Fruit of my Loins.

So, during my unemployment phase, I've learned a lot about my children. Who knew that spending all of this time with them would be so educational?

About Elise:
We're at the pool. She's paused on the edge, ready to jump in. And that's when the singing began.

My name, Elise, yeah
Get out my face, yeah
Cause when I shake it, yeah
It's like an earthquake

(Cue leap into pool while shaking your money maker.)

The other night she printed and filled out an application to be on Project Runway. I mentioned that she might want to take some sewing classes this year to get ready and she rolled her eyes, hands on hips, "What does sewing have to do with fashion?" As if.

She's a lovely child. I'm so proud.
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About Elaina:

We were at the tiny, little, itty-bitty library in Jemison. It's basically one big room. Seriously--one room. Like the size of my living room. And the librarian is something out of a film. Like she's participating in a documentary about small-town librarians. She looked and spoke and walked and slipped around exactly like you think she did. Down to the sensible brown loafers and white fleece-lined, button-up jacket.

She followed the kids as they browsed around the room. She was clearly in some discomfort. It's understandable. I'm pretty sure they haven't had six people in there at one time like that. (And the Shorties were being EXCELLENT, if I do say it myself. Whispering, skulking, putting markers in their place on the shelves. They were rocking it Johnson style.)

So, the fifth time this bird woman, who was wringing her hands and hovering over Elaina, asked the baby if she could help 'narrow her search down', Elaina turned to her and said in this I'm-talking-to-a-difficult-patient-in-the-sanitarium tone, "I'm pretty sure that I'm going to like everything in here, but I like to touch them and see how they smell before I decide, so I've got it from here."

That's my girl.

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About Carter:

He's finally learned the fine art of sarcasm. Turned to me just now after I told him no, he can't build a fort out of the living room pillows again and said to me, "I guess I'll just die in this house without ever having one thing of my own. That's fine, that's fine. I like never getting my way. It's too much pressure."

And another time, another place...
We're riding up the road and The Husband is wailing along with the Bluegrass channel on the XM. I mean he's getting with it, singing through his nose, whining, carrying on something awful. It sounds like an animal is dying in the front seat.

Carter yells over the 'singing', "Dad! Dad!"

Instead of turning the radio town, The Husband yells back, "What? I'm singing here!"

Carter: "What is that?"

The Husband: "Bluegrass music."

Carter: "And what are you doing?"

The Husband: "I'm singing with it. It's good."

Carter, completely deadpan: "Well, could you please stop it?"

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About Lily:

She never stops eating. Ever. And she eats anything. oak-ma, ah-nah-nuhs, eep-nuts, torn chips. (Let's see if you have your degree in Mom Speak.)

She turned to the librarian today (same library, same librarian), put her stuffed toy lion on the counter next to a stuffed dalmatian that "lives" at the library and said, "Can we make a twade? I weally want dis dog. And dis tig-wah doesn't bite not one time. I will leabe it and you can see. It's a good twade. Okay? Okay."

(Cue small child nodding and backing away slowly from the desk, clutching the dog in a death grip, warily eying the librarian.)

I shrugged at the librarian who was looking at me (probably for some sort of help, but anyone that annoying is on her own) and I said, "Looks like a good deal to me."

The librarian conceded defeat after 10 minutes of verbal wrangling and trying to talk Lily into a do over, and of course, we came home with the dalmatian.

See what I've learned? They've all turned out exactly like me. Lord have mercy.