We eat crêpes twice a week

It's Sophie's fault. She comes to me almost every day and asks, "Daddy can you make us some cwêpes?" Except she asks with her eyes wide open, a big smile, and while nodding her head the entire time, like some kind of jedi mind trick.

Yesterday I told her I had brownies cooking in the oven, and I had just made some cinnamon ice cream (at her request). And she responded by smiling, nodding her head, and asking, "And can you make some cwêpes, some cake and some cookies?" (I didn't.)

Overheard

The other night I walked into our bedroom after Ginger was already asleep. She woke up and looked at me with a confused and startled look. Here is the conversation that ensued:

ME: Are you OK?
GINGER: No. I feel...sick for some reason.
ME: It's because you're pregnant.

Then she went back to sleep.

Overheard

ANDREW: Dad, do numb fingers build character?

My favorite new word

Another Sophie-ism: She uses "soft" as a verb. It means to touch something that is soft, as in "Mudder, would you like to soft my nightgown?"

Overheard

Sophie took her glove off this afternoon so she could "pick up the snow." That didn't work out so well. As she was trudging back to the house in knee deep snow, she fell down and her hand went into the snow again. That's when she looked up at me and said, "Dad, the snow isn't working for me."

Amen.

Blasphemy

Ethan brought home a note from his teacher today--a citation for using bad language. Uh oh.

I asked him what he said, and he told me the word. It's a word we don't say in our house, unless we're talking about what a vacuum cleaner does. Not a big deal, though. I think what got him into trouble is that he used the word immediately after the phrase "The Indianapolis Colts..."

So now he knows he shouldn't use that word, and should say something like "stink" instead when referring to a team he doesn't like.

But I'm still not sure if the note home was for the word, or for the noun preceding the word. I have a hunch that if he had started his sentence with "The New England Patriots" instead of "The Indianapolis Colts" the school would have sent him home with a lollipop instead of a note.

Overheard

SOPHIE: I dinnit see ANY hedgehogs last night.
ME: Were you expecting to see hedgehogs last night? [She was home all evening.]
SOPHIE: Mm-hmm.

Overheard

ME: Sophie, don't touch the dough. We need to let it rest.

SOPHIE (giggling): Ha! You say you want the dough to rest, but it doesn't even have eyes! Or a mouth!

New word

Today Sophie asked Ethan not to "attackle" her anymore. Attackle is when Ethan simultaneously attacks and tackles her, and she doesn't like it. So no more attackling, please.

Will work for piano lessons

Emma has been begging for music lessons. We don't usually start those until first grade, but she has been BEGGING.

So I started teaching her this week. I think we've had a lesson every day. She likes to remind me when she's ready for her next lesson. The other day she asked me to put a post-it note on my computer screen. Today she walked into the kitchen holding a sign and a plaintive face.

Coldy

It got so cold here last night that the fog stuck to the trees and froze. Everything was covered in fuzz when we woke up this morning. School was delayed two hours so the kiddos wouldn't die while waiting for their buses.

Overheard

EMMA: Dad, wanna know something bad about getting older?
ME: What's that?
EMMA: The older you get, the wilder you get.

Overheard

EMMA: Dad, why do nurses have to look at your private parts when you're having a baby?
ME: Well, they have to make sure everything is working okay.
EMMA: I think they should close their eyes.

Happiness = cotton candy

The finals. And the end of root beer posts. For a while.

Tonight the winners from the last three weeks squared off in a death match.  It was a close vote.  Each of the three older kids picked a different favorite, leaving me to break the tie.  Hank's won.  Hank's is thick and creamy, almost like a root beer float.  It has a strong vanilla taste, and foams up very nicely.  And yes, we're total nerds.  

So now we have a definitive standard by which to judge all other root beers.  The only problem is where to buy the stuff.  I sent the company an email tonight.  Maybe they'll hook us up because of our hard work and undying admiration.

(We won't tell them that the root beer we get at the hot dog stand in Anderson, Indiana, may still be the best.  We'll have to have more taste tests.  Just not anytime soon.)