I just spent two hours watching a REALLY bad Lifetime movie. We're talking child kidnapping, sharks (!!!), police that don't believe the heroine, amazing last-minute coincidences, and acting that oh the acting. It rivaled my skills -- when I was EIGHT! Why? Why do I torture myself?
Every night when I walk into the bedroom and almost step on Punkin sprawled across the floor, I am more convinced that I am the mother of the sweetest child on the planet. Almost makes me forget being bonked on the head with a doll stroller. Of course it was because he wanted to play, so even that was only a minor infraction. And how do we play with the stroller? Do we perhaps place a doll delicately in the seat and take her for a walk? Oh, no. Muddah pushes the stroller and Punkin pushes the shopping cart (really fast) from the bed to the front door. And back. And then to the bed. And then back again. Sometimes we shake it up and push trucks instead, which is a great workout for Muddah, who has to bend over to even reach the fire truck. And yes, it has to be the fire truck. Punkin already has dibs on the dump truck. And just in case anyone is wondering, shoud silly Muddah attempt to put a sweet plastic baby into the seat, Punkin will lift her (the baby, not Muddah) by the head and fling her across the room. "No. No."
Our other favorite game is "sleep." These are the rules: Climb into Muddah's bed with Muddah. Rid Muddah's bed of all of the pillows except "Daa one!" It's blue. Then lay down, instructing Muddah to do the same, and cover both of your faces with Muddah's blanket. Fake snore (ahh sssuuuu). Then say something that translates into 'get up.' Sit up and laugh. Repeat, with Muddah. (Are you giggling from reading Muddah so much? Try saying it out loud. MmmmmUHDaaaaahhhhhh!)
I bought a semi-trashy novel today and a John Grisham book. I needed some mindless reading. I haven't read for fun for a long time. Loving it.