Avery has officially found first gear.
Girlfriend can crawl. Fast.
I think she took umbrage to the twisty scooter comment. Ever since then, when we set her down –
– she is in another zip code.
Our house is carved up in a series of small, perfectly square rooms. The doorways are strategically placed, as if the design were rendered by a toddler and her devious younger sister, to make it utterly impossible to see any nefarious deeds that might be going on in the next room. Keeping Avery from scarring her esophagus with popsicle stick shrapnel and small, metal mini-kitchen utensils may just prove to be the death of me. And I won’t even begin to go into the fear I have of the things that Briar feeds her little sister. Let’s just say that I stop often to thank all that is good and holy that Barnaby no longer does his business indoors.
And speaking of foulness…Briar’s favorite term continues to de…drum roll please.
A damnit to Cinderella here.
Damnit to a sandwich there.
Damnit to the toilet and damnit to the dog.
I do not say damnit. Or at least I do not say it as often as someone else here at Chez Magee.
I say Jesus.
And apparently I say it often, because coming in at a close second to damnit is Jesus.
You’re welcome grandparents, just trying to make you proud.
Actually it’s getting a little embarassing. But as any good child rearing book will tell you, do not ever give added attention to negative behavior. Hushed tones of, “Now we don’t say that. That’s not a good word.” Are met with wide blue eyes peeking from beneath a waterfall of blonde curls…Oh but you do say that mommy and daddy. You say it so much. It must be a good word.
In our defense, she says “bless you” to a sneeze, “please” and “thank you” for quite a few things and is very helpful. She doesn’t bite other children, maliciously destroy things or tell strangers hateful things. Our plan for now is to continue the hushed admonitions and work on our own swearing.
Jesus that’s going to be hard.