My house, about 5pm this afternoon.
Sean, yelling from downstairs: “Ouch!”
Melissa: “What happened?”
Sean: “I sat on something.”
Flora: “What did you sit on?”
Sean (still in pain): “Something important.”
Flora, without missing a beat: “The remote?”
After Sean and I laughed for a solid five minutes, Sean managed to say, “no, not the remote”.
Not sure if he’s walking quite right yet. Fortunately, we can still change the channel.
So Flora drew this on her hand last night.
Keep in mind that at three years old, she doesn’t have the hang of writing the alphabet yet, never mind the concept of anarchy.
When asked what she drew, she told us a very involved story about a bear. So I guess it was supposed to be a bear.
Her drawing skills are still abstract, although they’re improving all the time.
I figure I’ll save this picture for when she’s an angry teen. Maybe it’ll make good album art.
This is what my tattooed punk rocker looked at when the tattoo pic was taken:
That’s one scary punk all right. Monkey jammies and stuffed bunnies – the outfit and accessories for your modern-day anarchist.
Tonight we had the first nice weather we’ve seen in days so we hightailed it outside. Fun was had by all.
(Photos taken with Hipstamatic.)
This video was taken last Sunday, which is an eternity in the world of online videos. I’m posting it anyway because looking at us having fun in the snow reminds me that winter isn’t 100% terrible.
I am so sick of winter. Fortunately, I’m not sick of making a jackass of myself for my family and the internet in general. You’re welcome.
Snow Angels from Melissa Price-Mitchell on Vimeo.
When I told Flora that I’d make snow angels with her, Sean wanted to be sure to capture it for posterity.
When they want to be, two year-olds are pretty hilarious.
Last week, I went in to get Flora up for the day. I was just out of the shower so I went in while doing up my brassiere.
Flora looks at me and says the following:
“Oh mummy, you’re wearing your pretty brassiere.” (yes, she says brassiere – just like mummy)
I wasn’t expecting that phrase to come out of her mouth, but I rolled with the punches.
“Yup, I’m wearing my pretty brassiere.”
“Mummy, I like your pretty brassiere.”
“Oh, I do too.”
Try having that conversation with a straight face. I couldn’t do it. I laughed a lot about it.
That evening, I decided it was time to wash my brassieres. I was running the sink and pouring the soap in when Flora came in and asked “Mummy, what are you doing?”
“I’m washing my brassieres.” Then an idea hit me. “Would you like to help?”
“Yes mummy!” and she went to grab her stool so she could reach the sink.
I put the brassieres in the sink one at a time and Flora splashed them around the sink. She was a little upset when I would switch one for the next – “Mummy, I want to wash your pretty brassiere!”
“But they’re *all* beautiful. Look at the lace and flowers on this one.”
“Yeah” And washing continued.
Once my brassieres were thoroughly soaked and washed (thank heaven for no-rinse lingerie soap!), I dried them off and hung them on the railing like I always do.
And I was glad that I found a chore that Flora liked to help with. At least for as long as splashing in the sink is great fun.
