like dolls, but with Real-Life Pooping and Screaming Action!

Today as I walked my daughter to preschool she ran ahead of me and streamed past the elementary school, tapping every one of the six green poles in front of the building, then hopping up on the flagpole stand and swinging around the flagpole waiting for me. What a little darling she is in my life. I mean, despite my cynical jokes about parenthood, the fact is I am into my kids. Disgustingly so. I can look at them and I can smell their skin, I know exactly where each item of clothes they have on is from, what they have in their pockets (a pair of batteries in Nels’ back right-hand overall pocket, even as he naps), when they last washed their hands, and what they last ate.

Sophie’s inventory today:
Bathed this morning at 8:15 (Ivory soap), hair combed but not washed

Little pink panties and undershirt bought by my mom
Old Navy red-and-blue ringer tee I bought online (yes, I am ashamed for buying ON)
Green corduroy overalls, hand-me-downs from Kimberly
White socks, green-and-pink Converse Allstars I bought from zappos
Navy blue puffy coat I found on the playground one day
Baby alpaca pink-and-black hat I knit last Christmas
School backpack I sewed her this summer

Piece of homemade banana bread in her left hand (which she shared with her grouchy brother)

On the flip side of the coin, my son is being really unappealing this morning. He is currently napping and I’m considering whether I want to get him up for our African dance class (yeah, you heard me) or let him sleep a little further. Hell, what I want is to have a little laudanum to slip in his warm milk.

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