I don’t have a theme for today’s post. My brain is still in Florida. Did I mention we had our very first child-free weekend an ENTIRE PLANE RIDE away from our girls? It was, in a word, glorious.


Our flight back was a total nightmare, but I did learn a few things from it:

1)      I will never fly a particular airline again because of how rude and thoughtless their gate agents were to us.

2)      Twitter is an amazing tool. Through it, I was able to reroute us pretty easily.

3)      Our families freaking rock. OK, I pretty much already knew that. But, we were unable to get home until the following morning and they all banded together (along with some pretty kick-ass friends) to make sure the girls were completely taken care of and at their respective schools complete with homemade lunches when we finally arrived home. Bonus? My house was even clean. WITCHCRAFT, I tell you!

So, Audrey, you know, my Evil Genius, turns two in about two weeks. We’d been a little concerned about her speech (or rather, lack of) for the past few months. Olivia was a late talker, but was definitely putting sentences together by the time Audrey was born (so Liv was 22 months then). My little one? Aside from MOMMY (yes, all caps, all the time), Da, no, EAAAAAAT and signing “more” and “please” really had no words. No animal sounds.

Talking? Ain't nobody got time for that!

Talking? Ain’t nobody got time for that!

I was prepared to discuss B23 at her two-year well visit, but all of a sudden, she’s speaking in sentences! Not soliloquies or anything, but things like, “nigh nigh, baby!” and “fank you, Yaya!” (Yaya=Olivia and I hope she calls her that FOR LIFE.) Or “Help, Mommy!” and now she’s pointing to everything and naming it! “Shoes!” “Foot!” “Book!” “Bink!” No animal sounds to All the Animal Sounds Ever in Life. It happens so fast.

Our cat died two days before Christmas. It’s ok. She had a long (18 years) life. A good life. The last 18 months of it, however, were pretty torturous for the rest of us. She began crying. Constantly. Day and night. No matter what we did. Zillions of vet visits, millions of tactics (from pheromone spray to kitty-prozac) and in the end, it was just her old lady cat way. Sorry. That was a tangent. It’s not why we put her to sleep. She ended up having a tumor in her jaw that is pretty common in cats her age and there really wasn’t anything we could do. It happened very suddenly and I wrestled with what to tell the girls. Well, Olivia, mainly. So, I just didn’t tell her anything and she didn’t even notice for a few weeks. But, then she did and I was forced to explain what happened (in the vaguest sense possible – I am a big fan of lying about death until kids are older. It’s my way. I won’t change.) and she cried for a minute then asked, brightly, “Well, can I have a puppy now?”

After I stopped laughing, I said, “Someday,” and she left it alone. Well, now, four months later, she’s back at it. She is CALCULATING. PURPOSEFUL. MANIPULATIVE. Playing our emotions. Here’s how it plays out, most often:

Olivia: (big sigh)

Me: Are you ok?

Olivia: (choking up) I… I miss Keli (the cat).

Me: Oh, honey. I’m so sorry.

Olivia: WHY can’t she come home? I miss my cat! WHY? (cries dramatically)

[I swear, she KNOWS I don’t like discussing death. In any form.]

Me: (hugging her) Well, we still have Goldie! (Goldie is a betta fish. A purple betta fish.)

Olivia: THAT’S NOT A REAL PET. I wish I had a puppy. (BIG sigh)

TOTALLY KNOWS WHAT SHE’S DOING. I keep telling her we don’t have room for a dog right now and you know what? The other night she did the same thing to Tom and amended her scheme to ask for a KITTEN INSTEAD.

You go ahead and keep telling yourself we aren't getting a dog.

You go ahead and keep telling yourself we aren’t getting a dog.

Spoiler alert: Not happening.

What else? Oh, I’m looking for a new wrinkle cream, if anyone has suggestions. My new bangs aren’t covering them and I am not at all pleased about that. If it works, I do not care if it’s expensive. (Tom, don’t read that last line.)

Annnnnnd, I’m out.

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