Tormadoes...

No, my spelling isn't going south. That's how Grady pronounces the name of his new soccer team, the Tornadoes. This is one mispronunciation that I can't let stand. He's already told two people that he plays with the Tormadoes and they both said something along the lines of "Tornado or tomato?" Grady looked at me each time with a look like, "Gee, which is it, mom?"

So, he does indeed have a new soccer team. He's playing U8 (eight and under) this year so it should be faster paced than last year (played U6). School starts next week for Fionna, so I'm already girding my loins for the nonstop schedule that will bring.

I haven't blogged about it since it's such a sore point but we no longer have our chickens. A neighbor complained about the noise and since the lovely, non-progressive city we live in doesn't allow chickens (even hens only as our's were) in the city limits, we were visited by animal control and given 24 hours to get rid of the "girls." Luckily, the neighboring, small (and smarter ;) ) township does allow chickens and, even better, two sets of friends were happy to incorporate some of hens into their existing flocks. So, the "girls" got split up and sent to two new homes. The kids were initially devastated but haven't stayed blue over it. I, however, miss them tremendously. I miss feeding them our food scraps, I miss gathering their lovely eggs that I admired every single time I handled them, I miss their quiet, companionable sounds. :(

Snippets...

Oh, my poor little blog. Woefully neglected. Life is just...life. Busy, tumultuous, laden, exhausting, sometimes just dull and boring, but whatever it is, I'm not good at being a steady, disciplined writer. Something to add to my list of life "to-do's." Today, mentally chuckling over some of my kids' "funnies," I decided I'd quit letting them fall by memory's wayside and begin chronicling them, in snippets. No, not as fulfilling as the full-on journaling that I liked to do in my blog but they'll certainly have their own value. And maybe visiting the ol' blog more often, even for moments, will help me get back in the habit.

So, here goes:

Today, following Lenny to breakfast (he's in his tow truck, we're in the car), Grady shouts eagerly, "We're right on his tail." Ainslie, who's been wailing and grumpy all morning, laments in the saddest, crying voice: "My daddy doesn't have a tail. He's a boy." She just got angrier as we all hooted with laughter.

Ainslie is heavy-duty into the tea parties these days. Pretend, with many, many nonsensical elements, they get a bit onerous (hey, I'm being honest here. The other day, as I snoozed my way through yet another one, literally, laying on her bed, surrounded with stuffed animals and other bits and pieces of her pretend world, I hear her say: Mama, your eyes need to wakey up. We're having a tea party here."

Another one, that Ainslie will someday hate me for setting to paper (or screen, as it is): She comes up to me, sticks one index finger right into my face, up against my lips, and I pretend bite it. We often pretend to gobble each other up. This time she says "Oh, don't do that. I just stuck it in my yoni (our word for vagina and all girl-parts in general) and I need to wash it." I have a feeling the look on my face was priceless.

I'm drawing a blank for Fionna. Interactions with a nine-year-old are just different. All that comes to mind for Grady right now is that he's been saying "horse field" a lot, for "force field." Does it make me a bad parent that I don't correct him as I consider it so cute? :)