When Daddy's here...

I have heard the following phrase no fewer than 30 times today, "but when Daddy's here I get to ..." The activities have included: touch your ipod, drink milk in a special cup, carry Charlotte downstairs... it was at that point I realized she was either pulling my leg, manipulating me, or Doug was in really big trouble.

I showed up at preschool on Tuesday and happened to see a list that had each month and someone's name by it. My name was by March, and the list was for "special snack." I must have signed up back in September, and then forgotten about it by October. I asked the teacher when exactly she wanted the special snack. Answer? Tomorrow. It should be green - in the form of a cookie or a cupcake. I'm somewhat Martha about a lot of things - I am a decent cook, I can knit, I'm only somewhat afraid of my sewing machine. But I don't bake. Doug bakes. But seeing as Doug took a lot of time off during the bar study period, he is actually working these days. That left me to bake. A mere two hours later, I have 26 things that look approximately like four leaf clovers that the cows have munched on. That is slightly more than 4 minutes a cookie. And we still haven't iced and decorated them. This is why I don't bake. It takes me forever to make ugly things.

Yesterday Elisabeth asked Doug to carry her like a sack of beans. Then she told him that she can sit on a sack of bean (note the lack of a plural). Doug was quite confused for awhile, trying to convince her that she could probably sit on a sack of beans only to be told that it is a sack of BEAN, not beans. "Mommy told me, she's going to get me a sack of bean for my room. And I'm going to sit on it when we read books."

Yep, about 8 months ago, I told her that I'd get her a bean bag for her room to replace the recliner that I moved to Charlotte's room.