Kisses or Magic Powder?

Another story from the Drafts folder. . . .

Ali's been a bit clumsy this week. She's fallen down four times in two days, and I'm not sure why.

At first I suspected her shoes. Maybe they were the problem. But then we wore a very different pair of shoes today, and it was no better.

Maybe she's just hit a growth spurt and is awkward with her own body like a pregnant woman. She sure made ME clumsy.

At any rate, she's got two rashes on each knee. It's quite the sight. She woke up from her nap today saying, "I've got LOTS of boo boos. I've got LOTS of boo boos!!!".

Poor kid.

One of her falls today happened while we were at lunch with my Dad. Or more accurately, as we were leaving lunch, and so therefore in the parking lot, leaving her biggest rash yet (none of which are barely categorizable as a minor scratch, mind you).

Minor or not, she was quite upset about it.

Which led to something very familiar.

Dad reached in his little bitty jeans pocket (aren't those called cigarette pockets?) and pulled out his magic powder.

Or, to translate to Ali's language, "Magic Medicine".

Dad has kept a steady supply of Magic Powder in his cigarette pocket since I was Ali's age. It always managed to make everything feel better.

And for those rare times that it DIDN'T work, he pulled out the Pinaseptic. Which was, in itself, motivation for the Magic Powder to make it all better

The Magic Medicine definitely seemed to do the trick. So much so that it didn't need a kiss from Mommy. In fact, it must have been better than a kiss, because when I went to get her from aforementioned nap where she was complaining about her boo boos, she promptly requested more Magic Medicine.

Who knew it was of higher quality?Kisses or Magic Powder?

Busters

Cleaning out my drafts folder. . . this story is a couple of weeks old. . .

I should have learned from the first time.

I was doing my bible study this morning and heard "I need new jammies!! I NEED NEW JAMMIES!!!"

And I found this, again:
I asked her if she just wanted me to take her jammies off until I finished my bible study, but she said, "No. I need NEW jammies please."

So we got new jammies. For the few minutes left in bed.

Whatever it takes to get those last few minutes in.

Even Two Year Olds Understand

That a Good Hair Day = Happiness.

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Rendered Speechless By Gravity.

If You Were Wondering What I Decided. . .

I couldn't do it.

I couldn't eat the blueberries.

I even thought about putting them in a baked good, using the philosophy that the germs would get cooked out, but it wasn't really the germs, per say, that freaked me out.

The thing that really was the kicker is that the garage is in the basement, and there are sometimes roaches in the garage at night. Which means roach footprints on the garage floor.

And as I've said on here dozens of times, I can't handle roaches. Who cares about the car greases and dirty footprints. It's the roaches and the roaches only that I can't handle.

The thing that finally sealed the deal was that when I left the house today, there were a few still on the garage floor - half eaten, by some horrible creature I'm sure.

If I had spilled them anywhere else, I would have certainly washed and eaten them, but not in the garage.

So, I sent them with my Dad to feed to the chickens.

Unless, of course, my parents are more liberal about such things than I. Then they can eat them.

What Do I Do About THIS?

I got home from the store today, went around and opened the door to get the groceries out, and. . . .

All over the garage floor.

I picked them all up in a big hurry, but now I can't decide. The garage is nasty - it's a garage, after all.

Should I use them? If I wash them real good?

Or should I just throw them away?

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Storytime

When doing bedtime stories with large groups of small children, you will always have. . .

the looker-all-arounder,
the feet-sticker-in-the-airer,
the crowder,
the boys-on-the-perimeter,
and the goody-two-shoes-acting-like-they're-the-best-listener.
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