Little Baby Dillweed

C: Also, fwiw, I like the name Abigail.

K: Nice. We do too. Mom doesn’t seem crazy about it.

C: Not so much, but cest la vie. You know what Shakespeare had to say about all that anyway.

K: Yeah…that guy was cool.

C: Oh, good! Glad you got the reference to the line by Shakespeare in his play: _______ (this is a fill-in-the-blank questionnaire.)

K: King Leer. Not sure the spelling or the play.

A rose by any other name should smell like new baby in order to be loved.

A rose by any other name should still smell like new baby in order to be loved.

C: Lear. No. Romeo and Juliet. A rose by any other name would still smell as sweet. Meaning, regardless of Juliet’s name (Capulet), he still loved her the same.
Of course, they were young teenagers who thought they were in love after just meeting and decided they knew enough about love to kill themselves because they thought they couldn’t be together even though they didn’t even talk to their parents about or give the whole relationship some time to develop.
But same difference, amirite?
Anyway, it’s the idea that’s important. Not the details. Not in this case anyway. Next time details will be important. Probably.

K: It’s the thought that counts.

C: Ok.
What I’m saying is that no matter what you name your kid, mom will love it just the same as long as it has that New Baby Smell. You could name her Dillweed and mom would love her.
Actually, Dillweed is kinda cute.
Dilly! OMG, I’m so calling your kid Dill. Continue reading

The Temple of DOOOOOM

scared ponies

Ponies frightened of incoming skeletons.

For Thanksgiving, we had a small group. Me, boyfriend Carl, mom Liz, bestie Rose, Rose’s husband Don, and their child Daisy, who’s 4. Daisy is a lovely little child who has no problem making friends with anyone. She particularly likes making friends with boys.

After dinner (in which Daisy had three helpings of mashed potatoes), Daisy began playing with the ponies she’d brought with her, and Carl joined her. According to Daisy, the ponies were all trying to run away from, and also defeat, an army of skeletons. “Well, all the skeletons are coming after the ponies, the ponies have to fight them off of their land because it’s where their houses are and where they eat. But the skeletons want to come and take it from the ponies. The skeletons are really scary, especially at night,” she explained. Looking at Carl, wide-eyed, she said “I’m scared!” and reached out to hug him. Daisy had scared herself with the story so much she needed a reassuring hug from a big guy she’d met only a handful of times.

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Adult’s night out

As an adult, I go on grown-up nights out. And since I don’t have kids, this really isn’t a big deal.

pissed off cat

What the cat looks like when I leave her. Or don’t feed her wet food when she demands. Or don’t pet her enough or to her liking. Or when I wake her up from a nap.

I leave my cat, I go out, I come home to pissed off cat.

My best friend, however, has a daughter, V. She’s four. She needs a babysitter, something my cat doesn’t require or would even acknowledge.

On a recent adult date night between V’s mom, Rose, Rose’s husband, me and my boyfriend, we enlisted my mother, Liz, to babysit V.

While at dinner, Rose told us how excited V was about the evening with Liz.

“Yeah, V said she was really excited about babysitting Liz, and that if they ran out of things to do, she’d have to think of new things they could do together!”

After returning from the date, Liz informed me that, during the ‘sit, her and V watched Maleficent. During the scary parts, V would cover my mom’s eyes and tell her not to watch because it was scary.

The next day, Rose texted me that V had asked Rose and Husband to go out to an adult breakfast together so she could play with Liz.


drinks with friends

Cheers! A night out without kids or cat!


Can I interest you in this thing? It does stuff.

Around Thursday, Little B came out of her room with a full backpack. She went up to her dad and said “We need to talk.” She told him to sit down.

“Are you comfortable?” she asked. He was.

“Ok,” and Little B began.

She proceeded to pull toys out of her backpack and do a sales pitch.

“This is a shaker-thing. When you shake it, it makes lots of noise. It also has lots of colors. Are you interested in this? Is this something you need? Just think about it.” She set the maraca down on the coffee table and pulled out the next item.

“This is a micromophone. It makes your voice LOUDER when it’s close, and softer when it’s far away. There are also button on it, right here. You push them and they do things. Is this something you need? I can sell it to you.”

The microphone in question was actually just a drum stick.

Little B’s Dad was laughing throughout all of this.

“Stop laughing,” she scolded him. “I’m not done yet.”

She proceeded to pitch about eight toys to him.

LB’s Dad bought all the things (while laughing hysterically).


Is this something you need? It makes noise.


*Want to read more about Little B? Go here.

They say it’s your birthday

My niece, Little B, is about 3 1/2 years old. On Wednesday, she went to preschool and told the teacher her birthday was that day. She wasn’t going to have a party that night, but she was having one over the weekend. It was going to be a Frozen themed birthday, with Elsa and a pretty frozen cake. She said all her little friends were coming, as well as all her family.

“Except gwandma Gaga,” she explained. Grandma Gaga is her name for my mother, her grandma. “Gaga can’t come because she lives willy faw away. But she visits me in my iPad a lot.”

The class sang her happy birthday and treated her nice all day because she was “the birthday girl.”

Sister-in-law picked up Little B from preschool. The teacher approached her, and said “Why didn’t you tell us it was Little B’s birthday? We could have had a whole little party for her. We did sing her happy birthday, though.”

“What are you talking about?” asked sister-in-law.

“Little B’s birthday… she said it was today. That you’re having a Frozen-themed party this weekend…” said the teacher, uncertainty growing in her voice.

“Little B’s birthday isn’t until March.”

This is what her birthday cake would like like in March, when her actual birthday is.

This is what her birthday cake would like like in March, when her actual birthday is.

*Want to read more about Little B? Go here.

Conversations with my 6-year-old neighbor

I live in a small cul-de-sac where there are a lot of kids. One, in particular, lives across the drive from me, and is a very active, inquisitive guy. Tonight, while his mother cooked dinner and his father fixed our sink, I offered to watch Kid and Little Brother so everyone could get their stuff done in a relatively sane manner.

For this, his parents paid me with a cider ale.

Thus began the questions. After going upstairs (where the sink is), Kid saw my bedroom and came down and asked “Why do you have a giant stuffed teddy bear in your room?”

“It’s a hippo,” I corrected. Kid looked at me inquisitively.

“Are you asking why I, a grown woman, has a giant stuffed hippo in her room?”
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