Muddy Flowers

Mud, weaving, and old ladies. What else could you ask for? Check out the story.

Flower Power

My two little hippies played at the local park today. Thankfully, they did not strip naked and start banging a tambourine. They did stop to smell the roses that in this case were actually daisies. They didn't seem to mind and as soon as Peter stuck four of them in his hat, 'because I'm four years old', David had to have two in his hat. This made me think of buying a really huge hat for Mama and plucking a shitload of daisies, but I had a sneaking suspicion that this thoughtful token of affection might not be fully appreciated.

There were a few remaining puddles from a recent rainshower and since they both had on their 'splashing' boots, I allowed them to get their mud on. I did not realize at the time, though, that this would in any way equate to completely covering innocent bystanders in the brown stuff.

I was off showing Peter how to weave sticks together when I looked up and caught a glimpse of David eyeing an elderly woman walking down the steps. It was like one of those old westerns. Everything went into slow motion. David's eyes darted from the woman to a big puddle next to the path, to me. Our eyes locked and in an instant, I knew exactly what he had planned.

I broke out into a full-on sprint to catch David, who had already stopped grinning and was now racing straight for the puddle. I caught up to David just as he reached the puddle just as the old lady was walking by. She looked up and almost had a heart attack. There I was, screaming at David to stop and barreling full-force towards her. David was chuckling like a mad scientist and suddenly launched into what I must later admit was a pretty impressive jump for his age. Both feet got air over a fairly good distance to land exactly in the middle of the puddle. Smasho-splasho. Sorry, nice old lady.

It would have been equally as bad if the woman had not been wearing a nice white dress, but this did very little to stifle David's insane laughing. I tried to yell at David in front of this poor woman and found it increasingly difficult to do so without totally cracking up myself. To avoid me laughing to tears and pointing, I grabbed David, apologized profusely and left the puddle-hunting grounds rather quickly.

David has already mudded people on two other occasions, so I am really wondering if the flowers in his hat have less to do with his years of existence on planet Earth and more with his running tally of mud victims. If this is so, the next flower-power picture you see will certainly feature David with three daisies in his hat.
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Ladder Talk:
[David's mud adventures must have been draining - he fell asleep before ladder talk]

1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: When I could see Dalia every day abracadabra.

2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: When I couldn't play anymore and when I can't play with Dalia anymore and when she can't stay forever and when she can't play with us tomorrow.

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: To play with David in the Rainbow class.

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Pacify me

If only things were as quiet and peaceful as they seem to be in this picture. Today was anything but quiet and peaceful and culminated with me seriously questioning if the weekend can actually be more stressful than the week?

The fun began at breakfast, when David discovered the joys of picking a really huge booger and wiping it on Mama. I sensed immediately that the joy bit was slightly more on David's side than Mama's, though. Shouting 'No!' at this point had the opposite effect in David's brain. His tiny noodle screamed 'Yes!' and off he ran, giggling.

I ignored all of this, choosing instead to stare deeply into my hot cup of coffee, hoping for some kind of transfer of energy before getting up to chase the booger-man. The only transfer that hit me was steam, which only fogged up my glasses. I actually kind of liked seeing the world all fogged up and wondered if there was an easy way to fog up your ears as well.

As I rounded the corner to tackle David, I caught a brief glimpse of David's head being smashed into a closet by Peter. After doing a double-take, I quickly forgot about my burning desire to yell at David for his booger-wipe and turned my focus to Peter the head-basher.

I made Peter sit down on the carpet in their room as a 'time out'. Before I could say anything more, David came running over and stepped on Peter's fingers. Peter screamed, David ran, Papa checked his watch to see if it was happy hour yet. It was not.

It became clear that we would need to let the kids run it out a bit today. We called and arranged to meet Dalia at the zoo. Then we tackled lunch, also known as Le Pizza Frozen.

Peter snatched up his slice of grease, took a huge bite and then...he sneezed pizza all over Mama's arm. At this point in the day, both Peter and David had managed to disgust Mama. A very, very quiet voice in my head snickered slightly and threw up a mental high-five.

As we raced around the zoo, the kids wanted to stop and feed the goats. Sure, why not? Allow me to answer that rhetorical question. Because your two-year old might find it immensely amusing that the goats are running up and bumping other goats and decide to come up and full-on head-butt you between the eyes.

After bending my glasses back into shape and checking for a nose bleed, I vowed to think twice when David wants to be picked up for a hug after leaving the petting farm. Peter saw me checking my nose and began screaming and yelling in front of everyone at the zoo for me to stop picking my nose. Thanks, buddy. Now why don't you run along and find someone to sneeze on?

We made it back home without any further bloodshed. David must have missed Mama for he began running through the house looking for her. He found her in the boys bedroom, folding clothes and putting them away in their closets. David decided to show how much he had missed her by running up and kicking the sock drawer. This was not so nice for Mama's hand, which was unfortunately still in the drawer as it was slammed shut. At least it was not a cranial love-tap.

After checking for broken bones and making an ice-pack for Mama, I checked my watch again. I justified the early start of beer consumption with some stupid-ass statement about it being happy hour somewhere in the world and began making dinner. After the lovely pizza art from lunch, I opted against anything Italian and made hot dogs instead. This meal, for some strange reason, made the boys want to sing songs. By singing, I mean shouting and by songs I mean shouting.

Despite joining the Johnson's Zoo only four weeks ago, Tom has already mastered the ability to sleep through anything, except the night of course. As Peter and David shouted musical poetry at each other, Tom slept, Mama iced her swollen affection trophy and I simply longed for the calm solitude of my office.
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Ladder Talk:
1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: When Dalia could play by us.
David: When Dalia come.

2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: When David hit me a lot. Or pushed me. Or stepped on my fingers.
David: When I cried mit Peter.

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: To go and play with Dalia. Maybe a game or a puzzle.
David: To play with Dalia and maybe Peter fall down.

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