Laughter Trumps Tears

Instead of writing about how those two mommies at Alison’s gymnastics class were nasty and rude to me, again;

Instead of blogging about how both of my kids finally, after 17 months, slept through the night for two consecutive nights, only to follow it up by waking up every night since, one of them for hours;

Instead of telling you all how my sweet baby girl has suddenly become a tiny terrorizer;

Instead of focusing on how tired and frustrated I am;

Instead of even thinking about how messy my house is;

I’m going to talk about what made me laugh out loud today.

I got Blythe out of her crib this morning, and she went out to the living room, calling, “Dad-dee!  Dad-dee!”.  This one’s a daddy’s girl, I’m telling you.  She can never get enough of that man.

Next she ran into our bedroom and called, “Ba-abe!  Ba-abe!”  And is it scary to anyone else that my 17 month old kid knows mommy calls daddy “babe” in the bedroom?

Having no luck there, Blythe ran to the office, where she called out, “Jem-mee!  Jem-mee!”.  Who knew she notice that at work, he’s “Jeremy”, not “daddy” or “babe”?  Not me, although I think maybe I need to stop underestimating her powers of observation.

Having run out of names and places to try, she turned her face toward me with a hilarious look I can hardly describe.  Eyebrows up, lips pursed, cheeks puffed out, she said, “Gah mo-nin?  Gah Mohhhhh-nin, Jem-mee?” in this exhasperated little voice.  Clearly, the child needed to say good morning to her father.

Through my laughter I told her he must have gone outside.  She shrugged her shoulders, ran for the fridge and said, “Juice?  Juice, pease?”. 

Because, everyone knows – if you can’t find your daddy, juice is a perfectly logical substitute.