"If you don't see the real me, you won't see what love has won..." Vota

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Here's why she's a Turkey

This morning, The Turkey woke up and came out of her room just happy as a clam. (Dumb cliche--are clams happy?) Anyway, she came and gave me a big hug and after she let go, my leg was damp. I asked her why I was wet from touching her. She said she had washed her hands. Hmmm, no she didn't, so I probed a little farther. She said, "yeah mommy, I washed my hair too." OK, so now I see her hair looks quite greasy. She smiled and said she "creamed her hair". So, I went to her room expecting the worse case scenario-- baby oil. Instead I found a busted "boo boo bag", AKA my cold pack. I had let her use it the day before for a sting. She had somehow busted it. This is what she was doing all night--not sleeping; I went in multiple times until midnight finding books scattered and shelves torn down --yes. Apparently it was more than just that though. I searched the pack over to make sure it was not toxic--shwew, glad to say it was non toxic. So I cleaned up the mess.

Next we were making breakfast while Ollie was dressing the beds. The Turkey asked if she could crack an egg. Well what would it hurt. I told her just hit it easy on the counter. Crack, crack, crack --all is good so... smash right in her hand. Egg went everywhere. She got a drip or two in the bowl, and curiously stated, "it's just a little bit, mommy." Not realizing the majority of the egg had slid off the counter into the floor making a slimy, yellow trail down the cabinet door.

Next, she poured the eggs into the pan. These were the girls eggs. I had scrambled mine separately so that I could saute some veggies into them first. I turned my back for a moment and then looked back and The Turkey smiled broadly and said, "I put those eggs in too, mommy." Gone were my plans for a veggie omelet. I just thanked her.

Later, as I was getting dressed, she noticed my "tattoo". (It is in quotes because it was once a very small tattoo, but now after 15 years of fading and about 40 pounds and two babies worth of stretching, it isn't much more than a small splotch. Which if it were up to me it could just as well disappear; it's not my proudest moment!) Anyhow she pointed and said, "mommy you got paint on you. You need to be more careful." I just laughed. (This was a better reaction than the concerned look I got from my OB when he asked what that spot was. See it really is no longer a tattoo.)

The rest of the day, so far, has had multiple, similar encounters, as does every day. She really fits the nickname.

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