On today’s episode of Dubious Compliments from Stumps

“Mommy your face looks like a sandwich ’cause it has moles all over it.”

I assume she is referring to my sun damage age spots large pores freckles.

Um. What types of sandwiches have they been feeding my children at daycare?

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In unrelated news, I am pleased to discover that Stumps and Beans are quite creative and am veritably bursting with copious amounts of understandable mommy pride.

For example, just today Beanie repurposed a pair of toenail clippers into a shank.

“No Beanie. Stop Beans. STOP!!! Mommy she got the clippers! Mommyyyy she is trying to clip meeee!!!”

It is worth mentioning that they are both sick so I am home from work and we are quarantined to the house. Only 170 more minutes until Husband comes home. Not that I am counting. Or completely disgusted from doing many hours of post-puke laundry. Or entirely out of BRAT diet ingredients, Florastor, and Pedialyte.

Or going stir crazy and slowly rapidly losing my grip.

I would be a really shitty SAHM.

Much, much respect ladies (and the occasional gent). I don’t know how you do it.

Unfortunately I can’t unremember any of this

One of my children has been throwing up all afternoon and the other has a 102 degree fever. Pretty certain the one who has thus far not started vomiting just has not started yet.

Alarmingly, cleaning up multiple episodes of The Pukes off of all of our belongings is only the second most disturbing reality of my Monday evening.

Having one of my children ask to have her “bottom temperature” taken (repeatedly) this evening unquestionably topped the list.

What. The. Hell. Kid.

Demulletting

The only thing Beanie hates more than boundaries enforced by her loved ones to ensure her well-being is having her picture taken.

Which is why I had to snap pictures of her fresh shearing and deshagging while she  stuffed her face.

I give you a sweet bob on a sweet rotten baby:

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Regarding the crap mountain situation that may or may not be occurring on my sofa in the background of these shots:

1) Pretty certain there is a note in the Bible about being sin-free to cast stones at hoarderific suburban glass houses. Or something. Judgy McJudgerpants, God totally disapproves of your judging and critical ways.

1) I posted the majority of the pictures in sepia so I maintain that Crap Mountain is cleverly camoflaged and almost completely invisible. What pile of not-yet-folded laundry, cast-off-outerwear, and shit my children dragged home from daycare? I have no idea what you are talking about.

The last time I will ever ask my four-year-old about her day

Every afternoon at pick-up, I ask my girls about their day. I very much look forward to hearing their responses.

Okay. In the interest of full transparency and disclosure, I very much look forward to Stumps’ responses. When I say “Beanie, what did you do at school today?” her response is always “No!”

Yay two.

Anyway. Mine and Stumps’ little routine is always the same. I ask who her friends were that day. Sometimes she lists nearly every kid in the class. Other times, crushing my mommy heart, she lists only her teacher.

We progress to the day’s excitement, and Stumps tells me that she played in “home living”, “sensory”, “manipulatives” (Yes.), or “block area”. I then ask what she made, or what she built ,or what she sensed, or what whom she manipulated and she tells me all about it.

Today when I (as I have unfailingly for the past two years) unwittingly inquired “Stumps, what did you do at school today?” she responded with

My friend Blank threw up in the bathroom and not in the toilet or in the trashcan but on the floor and some splashed on the counter and some made it in the trashcan and it was really wet and brown.

So anyway, I am now in the market for some new post-pick-up conversational topics if anyone has any suggestions.

“I’m two. Don’t f*** with me.”

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My now four-year-old Stumps was a high-strung newborn who would routinely scream from 4-7 pm every afternoon for the first four months of her life. So when the Jellybean came along nearly two-and-a-half years later, we didn’t know what hit us. Beanie was such an easy, happy, laid back baby that it was uncanny. No amount of antagonization was going to provoke Beans into fussing. I remember asking Husband more than a few times in those early months, “She’s so chill. She never cries. Do you think there’s something, you know, wrong with her?”

Beanie’s amiable and easygoing temperament was quite fortunate, all things considered, since I am pretty certain I said “Leave the baby’s head alone!” to Stumps at least twice a day that entire first year.

Fast forward to now, and in hindsight, we now know Beans was just stockpiling rage to unleash upon the pitiful creatures of this world throughout her toddler years.

In other news, they are eating a meal at an actual table (see Items #3-5) , so we can consider that progress.

If anyone would like to propose a caption for what the comic strip thought-bubble above my twenty-two-month-old’s withering glare might read, I welcome submissions!

{Edited to add: When you click on the picture, it is not at all blurry, so not sure why it is blurry embedded in the post?}