Sydney, eight months old tomorrow, repeatedly tried (and failed) to mug me for my watch, today. She’s got a lot to learn about stealing things from people. Namely, operating buckles.
Carlos, coming up on 18 years old, has inflammatory bowel disease and something awry with his kidneys. He’s losing weight, slowly but inexorably. He’s the Cheshire Cat: he’s making his body slowly vanish in front of our eyes.
Piper, three years old, has taken to narrating her own actions as a fairy story, especially when around her sister. “The baby fairy was crying,” Piper said, while Syd wailed in her car seat six inches away, “and so the sister fairy went to put her shoes on. ‘Let’s go to the castle!’, she said to her sister.” And so on.
7:25 p.m. I am looking at the ceiling. The potting soil that’s not already underneath and around me is drifting down onto my face in a fine, gritty mist. Sydney is yelling upstairs, in her bed. Piper is yelling outside, next to the house. The dog next door is barking his fool head off. I turn my head experimentally: success, though more potting soil falls. I spit grit, feeling the crunch of good black earth between my teeth.
Stop. Too soon. Let’s back up a bit and see if I can pinpoint where I went wrong.
Warning: tangential discussion of toddler diapers below.
Context: I frequently ask Piper, “So, what’s your diaper situation?” To which she always invariably replies, “Good!” The verbal response is not the one I’m watching; if she sidles away while saying “Good!” than she’s trying to get out of smelling range, which indicates un petit falsehood as to her pants’ status. If she stays put, she’s most likely telling the truth.
However, this is not actually a diaper story. This morning, I took the bag out of our kitchen trashcan. While knotting the damn eco-friendly trash bag, I noticed a dead fly down in the bottom of the can, and figured I would swab out the whole thing when I came back from taking the bag out. As I walked towards the back door, though, Piper walked over and peered down into the bottom of the can, and then quizzically looked at me. “What’s the bug situation?”
Late update: tonight we got asked about “the music situation,” during dinner. So I think we officially have a catchphrase of the week.
film of the day's events, developed quickly for review