Mommying.

There have been no funny stories lately, people, and I'm sorry about that. We're settling into kind of a rut in the quickly becoming old new place, and at this point all of my funny stories make me sound like a whiny brat.

Miss Angel Baby is about to turn two, and karma is paying me back sorely for commenting after my first two children that there is no such thing as the terrible twos: both of my kids were angels.

Let me tell you what happens the moment you judge. The universe just craps on you. So, every morning, noon, and night, Miss Angel Baby and I go head to head in an epic battle of wits-who comes out the winner will not be determine for up to twenty years. She screams, I point. She hollars, I give time outs. She begs to nurse, and I avoid her like the plague. If I wrote about this predictable yet frustrating dance of motherhood each time it happens, it would not be an accurate picture of my truly semi-charmed life. I love my kids. I love staying home with them. I've never been so happy in my life to go to work when I get to go. So that's why I'm not really writing about this so much right now. I don't want time to go by and one of the kids to read this blog, these words I've tossed out to the universe at large, and think for one moment I was anything but thrilled at the life I've chosen.

So, the daily grind is going on. Angel Baby can count and recognizes some letters, and Little Girl has a vocabulary that never fails to make my jaw drop. And to make things even better, if you ever come over to dinner, peek under my table, it's very special and beautiful, and it's the result of me attempting to go to the bathroom while stickers were within view.

Almost 12 years of mommying, and I still make rookie mistakes.




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