I'm Not Crazy

Ok, well, whether or not I'm crazy can be up for debate at a later time, but there is one thing I know is true. My baby girl looks like David Cook. You know, the guy who won American Idol. I swear that I'll look at her and expect her to break out into "This Is My Now", the resemblence is so uncanny. So I'll grab the camera to document it as proof, and it disappears, or just doesn't transfer to pictures, or whatever. Then I put the camera down, and Nora's a 20-something crooner again.
But look at the hair. It's Cook hair.


Just...go with me on this.

We're actually living with two celebrities in our house. Tate used to be a dead ringer for:




Eh? Uncle Fester at his finest. No hair, no neck, general air of weirdness...seperated at birth, I tell ya.

So we took Dave and Fester to the park behind our house today to go sledding.

Annnnd we will never be doing that again.

The snow was up to our knees, making the trek across our back yard an odyssey of epic proportions. Ever carry a baby stuffed in to a 20lb snowsuit across a neverending field of snow? I was terrified I was going to fall and faceplant Nora into a drift, rendering her terrified of anything white and chilly for the rest of her life. As I was panting and sweating my way across the yard like a broken down geriatric mule, she kept looking at me like, "Mom, seriously. What the hell? Our nice warm house is right there. Remember that hot chocolate with butterscotch schnapps you were imbibing in? Still there. Turn the hell around."

We got to the sledding hill, I set Nora down in the snow to take a picture, she spazzed out, and we went home. Eric and Tate were about 10 minutes behind us. Apparently Tate gets mad when his thumbs are rendered useless by gigantic puffy mittens and he has the manual dexterity of a worm. Lesson learned: do not take a 2 year old and an 8 month old out to frolic in the snow. They will not do it.

So I always wonder if all the time I spend trying to pound the concept of manners into Tate's head will ever pay off. Well, today we were playing his current favorite game of "Red Ball or Bouncy Ball? Which One Should I Throw?" and after he tossed the red ball to me upon my request, he stared me down and said "Um, what do we say??". Eek. Thank you, master. So he gets the concept of thank you, you're welcome, etc...he just chooses not to be bothered to say them himself unless a sippy cup of orange juice or an oatmeal cream pie is at stake and about to be taken away.

And finally, if you read my blog, please sign my guestbook. I'll be forever indebted. I'm always curious as to who finds it worthwhile to laugh at my attempts at raising somewhat normal children, and how people in New Hampshire and Georgia and freakin' England find my little blog. If you sign it, you'll be entered in a drawing to win one kajillion dollars. Am I serious? Guess you'll never know, unless you sign it. One kajillion dollars, people.