MP, Verminator.

Today, standing in the kitchen, I hear coming from the front porch, “Hey you DIRTY DOG, get outta here! Get outta here or I’ll SHOOT you!”

“HEY!” I call in my best, gruff WTF Voice — a bit shocked (Dude, that’s no way to talk to your grandparents.) and unable to see who her threats are directed toward.

She pokes her head in the door. “I’m just talking to the gophers.”

“Oh. Okay.” Relieved, I turn back to the dishes. Yeah, and picture this — MP not only screaming death threats from the front porch, MP screaming death threats in her UNDERWEAR.

Giddy up. Gopher Huntin’ Season has officially arrived.

But lest ye think we’re a pair of uncultured rednecks, I HAVE show you a tiny glimpse into our very first Mother/Daughter Photo Shoot last night. (Which sounds very shee-shee poo-poo, yes?) The photographer, Alicia Caine, is simply amazing — if there ever were a Child Whisperer, she’s it. Plus she’s way cool AND she actually made me look somewhat photogenic, which I definitely am NOT.

See? Simple country folk and family photos. Just like The Pioneer Woman.

Without all that … money and stuff.

Heh.

Mother and Child Reunion

It dawns on me that I haven’t posted about last week’s trip to Connecticut to see The Boy. Despite the fact we were both sick at one point or another during our seven short days together, I can still truthfully say it was wonderful. Nothing like projectile puke at 4 a.m. and a day long bout of diarrhea to test the staying power of romance. 

Happily, we passed. (Get it? Heh.)

So, I come home and MP is 25. Suddenly she’s all Sheldon-y. All Big Bang Theory. All “Mother, did you know that an isotope is a nucleus whose chemical properties are almost identical to the original one having the same number of protons but different number of neutrons?”

Umyeahwha?

Grammy’s the same. Perhaps a little tired is all.

The dog’s the same. Happier than ever to rub her filthy self all over the carpet. Happy to lick my feet with her poo mouth. Perhaps shaggier and with more knots. But still, the same.

I, on the other hand, am clearly dumber. Evidently, a few brain cells went missing when I contracted the Dengue Fever because I swear my daughter has aged dramatically overnight. Suddenly she’s READING. Complete BOOKS. Go, Dog Go!

GO, DOG GO!

The Preschool equivalent to War and Peace.

*sigh*

I leave for a week and my Baby, she’s all grown up. Next time, we’re packin’ up those footie PJs and she’s coming with me.

Bob the Egg.

Early last night, as is custom, MP and I dyed Easter eggs at Grammy’s.

Grammy got creative with her eggs, using paper towels and Pam Cooking Spray to achieve a sophisticated mottled effect. She’s so Martha.

I gave the tie dye technique a try. Apparently I’m more Woody Harrelson.

And MP, she named her eggs. Sam, Kamber, Taylor, Wyatt.

I kinda liked Vann. He was hot. For an egg.

MP preferred Bob.

My personal savior, ShamWow.

Tonight, as is the routine, when MP and I arrived home she bolted from the car and ran to Grammy and Poppy’s house. And just as I always do, I packed up backpack, lunchbox, sippy cup, artwork, boots, the mail, my bag, etc., and hauled the lot to our house next door.

I dropped everything at the door. I started MP’s bath. I went to the bathroom. I let the dog out. I walked out the door to go get MP.

And when Grammy asked if we wanted to stay for spaghetti dinner I said yes without hesitation.

An hour later, our bellies full, MP and I made our way home, across the driveway and up the snow-packed walk. Once in the door, out of habit, I walked directly to the bathroom to start MP’s bath. And a sick panic welled in the pit of my stomach.

Suffice it to say, the bathroom was effectively submerged. Water, water, everywhere, and not a mop in sight. I may or may not have used a few choice words. MP’s first reaction, on the other hand was to pull up her pant legs and puddle-stomp. Okay, I did a little stomping too.

But then I remembered my little Christmas gift to myself this year, sitting new and unused in the laundry room.

And now, I am officially a devout member of the Cult of the ShamWow. (And, all right, I DO love Vince’s nuts.)

Some day, her prince will come. Let’s hope he’s a mind reader.

MP has started getting up at 5 a.m. This is a relatively new development, beginning without rhyme or reason, about two weeks ago. This, in and of itself, is an incredible drag. Add to it the fact that Mommypie’s not getting to bed until 3 a.m. most mornings (late, late, long distance phone calls with The Boy) and you have one crabby mama. Not to mention an exhausted, overly-emotional nearly-5-year-old.

