At some point last night Monkey crawled into bed with us, a fact I only noticed around 4 a.m. when her stinker of a brother began to cry for milk, and I became aware of a sense of being penned in on all sides.

Normally Hazel, my tortoiseshell cat, sleeps against my back at night, so I wasn’t surprised to feel a pressure against my left side, but I was amazed at it’s weight, thinking “Gee, this cat really doesn’t want to be shoved out of bed tonight.”
Thankfully I became aware enough to stop myself from shoving harder, or I would have rudely pushed my six year old onto the floor while turning over to nurse Otter. Instead, I sleepily informed her that she needed to get back into her own bed, and gave her a little kiss. She sleepily complied. Lee then raised his groggy head up long enough to notice there was another person in our bed, before resuming his part of the deep nighttime sleep chorus.

I still have no idea when she crawled into bed with me, or why, or even how. I didn’t notice it enough to wake up when it happened. There was a surprising amount of room because Otter hadn’t begun his nightly process of pushing me closer to the edge of the bed. (I usually wake up clinging desperately to the far edge with very little blanket while the men in my life happily snore away in comfortable ignorance of my plight.) I was just a little constrained, by two warm snuggly kids, snoring away on either side of me.

I could understand the family bed. I mean, I personally think I would go insane if I had both kids in bed with me all night every night, but from time to time a solid family cuddling pile is simply wonderful. I woke up this morning feeling well loved, though a bit stiff in the back and neck.

As you all know yesterday was Mr. Otter’s first birthday.

We began the day with a visit to the Doctor for a well check up. I was there, with my mom, happily answering in the affirmative to all the usual developmental questions, can he talk, walk, clap his hands, eat table food, etc. Suddenly, during the physical exam, she asks me “Have your son’s testicles always been receded?”

“Excuse me? What?” Said I… totally thrown by the words testicles and receded, as I was unaware that there was anyway for them to do that. I thought they pretty much just… you know… hung there, in their little sack, adjusting to temperatures.

She pointed out that the area around his penis was inflamed a little, and the scrotum was empty. So basically, they crawled up and hid. (Men, you have some weird little body parts… has anyone every told you that?)

So yeah…. we have to have it checked out, though they had returned when I changed him last night, so maybe this is normal behavior for them. (She said some boys have receding testicles.)

We moved on with our day, and I began to make the Lego cake and special Avocado Buttercream frosting I had decided to try after watching a Good Eats on my favorite green goody. “Alton Brown has never let me down before!” I cried in the face of scrutiny and doubt from those nearest me (and therefore most likely to be forced to eat the icing.)The cake itself turned out really well, and the lego was easy to assemble. Then on went the icing, Green Avocado Buttercream on one cake, Yellow Normal Buttercream on the other.

However, it turns out, AB was wrong about Avocado icing. It is not yummy, in fact, it tastes like two avocado’s mixed with a pound of sugar, and sprinkled with lemon juice. So not good. Even worse, it looked as though I had iced my cake with old guacamole, which made even looking at it unappealing.
Luckily, at the brilliant behest of my husband, I had made another regular buttercream icing just in case. So there was cake after all.

Of course, Otter didn’t eat any of it. He just wanted his “Baa oon“.

Wow, somewhere in the last two weeks I lost my 400th post, it just passed me by. This is post 411. I can’t believe I have had so much to say! I hope some of it was erudite and entertaining!

So… my darling nearing 7 year old daughter is driving me nuts. I am begging to think that she adds one repetition for each year of age. At three, I only had to ask her to do something three times, at four, it was four times. Now, as we near seven, I swear it is seven times, occasionally eight (everyone needs one to grow one after all).

“Monkey, have you brushed your teeth?”
“Uhh…. no.”
“Okay, please go brush your teeth.”
“Okay!”
A few seconds later, I will find her in her room with a doll, or hear her singing in the bathroom, or find her suddenly practicing her piano.
“Monkey! Brush your teeth!”
“But I don’t want to.”
“We go through this every day Monkey, if you are going to eat, you have to brush your teeth. That is your responsibility, they need to be kept healthy and clean. So please, go brush your teeth.”
“Oh, all right.”
She will disappear into her bathroom and I will wait, in vain, for the sound her her electric toothbrush. More minutes will pass.
“Monkey!! Why am I not hearing you brush your teeth?”
“Oh! I needed to use the potty!” or “I wanted to change my shirt!” or “I spilled water on the floor when I was filling up my tea set instead of doing what you have asked me to do so many times that you are beginning to feel like a trained monkey!”
“Okay, well, we are running out of time, so unless you would rather have stinky breath to breathe on people all day long, please brush your teeth!”
“Okay!”

Oh my god!! She does this for every single thing I request of her… everything!!
Homework, dinner, room cleaning, socks, shoes, jackets, baths, shower, etc. Everything takes more than one request, usually more than two! Sometimes I feel as though all I ever do is repeat myself!!
It makes me want to stomp my feet and scream “WILL SOMEBODY PLEASE LISTEN TO ME!!”
I will be driven bat-poo-crazy by the time she reaches sixteen, when I will have to write the great american novel, just to get her teeth cleaned!!