Today’s quote of the day brought to you by my 4-year-old, who knows nothing but a digital life, as she let the dog in from the backyard:
Hey, Mom, can you unplug Indy [the dog] so he can come play with me?
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QOTD
A few quotes from today’s game:
During her bath the other day, I realized Brenia has indeed been listening. She no longer refers to “it” as her “front butt.”
“I have to wash my china now.”
Yes, please take care in washing the china.
Heard from my 3-year-old behind me as I bent to pickup something the girls left on the floor:
Mommy, your butt is sticking out… “I like big butts and I cannot lie. You other butts can’t deny.”
Maybe I should rethink the nightly candy bar with my bubble bath.
The title of this post could easily refer to my own potty problems. I typically have a kid or two tagging along to the toilet or shower. I get to use toilet paper from the pile on the floor since the spinning is so! much! fun! However, this is all about my 3 year old and her most recent shenanigans. We seem to be having a regression problem where the potty training is concerned. I would be much more upset about it if the things that come out of her mouth weren’t so blessed funny.
“I like pooping! I don’t like smelling poop, though.”
“Mommy! My panties are peeing on the floor!”
“The pee all falled out of my butt.” (More specifically, her “front butt.”)
“Oh, Grandmama, I peed on that rug.”
My favorite, though, was watching her run the 50 yards from my mother’s pool to the house, holding her bottom all the way, only to discover she couldn’t open the door with wet hands. Summer activities are just too much fun to give up for something as mundane as peeing in the potty.
Earlier this week, I checked on the girls (two of mine and the extra I have 3 days a week) to find them playing school with Brenia’s desk. My friend’s little girl informed me that she was going to be a teacher when she grew up. A common goal for little kids-bossing around the other kids is such fun when it’s your turn to be teacher!
That statement was immediately followed by, “When Brenia grows up, she’s going to date a boy!”
I turn to find my middle child—decked out in full princess attire from the crown on her head to the glass slippers on her toes—grinning with a gleam in her eye. “Yep!” she agreed a bit too quickly.
We’re in so much trouble.
I love that she can’t tell time yet. It allows things like this to actually work:
Me: You don’t have to sleep, but you do have to lay in your bed until 3.
Her: I don’t want to lay in my bed until 3!
Me: I’m sorry. It is quiet time. You have to lay in your bed until 3.
Her: But I want to lay in my bed until 4!
Me: Okay!
Her: Thanks, Mommy.
Now, she will quietly count the minutes until she falls asleep, and I will sadly count the days until she knows that 4 is longer than 3. I’m such a mean mommy.