Quite Possibly the Stupidest Injury of All Time

Last Friday, I mentioned to my mom that we were taking the girls to see the Naturals (the new minor league baseball team) that night. A little while later, she called me back and said "You know, I was thinking... Jason used to play baseball--has he ever thought of trying out for the Naturals?"
After I finished laughing hysterically, I told her that no, Jason had not considered trying out and hadn't played baseball in about 14 years.

The next night, we were playing outside with the girls, Aunt Ashley, Uncle Thad and Grandma Becky, when Jason (possibly inspired by the previous night's ball game?)picked up a plastic bat and ball. THWACK!!!

I heard the sound of plastic on plastic and, with my cat-like reflexes, turned and ducked. The line drive off my husband's oversized plastic bat hit me squarely on the left ear and my immediate reaction was to start crying because 1) I'm kind of a crybaby 2) It hurt really, really bad 3) I couldn't hear anything and 4) I was sort of mad.

After I quit crying, I examined my bright red ear and determined that the pain was coming from the inside. I couldn't hear, felt a lot of pressure and there was this weird ringing sound inside my head. I spent all weekend talking about it, just to make sure Jason felt sufficiently guilty. He did.

This morning I went to the doctor, as a precaution, since my ear is still hurting. You may be surprised to know that it's possible to rupture your ear drum with a Little Tikes plastic ball--well, if the ball is coming towards your ear at a rapid speed from about four feet away.

In addition to the ear drum rupture, my jaw is also swollen and slightly displaced. From a plastic ball, people! You really can't make this stuff up.

So now I've got ear drops, an anti-inflammatory for my jaw and two weeks of not washing my hair in the shower ahead of me. If you think I'm going to let this go easily, you're wrong. I intend to milk this for at least a few weeks of special treatment.

And as for the plastic bats and balls we have lying around here--I'm thinking of replacing them all with nerf balls.

Conversations with Claire and Arden

Yesterday, as I was on the floor mopping up apple juice, Claire came over and kissed me on the top of my head. The following conversation ensued:
C: Mommy! Your hair is turning different colors!
Me: What? What do you mean?
C: It's so beautiful now--just like Mrs. Cortney's!

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On the way to school this morning, I guess Claire was feeling theology-ish.
C: Is God in my tummy?
Me: What??
C: My tummy. Is God in there?
Me: No. I mean, God is everywhere, but I don't think he's in your tummy.
C: God is everywhere? Then why can't I see Him?
Me: Well, someday, when we're in Heaven, we'll be able to see Him.
C: In the clouds?
Me: Well, sort of.
C: I think I'll laugh when I see Him.
Me: What do you mean?
C: I think all the children will be laughing.

I think she just may be right.

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Arden has really started talking a lot these days. Here is a sampling of her most often used phrases.
Tank Ooh--translation: Thank You. She is nothing if not polite. She even tells her sister thank you as she's ripping her favorite toy away from her.

I-sh too--translation: I love you, too. She only says this when she hears me say "I love you, Claire". When I say, "I love you, Arden," she answers, "Tank Ooh".

Haaaaayyy-translation: Hey! You just did something I don't like. You'll hear this if you take something away from her, make her sit in a chair, or really, just do anything that doesn't suit her fancy.

I too--translation: Me, too! Of course, she says this a million times a day and it is usually in reference to whatever Claire happens to be doing at any given moment.

I do it--translation: Leave me alone, woman! I can handle this. She actually told me this as I was changing her diaper yesterday. I was tempted to give her a go at it, but thought better of it.

Good news

In case you weren't able to shell out $1000 to see Hannah Montana live in concert, here's the next best thing...
p.s. hit pause on my playlist if you don't want to hear Queen voiced over Hannah Montana.

More of a Fighter

I was talking to my friend Cortney the other day about how she thought her youngest son, Cade, would handle the impending arrival of a new brother. She was telling me how much he loves babies (the term "baby" is broadly defined here as any person the same size or smaller than himself)and how he is always trying to hug them and kiss them.
Then she said, "Arden's going to be in for it on vacation, Cade will be trying to hug and kiss her the whole week."
I started laughing and replied, "Well, that should be interesting because Arden is really more of a fighter than a lover."

With Claire, I never worried about her behavior towards other kids. She wasn't aggressive, never bit, pinched, pushed, or hit. She was pretty vocal when things weren't going her way (still is), but she wasn't one to lash out physically. Arden, on the other hand, is just the opposite. And it's not just when things aren't going her way either.

Take today, for instance. Claire was at dance class (on a side note, be prepared for many many pictures of Claire in her recital costume because, seriously, cutest. thing. ever.) and Arden and I were in the observation/play room watching her. Another kid walks in (this little girl is there every week and is the same age as Arden) and starts to play with some of the germ-infested/disease-carrying toys (one of these days, I'm going to throw out the two stuffed monkeys that look like they have dandruff). Arden walks right up to her, says hi and then swats at her arm three or four times.

I took Arden out of the room, made her sit in time out on a bench in the hall and then asked her if she was ready to be nice. "Yeah," she said. So we went back in. She immediately runs to the little girl, says something, which I'm sure was "I'm sorry I'm so aggressive and use force as a means of establishing myself as the dominant one year old in the room," and then gives the gal a big shove.

We spent the rest of class out in the hall, where there was no one for Arden to beat up. I'm sure this is just a phase and my sweet precious won't be picking fights for the rest of her life. Right? Right?

Well, if not, then maybe we can get her to channel all of her aggression into something productive. American Gladiators, perhaps?

Sisters, Sisters

I am currently loving watching my two girls really become sisters. The fighting, the hugging, the shrieking, the giggling, the pushing, the kissing, the biting (Arden), the hair-pulling (also Arden), the chasing, the imitating, the dancing. All of it. All of it is cementing their bond as sisters. And I love it.

I could do with a little less shrieking though.

In Case You Were Wondering...

We won't be atttempting potty training anytime soon.