Sunday, February 8, 2009

Pardon Me

Tonight I was trying to wind the kids down early - they had been camping overnight with their dad Saturday night and a rogue boy scout troop so I could spend some much needed one-on-one time with my best friend from medical school (we saw a fabulous movie - I know everyone has already seen it, but for those that haven't - GO SEE SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE).  Sicily was the only "kid girl there," as she put it - and I think that even her bold personality was intimidated by all the eight year old boys.  John, on the other hand, fancied himself an eight year old boy and jumped right in.  

"Mom, I hode a tadpoe!  We got two fishes! I ate batin for breatfist!"

When they got back Sunday at around eleven I had a mad schedule prepared that blatantly ignored the fact that they were up too late telling ghost stories around a campfire and completely worn out from all the johnboat/four wheeler riding.  I dumped them into my large swimming pool-like bathtub, hauled them out West to Ridgefield to visit my friend's 20 month old daughter (who had stayed with her grandparents overnight) and her parents, and then downtown to the Children's museum for a birthday party.  I figured that they would be so worn out that they would veg and watch movies all late afternoon/early evening, but John followed me out to the backyard where I was reading my book and puttered around, and Sicily demanded my participation in the party gift art project.

I decided to start bedtime at 6:30, and tucked them into bed with books - finding hidden animals in the wild for John, and James and the Giant Peach for Sicily.  When we started brushing teeth before song, Sicily had shed her earlier angst and frustration that had built up while they were taking turns doing interpretive dance to Beethoven's Fur Elise - I was continually winding the small wooden music box that was a present to John from my mom from Germany.  John kept talking during her performance - each small utter from him precipitated a large scale melt-down from Sicily.  Anyway, they were back in good spirits, and Sicily was singing again.  She created a twist on an Incubus song that had me in stitches.  She turned to me seriously, flayed her arms out in all directions, mouth covered in toothpaste and belted out "Pardon me while I burp!"  I started laughing, and John joined in singing her new version.  They danced around the toilet, singing it over and over.  Sicily knows the right words, because she made me explain them to her.  But she said, "Isn't this way better mom?"

Yes, much.

Pardon me, while I burst.

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