I hate when my mouth hurts two weeks after a root canal.
I hate when I have panic attacks for no apparent reason. Actually, I hate when I have panic attacks for apparent reasons.
I hate when I order a Caesar Salad and it is mostly romaine spines and very little actual leaf.
I hate when work causes me stress.
I love when my starts sprout earlier than I expected.
I love sitting in front of a warm heater.
I love when The Small One kisses all over my face.
Speaking of The Small One, she is funny. Seriously funny. And sometimes, not in a good way. I am a bad mamma. I laugh sometimes when she does naughty things. I should discipline her, but I can't. I am too busy laughing.
For instance, (you knew an example was coming, didn't you?)
T'other day, The Small One awoke in the beautiful am, and after giving brief cuddles to her mamma, announced that she needed to see dogs. So, I took her to the back window and opened it and she called the dogs to her. Of course, they came. They love attention and they love The Small One. She smiled at them and told them they were good dogs, at which point, neighbor dog began barking. Perhaps he wanted some of The Small One's smiles and coos as well, I don't know. At any rate, bark, bark, bark is what we got. The Small One, ever ruler of her domain, was not pleased with the intrusion. She poked her wee (not really) head out of the window and shouted "What the hell, dog?" At which point, he retired. I did not teach her this.
I controlled my laughter as best I could and calmly informed her that we did not say that word. She said okay, and went on her merry way, at which point I dissolved into helpless giggles. (See? Bad Mamma!)
A couple of days later, in the morning, whilst I lay abed, The Small One divested herself of her clothing and climbed into bed with me. She likes to lay in bed "naken" and cozy warms. So, in she climbed, burrowed her cold wee toes into my thigh and cuddled her bottle. She doesn't sleep with a bear, she sleeps with her bottle. Yep, she's weird. As she turned onto her back, bottle fell onto her tummy and dribbled cold milk all over her. The Small One picked up the offender, gave it a stern look and said, "What the hell, Baba?" I didn't even get the chance to tell her we don't say that before I died with laughter. After I recovered, I reminded that we don't say that word, as it is naughty. "Nonnie?" Yes, naughty. "okay!"
Fast forward again a few days. I am sitting in the front room working on something with The Small One next to me waiting as patiently as she can for tubby time. As it is not arriving quickly enough, she trots into the kitchen where daddy is cleaning. "Daddy! Tubby time!" "Okay, in a minute" She comes back to join me in the front room. A minute passes, and up she gets again, trots into the kitchen. "Daddy! Tubby Time!" "Okay, Boo, in just a second." Back into the front room with a small huff of impatience. She plops her little self down next to me and wistfully asks, "Tubby Time?" "Daddy is almost done, then he will..." I am interrupted by a rather largish crash from the kitchen as Daddy drops a cookie sheet. The Small One looks up at me and with adorable seriousness in her voice, plaintively asks "What da hell Daddy doin?"
All I could say was I don't know...