I'm Afraid to go Downstairs...

My Daxton has always been an early-bird.  Today he was extra-super early.  Like 5:50 a.m. early.  I put him back in his bed, covered him up with his blankie, sang him a lullaby and hoped for the best.  Unfortunately, he was back in my room climbing into bed with us about 20 minutes later.  I told him he could stay if he agreed to hold still and be quiet because it was still "sleeping time."  He was a little wiggly, but I dropped off to sleep around 6:30 or so.  I woke up about 40 minutes later because I heard Cora talking.  I was going to give myself ONE more minute in bed, then go get her.  After a minute, I sat up, rolled over and found that Dax was no longer in the room.  How long he had been gone, I wasn't sure.  And Cora's voice, which I, in my half-awake state, thought was coming over the baby monitor, was in fact coming from downstairs.

Ruh-roh.

The twibs are downstairs alone, and who knows how long they have been down there.  I am afraid.  I am very afraid.  I know they must be up to something, since their usual morning routine is to come in my room and jump on my bed (and me) and whine until I go downstairs and get them some breakfast.  I know something must be wrong because they are being quiet.

Quiet is sometimes bad.

I gather my courage, and head downstairs.  I find the little stinkers under the kitchen table having "bwekfast."  This memorable meal is sitting directly on the rug, and consists of a giant pile of mini-marshmallows, topped with a dumped-out container of deli turkey.  On top of it all is...(excuse me while I barf in my mouth a little), a bunch of half-eaten COLD hot dogs straight from the package.  I pried one of these cold, slimy things out of Daxton's hand and ran upstairs to ask Preston what diseases lurk in cold hot dogs.  He assured me that hot dogs are okay to eat from the package because they are pre-cooked.  Oh good.  At least they won't die from food poisoning.

I head back downstairs and put the little self-sufficient things in time-out while I start to clean up the mess. The pile of marshmallows were pretty much a whole bag so I was hoping to salvage some of them.  How-EV-er, they are coated with hot-dog slime, so I call the bag is a total loss.  As I clean, I ponder...how does cold hot dogs seem like a good idea, even if you are three and two years old?  They are called HOT dogs for a REASON. 

And a few more random thoughts...

Arden lost ANOTHER tooth yesterday, which makes three total.  And she has a couple more loose ones.  Here is the latest version of the Arden-smile:

She is also starting to sound out words and write them herself, which is endlessly entertaining.  Today's favorite:  Budrflie (Butterfly).  Love it.

I decided to potty train Cora a while ago, but then she was sick and then I was sick so we weren't really trying very hard.  But last week we started for real.  She was having a really hard time going any time we were away from home since she only liked to use her "wittle potty." She was afraid she would fall in when she was using a full size-toilet, and since she is so small I couldn't really blame her.  But after spending about 20 minutes kneeling on the floor of the bathroom at Target, holding her over the potty and pleading with her to PLEASE PLEASE pee PLEASE (ah, the glamorous life of a mom), I was at my wits' end.  Luckily, some friends recommended a fold-up travel potty seat (who knew they even had those?) and it is working like a charm.  She is no longer afraid to go anywhere.  We have been to the Kangaroo Zoo, we have been the movies, and she has had no accidents!  She calls it her "Spesh-oh potty seat."  Ah, the things I get excited about nowadays.

Finally, my little nephew Drake who lives in St. Louis has been in the hospital this week.  He was sick one day, and the next day he was so lethargic that they decided to take him to the ER.  After a zillion tests, they determined he has ADEM, a type of encephalitis.  They don't know the cause, but most likely it is a result of a normal infection gone crazy.  He will probably be in the hospital for 2-4 weeks, and may have a long recovery ahead.  Luckily, chances are good that he will recover fully (we are praying for you, buddy!)  This has reminded me once again how life can turn on a dime, and how incredibly lucky I am to have healthy, if exasperating, kids.