Punch Dub!
The girls have been playing Punch Dub in the minivan lately. The sweet friend who takes them to BSF taught them the game, but she taught them to punch their own hand and not each other, for which I am thankful. They thoroughly enjoy "collecting" cars and colors and they have added PT Cruisers and Smart cars to the mix. So while driving I will often hear Meadow yell, "Crunch Dub," as opposed to Punch Dub ( I had to google it because I could have sworn I grew up saying "Slug Bug" or "Punch Bug" and I was right, Volkswagen changed it to Dub recently). Saige is good at counting them up and they'll play this game for awhile, so I get to enjoy my music while we're in the van. It's definitely a win-win.
Police Cars
While driving to church last night, a police car came speeding by with its lights on. The girls all yelled and wanted to know what that was about. Meadow said, "Mommy, did you see that? We need to buy one of those!" I asked, "What, the lights?" She said, "No, the car because it went fast, fast, fast! It went SUPER fast! I want to buy one!" O, Lord, help me now.
Saige explained to Meadow that the police officer was going fast to give someone a ticket. And if they have to give you another ticket, they'll take you to jail. She said, "Jail is not a good place, because there are no toys in jail." Is that not the most apt description of the first born and the second born — the rule follower and the rule breaker?
O, fitted sheet, why do you torment me so?
You taunt me with your corners,
You mock me with your nonconformist ways.
Sometimes I leave you in the dryer,
Just so I don't have to deal with the misfit that you are.
It's not all about you, you know.
Other things do take precedence,
Like walking the dog and washing my hair.
And so in a jam, I will wad you up in a ball
And place you under the smooth, polished top sheet
All to hide your dissenting flaws.
From whom I wonder?
Is there a closet fairy who judges my shelves,
Taking note of the unkempt linens and the mismatched towels?
O, fitted sheet, you will torture me no more;
I am free of your affliction.
No longer will I heed your imaginary rules.
If I were a bit more prim, I might actually care,
But c'est la vie, arrivederci, au revoir.
O, pestering fitted sheet,
I will do what I want with you
You are not the boss of me.
~cheryl~
