Sometimes I think I catch a glimpse of the big kid the Creep is becoming in his little boy face...




And his sister has discovered a new hobby:

This is the box,*
that held the duck,
that was the prize,
for some lucky buck,
that pooped on the potty,
instead his pants,
now his mother's not crazy,
and we all get to dance...

...and stop being obsessed with feces.

* Rhyming inspired by "Duck in the Truck"

Baby Girl has developed a rather unfortunate (and sleep defying) Signature Move.

In the middle of the night, ostensibly to make herself more comfortable*, she will roll over onto her hands and knees, get into a sitting position and then fling herself backwards as hard as she can.

Sometimes she lands on a pillow. Say, one out of five times. Those are the times that she remains peacefully asleep no matter if her head is touching the mattress and the pillow is supporting her lower back and diaper.

My problem, and hers, lies with the other 80% of the landings. Until I developed a supernatural ability to catch her head while still (mostly) asleep, she would fling herself into the wall, the bed frame, the bed railing...oh, and that other hard object in the vicinity. Me.

Imagine with me, if you will, getting punched in the face at 3am. She split my upper lip, almost broke my nose**, clipped my chin on the way to my jugular.

This may have accelerated the house-selling process a bit since there is no where else for her to sleep at the present moment.

Speaking of which, we may have an offer on the house. It is too soon to tell if everything will go through, but not soon enough to start panicking because OH MY GOD THIS MIGHT ACTUALLY HAPPEN. It is terrifying and I am now the person in my group of friends that will just NOT SHUT UP about one particular subject: Can we move away from our little South Minneapolis Community and over to the strange (but vaguely exciting) world of St. Paul.

This will seem silly to those of you not from this area, since for all intents and purposes we are the same city when viewed on a map...but it is common knowledge that St. Paul (or Minneapolis) is just too much of a pain to get to so there isn't a lot of crossover.

So the question that we have been struggling with, and I really encourage feedback here:

"Is the perfect house enough of a reason to leave the (pretty much) perfect community?" (with the given unknown that the new community may be very nice - it seems that way - and the current community has its fair share of issues)

Discuss.


*much like a dog that circles its bed several times before laying down, but much less evolutionarily sound

**I get to say that with no proof whatsoever because it is very difficult to prove that she didn't almost break my nose.

We had a very nice day at the park this evening. This is often how we spend our time while people come and snoop though our things look at our house.



The Twerp is finally old enough (and non-breakable enough) that she and the Creep are able to interact in a playing-type manner. The Creep continues to dote upon her, and is often a better parent than I am, alerting me when she is trying to eat dandelions and whatnot (see previous photo).



The EP managed to get a rare photo of me with one of the kids. Between his disinterest in taking photos* and my self-consciousness (at least as far as photos are concerned) I don't get very many good pictures of myself. I love this one.



Mere moments after these photos were taken we got to find out exactly how much blood comes out of a teeny tiny scalp wound on a 3 1/2 year old boy's head.

(Hint: A Lot. like 10 times as much as you see here. It looks like we slaughtered a small animal.)

* This is not (much of) a complaint. He takes all of the videos, I take the stills. We play to our strengths.

So the creep and I are fishing the other day. We were crossing a bridge over beautiful Minnehaha Creek. "Poppa, poppa!" he yelled to me.

"Come here! Look!" he said, his voice full of excitement.

I rushed over to see what had captured his little mind so. There seemed to be some graffiti on the ground, painted by some young local artist no doubt.

He pointed to the ground and yelled "Scissors!"