Tag Archives: Baby Boy I



Yesterday morning, Priddy came up to me in a serious manner and queried, “Mama, where my superpower?”

I love that children think of the fantastical as normal!

She has been wearing the Superman cape faithfully all week.

She’s faster than a speeding sibling on a swift scooter.

At least she believes so!

It reminds me of when Sissy was younger and grieving that she had not discovered her superpower yet. However, she later determined that her super-power must be stirring “fast.”  She really could stir quite quickly!


No, Thank You!


At lunch today, Fuffy was eating Texas Toast. He was eating it in an abominable manner: lavishly dipping it into a huge mound of ketchup. He saw the look of repulsion on my face and queried as to whether I would like a bite. I politely (or maybe not politely. I can’t remember clearly. I was really disgusted.) replied, “No, thank you!” He further asked, “Have you ever tried it?” I, of course, responded verbally with, “No,” but in my head further exclaimed, “Why would I?!?” He sweetly encouraged,“C’mon mom! We’re supposed to try new food! It’s really good.”

I feel the need to discern just how well this lesson has been learned. I think perhaps brussel sprouts will provide good testing ground.



See this photo (click for larger image)? This is the question that popped into Fuffy’s, or “The Boy’s,” mind:

“Mom, why is pooh in the pot?”

Of course when he asked the question, I did not know he was looking at Baby Boy’s birthday cake decoration, so I was thinking, “Because that’s where it goes.”

And now to a story about Baby Girl.  She is such a spirited girl, with loads of personality. A strong personality. She renames people, you know.  And they accept it. Baby Boy I, later known as “The Boy,” has become “Fuffy,” which I can only surmise is her version of “Brother” (another name we call him). She calls Sissy, “Sassy,” which Sissy loves. Sissy is in love with Baby Girl. She calls Andre, “Daddio,” which he absolutely loves – he’s a computer geek! It’s the coolest thing he’s ever been called in public (my nicknames for him are much cooler, but there are some things better to keep secret). Baby Boy is “Bako” or “Paco” (with the “ah” sound), which is just a mispronunciation of his name. She renamed a friend of ours recently, from “Nola” to “Noya” (pronounced “Noi-yuh”), and even Nola isn’t correcting her. SO, Noya it is! Well, I have always called Baby Girl, “My Priddy,” but it has never caught on in the family. BUT, this is my blog, so from now on, she shall be called, “My Priddy” or “Priddy.”  Thank you.*

I actually got sidetracked about MY PRIDDY, so this is the real story. I was changing Baby Boy’s diaper one morning, and Priddy noticed the picture on his diaper (I hate those!). And she said, “Mom! Mom! Wook-a-dis! Wook-a-dis! Eess Meeky (“Mom! Look at this! It’s Mickey [Mouse]!”)!” Of course, I (must) affirm her accurate observation (or she will continue to repeat it). I also put Baby Boy down on the floor to play with Priddy in just his diaper because I forgot to bring his clothes into the other room. I put in a load of laundry, came back into the room, and was forced to exclaim, “Baby Boy! You dink!” (“You stink”). Priddy cocked that little head full of fluffy tufts** and sweetly queried, “Mom! Mom! Bako poop in hees Meeky?”

Gotta love that girl!

*  Holly, I hope this helps with the names! 😉

** Sarah, thanks for the cutest description ever of those curly tops.

Where to start . . .


To begin, Sissy has wanted to dress up as Lava Girl for months. In fact, she has had this deep desire to be Lava Girl since before Halloween/Reformation Day. Almost every day she tells me, in a very disappointed voice and with a very sad face, that she doesn’t have her superpower yet. When asked what superpower she wants, she expresses the longing for “fire in my hands like Lava Girl.” She has also wanted pink hair like Lava Girl.

Lava Girl from, “The Adventures of Shark Boy and Lava Girl”

She saved up her money, I discovered a place with a long pink hair wig, and so off we trekked to the party store. Sissy proudly paid for her new identity, which she thereafter donned as we darted through the supermarket. I don’t think anybody recognized her.

Lava Girl Sissy

But one (or two) unexpected event(s) popped up at the party store. First, do you know those bare breast plastic “costumes,” that I guess men hang around their necks at pagan parties? Well, unbeknownst to me, they had several of them on the bottom shelf just down the row from the wigs. I made the discovery when Sissy said, “Look, Mom! NURSERS!!! I don’t like those nursers.”


But apparently Baby Boy did like them, because when I turned around to check on him (as I had herded Sissy discretely back over to the attention of the wigs), he was pinching the red “cones.”


My hubby has also always wanted a superpower (although he prefers the power of flying), so he donned the wig to see if he was able to have fire in his hands. The sparks were flying! HeeHee!

Lava Girl Daddy

You may call me AUNT Debby


My Lil Ditter is now a mommy; therefore, I am now an aunt! And, as Sissy says: “Baby Jasson” is soooooooooo toot!!!

I am a bit overpowered by the flood of emotions pouring over me at the news of this event – not that I didn’t have 9 months to prepare!

I was 10 years old when my sister was born. I remember running as fast as I could all the way home after school the day she and Mom came home from the hospital. I loved her so dearly. I was thrilled at the fact she would take a bottle from me. I was thrilled at the fact she would let me hold her for a whole hour. I loved dressing her up all the time: adding ears and a cotton tail to her feet pajamas; dressing her in my 3-foot Holly Hobbie doll’s dress, bloomers and bonnet; dressing her in a red turtle-neck, to match mine, then hugging her and hugging her and asking Mom whether she could tell whose arm was whose; dressing her in a sweatband and legwarmers and other various 80’s “fashion” to be “Libby John,” i.e. Olivia Newton John; and the list could go on. And this little baby, my Lil Ditter, is now a mommy with her own little baby.

And hearing her wonderful stories, descriptions, feelings . . . as a mom, I understand. I remember the births of Sissy and Baby Boy, the nursing and embracing of these tightly swaddled babes, the early months when they accomplish so much and reveal their personality. I remember the exceeding joy that a new babe inspires by his mere existence. And Baby (as we called Sissy) is now doing most things for herself, and is also folding my washcloths, helping me sweep and mop, telling stories, singing songs (mostly Holy, Holy, Holy, Psalm 4 and Tinkle Tinkle Little Star (not a typo)), sounding out words, “reading” her books by herself, expressing her preferences, answering her catechism questions, etc. And Baby Boy (who has not yet outgrown his “baby” name!) is exploring the WHOLE house via the commando crawl, eating everything he can find on the floor, chasing Sissy, trying to pull himself up – and falling down, feeding himself cereal, saying “mama” and “dada” (not necessarily in that order, unfortunately), leaning into Sissy’s line of vision and babbling to her to get her attention, understanding the meaning of “no,” “singing” at church during the hymns and psalms, etc. These babes are no longer babes.

It makes me sad . . . and happy.

I need a quick fix. HUBBY, I NEED ME A BABY!!!

Could someone get the smelling salts for the grandparents?!?