Fart Jokes and Love

All the little monsters in the house contribute to my exponentially rapid spiral into insanity. They make me late for everything. They break stuff I care about. The chew on the furniture and shed on it, too. They refuse to eat the delightful meal I prepared for them. They scream blue murder if I cut the waffle in the wrong direction, or into too many pieces. They don't answer when I ask them something. They sleep atop all my breathing orifices. They pee on things they shouldn't pee on. All of them. All this and more is true, and yet I love them more than anything else in the world. How does that happen?

I like bedtime, sometimes. Pets and humans gather in the girls' room and there is storytelling and snuggling and discussions about on-coming dreams. Often, there is banshee-like screaming that can sometimes last 45 minutes or more. I don't like that part as much.

At dinner this evening the girls were friends. Kate complained that she'd been made to feel left out at school today. From what I could gather, one of the girls had threatened to eat her hair. "That's weird" I commented. "Kate," Sarah said, "I won't make you feel left out. You can borrow my blankly if you'd like!"

Last Saturday as we dined at Mezcalito's and dipped our chips in the girls' favorite cheese sauce Kate, who's avidly learning Spanish, asked what the Spanish word for cheese is. "Queso" Jeremiah, Vladamir (the owner) and I all said. "Ah" Kate committed it to memory, then used it in a sentence - "who cut the queso?"

Things like that restore my sanity and remind me why I'm so in love with them. Sarah will most likely scream herself to sleep like a shell shocked war veteran tonight, but I will hold on to these moments, even as a part of me schemes to make a break for it.

Bedtime: