So today, when a beloved babysitter came to spend time with the kids, they were overjoyed. She took them to the park to play and on a trek to find an open ice cream shop (which she did. Score!).

My kids love their babysitters; I can’t even call them “babysitters”, because, as I said, they are more like dear friends or aunts. They are family. In any case, as much as my kids adore their caregivers, my son is in a “mama” phase, so he freaks out whenever he sees me and the babysitter in the same room.

So, when I have childcare help, which is a crucial part of my getting well plan, I have to make myself scarce. And, to be honest, quite often I will have a babysitter here so that my kids can engage in fun, lively activities requiring physical energy that I do not have. I will be home, off of my feet, while my kids play hide and seek, or trek up and down three staircases from the basement to the third floor and back, or run around the park, etc.

(Author’s note: This was supposed to be a happy, funny post. I actually started to write it yesterday, but now I feel sad and guilty. This is the hardest part of my treatment plan. Everything I have, I give to my kids. But sometimes, that still isn’t enough.

5 minutes later, Editor’s note: now that I am in this stage of the publishing process, I feel better. Happy, again. I won’t judge you if you don’t judge me.)

In any case, yesterday, while the kids were out getting ice cream and swinging at the park, I used the opportunity to work in the kitchen. I prepped our family’s dinner and did some cooking and was all set to make myself a smoothie for my afternoon snack, when I heard the front door open.

I expected that they would come in the house and head straight down to the basement to play, but when I heard them approaching the kitchen, there was nothing I could do but duck. It was like a movie. I just ducked and hid, right by the sink where I had been chopping and stirring.

The babysitter came in and sat at the kitchen table with the baby, feeding him the rest of his ice cream; BUT, her back was to me, so she had no idea that I was there, curled up, and, fortunately, she was inadvertently blocking me from the baby’s view. I stayed crouched down for a few minutes until my daughter came into the room and I managed to silently flag her down. She signaled to the babysitter and we all laughed, noiselessly. Then, as quietly as I could, I moved the trash can and recycling bin in front of me, so that I was further blocked from the baby’s sight. The babysitter fed my hungry boy, between giggles and my daughter, that little pip, said, “Oh, there is a problem here behind the trash can. I think some glass broke so I am just going to guard it so that no one gets hurt.”

She moved a few other things over to block me, saying, “Here. I am putting a stool in front of this mess. What an accident!”

(She also served as my photographer, grabbing my phone from the counter and snapping some shots to document this crazy, silly moment.)

Ten minutes later, the baby finally finished his Cookies and Cream and I was able to unwind my body out of the pretzel in which I had been contorted.

So, basically, what I am saying is that these gymnasts and yogis and circus performers may be incredibly skilled in the art of flexibility, strength and contortion,

but,

don’t count us moms out;

Because if anyone knows how to maneuver swiftly across the perimeter of a sleeping baby’s nursery without making a sound,

or hide behind the smallest of items to avoid being spotted,

or balance precariously so that the floor does not creak to give her presence away,

it is a mom.

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The post My kid is funny, continued. appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

My husband’s early morning Facebook status update.

This was when she crawled into our bed around 7am. Usually, one of us gets up and takes both kids downstairs, but this morning, for a change, we both woke up and brought the baby into bed and she followed.

“Daddy, I had a dream and you and [K’s best friend] took me to this party at a haunted house and I made a new friend. And there were ghosts, and skeletons. I was just walking along and suddenly there were dancing ghosts. And skeletons. And ZOMBIES.”

 Then the discussion turned to her birthday party. Her birthday is in April.

“We could have a clown come.  [beat]  The problem is, I don’t. like. clowns.”

It was then probably 7:02.

“We can have a Scooby Doo party. I already told J that she is Shaggy. Or, actually, let’s do a Grease party. Or we can do the Scooby Doo party and daddy can dress up like a ghost and we can make your car into the Mystery Machine.”

The thing about my daughter is, she does not stop talking. Apparently she comes by this honestly; I have been told that I was the same way as a child, but I cannot imagine that it was to this extent. She actually never, ever stops talking.

There was a Saturday, two summers ago, when we decided to do a “new” “fun” family activity and visit an organic orchard somewhere west of our suburb. The drive from our house to the highway is probably 4 minutes long. She was so chatty in those four minutes that when we got to the place where we would get on I76 I told my husband to keep driving straight, so that we cross the bridge into Philadelphia and have lunch right there, one minute away. It was even too much talking for me.  I was already so exhausted by her that I could not imagine another 45 minutes in the car. And this sounds so terrible, as I adore my child and love how verbal she is. It is one of her most fabulous defining features. But sometimes, when she won’t stop talking and we are expected to engage in every part of the conversation…

it gets to be a lot.

This morning, my husband took the kids down for breakfast while I lingered a bit longer in bed and I came down to find her eating,

wait for it–

Rice Krispies and a chocolate donut. Good intuition, that kid.

She then asked if we could sing the finale song from “Into the Woods” with the Baker’s Wife (me) and Baker Baby (her). I was in the middle of singing, “Hold him to the light now,” when she stopped me and said “No, really hold me to the light.”

Next, she wanted to hear this song, which is awesome.

It is actually something we are working on next door, as my bandmate and I like to try to find interesting harmonies or songs with counterpoint melodies. We have gotten into a good groove that way and music means so much to me.

In any case, this morning my daughter wanted to sing the girl’s part of the song so I sang the boy’s part.

And then she wanted to be the girl. Not Taylor Swift; nor Taylor Swift specifically from the “Blank Space” video; she wanted to be Louisa from the YouTube video.

I put lipstick on her, tied her half into a half up bun and dressed her in the closest thing I could find to a blazer, which was a jean jacket with leather arms.

She then performed her part, alone (refusing help when I tried to teach her the actual lyrics) and asked for me to video tape her.

I did and put it on my private Instagram. My friends pointed out something very funny. Truth be told, I actually just laughed out loud while typing this.

Instead of singing

“Got a long list of ex-lovers
They’ll tell you I’m insane”

she actually sings,

“Come along with stomach lovers…”

And then it was time to get ready for school.

So there you have it. My kid is funny. She makes me laugh every day, and even though she doesn’t stop talking, I am lucky that I get to have so much entertainment in my life,

all before 8am.

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