Case in point — this morning, after fighting the good fight as best I could on two hours sleep, and losing pathetically, I gave up, raised a white flag, and let MP watch cartoons. I went back to bed. I overslept. I managed to pry my eyes open at 8:30, at which point I shot out of bed and emerged from my room in a panic, making a beeline for the shower.

Five minutes later, I’m lathering, I’m rinsing, and I hear a tiny, high pitched series of whimpers most definitely meant to get my attention. I peek from around the curtain and see MP sitting on the bathroom floor, in tears.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

Brace yourself.

“You just walked right past me, and I didn’t even get a HUG.”

(Pouty, arms folded)

“I shouldn’t have to TELL you to give me a hug.”

(Higher pitch. Definitely louder.)

“You should just KNOW I need one!”

(pout)

She’s such a chick.

It’s MP’s world. I just live in it.

I usually have Friday’s off, but last week was crazy busy, which meant I had to run into work for a few hours Friday afternoon. Which meant I had to bring MP with me. Which meant helluuuu Happy Meal. I figured it’d keep her occupied for at least 25 minutes.

We were sitting in the McDonald’s drive-thru when MP made an observation.

“Heeeey … the McDonald’s sign looks like a big ‘M.'”

“Yep. And you know why? Sound out McDonald’s. What does it start with?”

“Mmmmmmm. M!”

“That’s right.”

(pause)

(pause)

“So if it started with a ‘D’ it would be DickDonald’s.”

“And the sign would have a big ‘D’ instead of an ‘M!'”

(Uncontrollable laughter) “Yes, it WOULD.”

“Whoa. Aaaawesome.”

Hooked on Phonics. Mommypie gives it two thumbs up.

WAY up.

Gangsters, lumberjacks and yellow snow.

This …

is part of MP’s baby doll crib. Part of the mobile that connects to MP’s baby doll crib, to be exact. A girly thing.

Last night, MP emerged from her room, walked to the bathroom, and brandishing the pink plastic mobile part with both hands, looked at herself in the mirror.

“All right, let’s see what this baby can do.” Snarly face. Machine gun sound.

Um, WHAT? (Trust me, it wasn’t easy to keep a straight face.)

“We don’t play guns, MP.”

“I’m not,” she says, still pointing her Tommy Gun at her reflection.

“Yes you are.”

And then, like the Master of Misdirection she is, MP began sawing the countertop.

“I was playing SAWS. This is a SAW. See?”

Okay, I know it’s more of a boy thing, and might sound a bit out of character for a four-year-old girl, but I gotta admit … I’m not really all that surprised.

This is the child who, earlier this week, as we were rushing into preschool purposefully spilled her lemonade from its sippy cup, leaving a yellow trail in the snow. Laughing to herself, and clearly VERY pleased with her effort, she noted that people were going to think it was pee.

“Heh heh.”

*sigh*

My daughter is Beavis.

Swap Mamas goes LIVE!

Okay, this is it. I’m unveiling my second baby. The reason I’ve pretty much dropped off the face of the planet these past few months.

TA-DA!!!

I’m telling the economy to SUCK IT. Won’t you join me? I would be thrilled beyond belief if you stopped by SwapMamas, became a member (it’s FREE!), and helped me spread the word.

I’ve seen the amazing good that can happen when mamas come together — the possibilities are endless.

Truly.

And while you’re at it, if you’re on Twitter, don’t forget to follow me at http://twitter.com/swapmamas — I promise to follow you back!

Can’t wait to see you there!

Five bucks gets you this on a Sunday afternoon.

Apparently I’m the last person alive to hear about the Mentos/Pop science experiment. (Or Mentos/Soda, depending where you live.) I stumbled across instructions a few weeks ago on the Net — Grandparents.com has a pretty cool download, 100 FREE Things To Do With Your Grandkid, which not only includes this little experiment, but a ton of other great ideas to entertain kids. And I’m not just saying that — I printed out the whole thing and kept it for myself. For reals.

So, I see this tasty nugget, think it sounds like good Pie House fun, tell a few people about it, and discover I have, in fact, been living under a rock.

However … just in case I’m wrong, and there are a few of you out there who are just as out of it as I am, THIS is what I’m talkin’ about.

Good times.

Just because JESUS sasses his mother doesn’t mean YOU can.

Started putting away the Christmas decorations yesterday. MP was in charge of the nativity scene.

With great ceremony, each wooden figurine was carefully placed in its box. I watched the parting scene as she grasped Baby Jesus in one small hand, and Mary in the other.

Right Hand: Don’t you give me that attitude, Jesus!

Left Hand: Don’t YOU give ME that attitude, Mary!

Right Hand: Go to your room, Jesus!

And then the Three Wise Men swooped in, picked up Mary and hauled her off to the dungeon.

Behold the power of the Lord.