Miss Becca Boo somehow twisted her hair all around a comb.
Mr. Handsome had to de-hair the comb, strand by strand, using a toothpick.
It was very painstaking and we thought it would take hours, but after a few minutes the comb fell free.
I learned, post-event, that Yo-Yo and a friend had climbed out his bedroom window and walked on the metal roof around to my bedroom window, crawled in through my bedroom window, and then walked down the hall and back into Yo-Yo’s room. They said they wanted to surprise the girls. Did I mention that it was raining outside?
This bit of dare-devilry does not really surprise me since Mr. Handsome has told me how he and his brothers used to see who could get from one end of their old country farmhouse to the other without touching the ground and from the outside. The game involved lots of trees and roofs. Could it be that games like that are hardwired into their chromosomal make-up?
Upon waking early one morning, Miss Becca Boo went downstairs and painted her black fingernail with red nail polish. Now we’re not sure what the nail is supposed to look like anymore, so we keep a band-aid on it and pretend everything’s just fine.
Sweetsie, who is learning to wipe herself when she poops, gave the commode an overdose of toilet paper, causing me to throw a minor fit as I retrieved the sodden mass of TP from the (used and non-flushed) toilet. I had to flush the toilet paper down in increments (granted, only two). And then I made Sweetsie agree to call me from now on so I could watch her as she wiped herself.
While I was otherwise occupied in my living room, visiting with some neighbors who had dropped by, Yo-Yo and Miss Becca Boo made ready to repel out of the girls’ bedroom window. They tied a rope to the bedframe, opened the window … and chickened out. (Could it be possible that they have been endowed with a small bit of common sense after all?) Then Yo-Yo went outside and tried to climb up the rope, but didn’t get very far. Or so he said. I, blissfully unaware of my progeny’s escapades, fully enjoyed my pleasant neighborly chat.
Miss Becca Boo’s rest time art projects sometimes get a little out of hand.
While frying up a mess of bacon, I turned from the counter just in time to witness The Baby Nickel cram a large piece of raw bacon into his mouth as fast as he could. I stomped my feet and hollered, unable to do anything because my hands were all bacon-y themselves, and Mr. Handsome swooped down and fished the slimy blubber out of the ornery child’s mouth.
Miss Becca Boo, while poking the fire with the metal poke-y stick (I told her to do so), somehow managed to get it wedged down in the grate. There we were, woodstove door open, pok-y stick stuck, and Mr. Handsome at work. Yo-Yo came to the rescue, and after much maneuvering and spilling of ashes, wiggled it free. Like father, like son.
The kids were playing hide-and-seek. I heard some noises in the bathroom and went to investigate. Miss Becca Boo was standing by the washing machine, cheeks sucked in, trying to keep back a smile. I lifted the lid and there was Yo-Yo Boy. “This is totally not cool, but don’t move. I’m gonna take a picture,” I yelled.
And then The Baby Nickel climbed into the laundry basket,
and was lifted upright by his big sisters.
Sweetsie smears much of her Christmas lip gloss all over her pillowcases, but mostly she just sucks her thumb, listens to music, and roars really loud if anyone looks at her cross-eyed.
When I went in to check on Miss Becca Boo one night, I discovered that she had fallen “asleep” wearing a headlamp.
She must have a deep abiding fear of the dark.
The Baby Nickel is still into cross-dressing.