I'm Failing To See The Problem

So. When a (my) child is throwing down an impressive tantrum in the way back part of the van and uses a double-negative, I believe it is my duty to correct her. So I did.  And my sweet, sweet husband thought it was funny.  Not in the "oh, that was so hilarious that you corrected her grammar" kind of funny, but in the "I can't believe a child was throwing a tantrum and you decided to help by correcting her grammar".  More of an incredulous laughter, than "ha ha".

I easily admit my grammar is not perfect, especially when it's midnight and I'm cranking something out for this eensy little blog thingy.  But I will be horrified if I have children who end sentences with prepositions and say things like "where is he at?", because that is completely unacceptable.

And you know, at least when I told the tantrum thrower she needed to say "I will never go!" instead of "I will not never go!", she corrected herself and then carried on.

You see, as much as I try, I can't control the tantrums.  But I would like for my children to speak clearly and properly while they're screaming at the world.

Can We Get Some More Boys Around Here?

This is the question Johnny asked his dad this past weekend.  There was a pause because John's immediate reaction was "Heck NO!". Of course he couldn't say that, especially since it wasn't "heck" that blazed through his mind.

The poor kid wants a brother in the worst way and I do feel sorry for him.  In Gracie's prayers tonight she asked God to "please help Johnny not tackle me anymore" and, while he really needs to stop tackling his sisters, he needs to tackle something and they're all he has around.

Sweet, sweet boy.  The good news is that there will be loads of brother-in-laws for him some day.  The bad news is that his sisters will have to suffer through years and years of tackling before that day comes.

And This Is Lizzy

Every once-in-awhile the kids sniff that Mama's Losin' It and they take a gamble and make requests they know in their sweet-little-hearts I generally don't grant.   This time they asked to take pictures with my phone and since I was on my fourth attempt at starting dinner and needed 8 minutes of no one to trip over in my kitchen, I said Yes.

Cue: lots and lots of giggling, whispers, guffaws, and running around the house.  Was it worth the 8 minutes of uninterrupted food prep? Absolutely. 

A couple days later I was flipping through my phone pics, looking for what I now don't remember, and discovered a series of shots that Lizzy claimed were hers (verified by her siblings).  They are as follows:

Nice, eh?

Because, when one is four years old, taking pictures while getting closer and closer to the toilet is hilarious.

And if I'm honest, I think it's hilarious too.

We did have a conversation about phones and water and how they don't work well together.

Because We're Crazypants

There's a new addition in the Laird house and her name is Penny.  And we love her. Lots.

 Well, we will love her much, much more when she is 100% house trained and our sweet little chuckleheads are puppy trained. 

Don't Go To Jail Daddy!!!

John was pulled over a week or so ago and The Three were with him.  When I gave him the raised eyebrows I got "Well, I was passing someone", because one really needs to go fifteen miles over the speed limit on a four-lane road in order to pass Grandma Bessie.  But that is neither here nor there and I did ask permission to document this little part of John Laird's history.

It doesn't take an imagination to think about the questions that started flying while he was slowing down and lights were flashing behind.  John was explaining to them what he had done and why the police officer was pulling him over, how Daddy had broken the law, etc, etc. 

That's when Gracie shouted the "Don't go to jail, Daddy!!!!" line. 

Classic.