I’ve mentioned before that what I love most about Twitter is how well it lends itself to quickly chronicling tiny moments of our day: the funny quote, the one-sentence sketch of a moment in time. Days will pass where I have no time to write a proper post, but I can manage a quick tweet about something I don’t want to forget. And I would forget, if I weren’t writing them down. My friends Dave and Julianna used to (maybe still do) keep a piece of paper stuck to their fridge as a place to hastily jot down the hilarious or profound things their children would say. Whenever we visited their house, I’d find myself drawn to that sheet of family treasure. For me, Twitter serves the same purpose.
Here are a few of the snippets I’ve tweeted in recent days:
Beanie: “Mom, if there’s one thing I won’t ever NOT want to do, even when I grow up, it’s play boat in a cardboard box.”
It’s going to be fun to visit her house when she’s grown up.
I ordered Jane some much-needed clothes from Lands End. Too bad I accidentally had them shipped to my parents’ house in Denver. Doh.
A cool thing happened after I tweeted this. I got a follow notice from @LandsEndChat and when I clicked through to check it out, I saw a message addressed to me! The Lands End rep was kindly offering to help me correct my error. I wrote back to explain that it was too late for Lands End to help—I noticed my mistake when I checked the UPS tracking info. The package shipped last week and will likely arrive at my parents’ house tomorrow. But still—I have to say I think that’s a pretty savvy way for companies to use Twitter: track people’s gripes and reach out with proposed solutions. Well done, Lands End.
Breakfast at my house: “Wonderboy! We DO NOT throw whales in the kitchen!”
Wonderboy begs to differ.
Beanie on embroidery: “My favorite part is the pleasant pop!” She means when the eye of the needle pops through the fabric.
When Alice read this one, she IMd me ROFL—it had reminded her of a certain knitting-needle-popping-a-diaper incident from one of our family rendezvous years ago.
I am pretending I didn’t just hear one of the girls scold Wonderboy for licking the cap of the milk jug. Ew.
Oh that was so nice! Cuddling Rilla as she fell asleep in big girls’ room, while Scott read aloud Sign of the Beaver to us all.
I should write more about this. I am loving our new bedtime routine. Scott puts Wonderboy to bed first, and when he’s asleep, the rest of us gather in the girls’ room. Rilla’s new bed is on the way, but for now she is sleeping on that little futon I mentioned last week. By day three of the switch, she was on board and looks forward to her nursing time every night. I curl up on the futon with her, and the other girls are tucked in their beds, and Scott reads aloud to us. It’s been four or five years since I read Sign of the Beaver to Jane. It’s every bit as gripping as I remember. From my nest on the floor I can see Beanie’s eyes grow bigger and bigger as Scott gets to the exciting parts. I know this routine will shift again in a month or so when there’s a new baby in the mix, but right now, I am savoring it like crazy.
Happy little girls: Rose’s fave jeans had big hole in knee. I turned them into shorts and made doll skirts out of the cut-off pant legs.
and the follow-up:
Said Bean: “This skirt is perfect for Kit b/c it’s the same thing her mom would have done during the Great Depression!”
Rilla has spent the past 20 min painstakingly stripping leaves from the ficus & hiding them in the piano bench.
This is a prime example of something I’m glad I wrote down because I would surely have forgotten all about it ten minutes later. It was the funniest sight to behold; she was so serious and focused as she plugged away at this self-imposed task. Yes, I ought to have stopped her from de-leafing the houseplant, but I was having too much fun watching her walk back and forth, stuffing leaves into the bench. It was like she’d found her vocation in life.
Overheard: 13yo: “I wonder why mirror neurons for yawning are so sensitive.” 2yo, shrugging: “I don’t know.”
Oh my heart: Rilla, after oohing over the fleece slippers Jane made me, runs to big sis: “You make some small ‘lippers for me? Pease?”
Needless to say, Jane did. And what adorable lippers they are.
Bread and Butter
Not a Morning Person
A Daddy’s Double Standard
Six of one, half dozen of the other