic "no" via head shaking.

We'll ride it out, but this is one of those times where a magic cure-all elixir would be very helpful.

one of the better stories I've told my kids

We took the Christmas tree down last Saturday and took it over to the park for recycling. Everyone should do this. If you can get a tree in the house, you can take it to a recycling center.

D-Money was able to sneak it out without arousing suspicion. But keen-eyed Zee immediately noticed something was amiss when she walked into the living room.

"Mommy, where's the tree?"

"Daddy took it back to the forest."

"Why?"

"Because the tree lives in the forest and wants to go back to see its friends."

"Oh."

"We'll see the tree again next Christmas."

"Okay."

A bit of a lie but I don't think I can adequately explain recycling to a three year old. The fault is with me.

song in my head today

Morrissey's "Everyday is Like Sunday". Not a bad thing.