tongue.

This is the plant someone sent to remember mumsy by.  I’m killing it in her honor.  Not trying to, but I just realized I am and that is what she would have done.  Killed it, I mean.  I’m just counting down the days until the forecast does not hold torrential rains or subzero temps so I can put this guy in the ground and save him.  If you’re reading this and you sent it to us, thank you.  This plant killing behavior should not be taken as indifference.  I’ve only watered it with purified water.  Have sung to it.  Even tried nursing it, but that didn’t work out.  But that’s not the worst of it.

It used to have beautiful pussy willow buds.  I loved them.  Until Tess picked them all off to take to school for show and tell, which they don’t actually have in young 5’s, so that was really a waste.  But with single-minded focus, she harvested them all, put them in a plastic baggie and went to brush her teeth.  And that is how Peter got them.  And said this, Hey, if these were called Pussy Willems, that’d be perfect cause I like pussies and my name is Willem.
And so I walked four children to the bus stop listening to his sing song voice, I like pussies and my name is Willem.  And cursing the fact that on the one day I didn’t bother with a bra or toothbrush the neighbor’s husband was there with his children.  I thought we had a deal, Ann.  I thought we had a deal. Blushing like a new bride, I implored the neighbors with my eyes to ignore Peter’s song and my saggy breasts and the weird thing Grant’s hair was doing.  And then said a silent prayer of thanksgiving that there are no middle schoolers on our bus and that we’d already had the talk so if I needed to explain it all to him I at least had some background knowledge to work from.

Then I walked back into the house and found this.  The curl Grant couldn’t get to lay down which he apparently felt needed to be excised with the pink handled scissors.  You have to name scissors by the color of their handle, did you know that?  It’s a rule or something.
Pussy Willems and curls.  Sweet.
This is me being real.  Thankful that was Friday and I’ve not heard it since.  So thankful.

3 Replies to “tongue.”

  1. Ahhh, yes, Megan. Words kids repeat when they don't know what they're saying. Reminds me of the time my kids were with Grandma and they started playing the dreaded rhyming word game. (yes, you know where this is going.) And in the car, one of my triplets wanted to rhyme words with trucker. And then promptly started yelling the one word over and over that he found rhymed with trucker. Lovely. My mom inocently explained that was a “swear” and then, of course, they wanted to say it even more. Let Peter sing about pussies because if you mention what that really means, he'll want to say it even more. At least he hasn't mentioned them since Friday. Be happy for small favors.

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  2. So sorry Megan. Trust me he did not notice anything out of the ordinary. He felt like “Mr. Mom” that day and was so proud.
    ~Anne

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