Archive for August, 2010

Figuring out the kids

August 25, 2010

We live in some weird hybrid of rural / suburb (right smack in between two major cities, but right up the road from a farm) and have quite a lot of wildlife roaming around.  On my lawn I have seen deer, raccoon, rabbits, chipmunks, and a fox.  Beavers show up a lot.  Owls are heard, but not seen.  Frogs pop up now and then.  In short, we are somewhat used to wildlife and night-song.

We have been on vacation on a little island off the coast of Maine.  We see seagulls, and some pet dogs and cats.  From the living room we can watch the Lobster-man inspect his traps every afternoon. The sound of the waves breaking over the seaweed covered rocks is everywhere.

BK2 is up, late, and insists he is unable to sleep.

MG: What are you doing up?

BK2:  I can’t sleep.  What is that NOISE? It’s so LOUD!

MG:  What noise?  I don’t hear anything.

BK2: It’s so..It’s so..It’s so…LOUD!

MG:  What, you mean the…crickets?


An announcement:

Given that BG has started to assert her opinion vocally, often changing her mind the minute you give her precisely what she asked for, and

Given that her two-year molars are making an appearance 6 months early, and

Given that she indicates an interest in a big girl bed and the bathroom (sometimes at the same time), and

Given that she seems to be turning into a teenager with a strange fondness for Ring-Around-the-Rosie,

We, the established government of Casa Crazy (and Grill) do declare that

Baby Girl is no longer a Baby

and shall (in the interest of accurate reporting) henceforth be known as

Little Miss (LM) or Missy, depending on attitude and degree of cuteness


In LM’s world, all animals are Doggies.

Sitting in ima2seven’s backyard, staring at the ground:  Worm = Doggie

Looking intently out the front door window:  Wasp = Doggie

The cat at the needle craft store = Doggie

Running up and the down the little hill in the yard, spying a seagull overhead:  “Oh, Doggie!  Doggie! Woof!”

She is actually kind of skittish of real doggies.


Clearly, the boys don’t remember everything about their previous trips Down East, at least not the car rides (minus the MP3 players we bought to keep them quiet on the 7 hour trip).

Somewhere in New England we need to fill up on gas.

We locate a station, and MG proceeds to get out of the car.

BK1, shocked, startled, and perturbed, strains frantically against his seat belt to look out the windows and asks, “WHAT is Daddy DOING?”

Immah:  He’s pumping gas.

BK1:  What?  Why would he do that?

Moral of the story:  Jersey boys don’t pump gas either.