Off on a tangent (oh look! something shiny!)

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Jul 10th, 2013
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I have a couple more vacation posts almost ready, but I got sidetracked by some cuteness and haven’t quite finished tweeking (twerking?) them.



I have been all ” I am productive! I can accomplish all the things!”, running around home and work putting things in their proper places and being all busy, when this happened:












The eldest offspring has been babysitting fairly often, and this is one of the victims kids that she has had at the house lately.  It took about four whole minutes before she had everyone (including The Man) doing her every bidding and acting a fool to entertain her.




Yes, she’s cute.  Adorbs.  Yes, she’s got that wide-eyed innocence that capitvates even cold, black hearts like mine.  But folks.  FOLKS.  The words.  Oh Sweet Baby Jesus in Footie Pajamas, the words.  The things that come out of this kid’s mouth take the cuteness factor to DEFCON 5.


According to the mind of this small person, all adults of a certain age fall into two catagories:  Grammaw and Gramps.  Which is precisely what she calls The Man and I.  Cute, right?  But no, it gets even better.  She pronounces it “Dramma and Dramps”  And then I fall into a puddle on the floor and offer to let her break everything I own and burn down the house.  Who could resist?


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” I will hug him, and squeeze him and call him George”


“Please make the child release her death-grip or I will call PETA.  Yes, dogs CAN dial the phone.”








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“May I drip red Kool-aid all over your new black leather recliner, good Sir?” ” Well      of course, dear child, drip away. And please get some on my shirt also.”







Not one grumble was heard as we cleaned jelly fingerprints off the iPad, and no one complained that someone ate all the Cool Whip out of the container with a spoon.  (This time it wasn’t me, honest-injun.)


Small children are made adorable so that we don’t leave them on a curb for pouring an entire bottle of dish soap on the dog while it’s tied up with your favorite bra and laying on your new couch.  It’s a scientific fact.    Probably.  But this kid, running around mock-whispering “Where’s Dramps?  Motorcycle?  Vroom, vroom!”  makes my non-existent ovaries hurt.


Lordy knows that I give thanks everyday that my child-rearing days are drawing to a close, but sometimes a toddler is just what a mama of teenagers needs to restore her faith in kids.


PS.  The first person to whisper “Granny-lust” at this post gets shanked.



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