FROGGY UPDATE-EEEK!

I have since learned after posting about my frog-snail issues that there is a lot of controversy about these African Dwarf Frog habitats. You can google beyond the link. Most people are claiming they are pretty damn inhumane. Now, inhumane does stem from not being good for humans but I get it and I am kind of agreeing. I just don't quite know what I am going to do. Mine are from a different company than the ones on the PETA site but they look pretty similar.
Obviously PJTruck and Humavark are not going to be released into the wild. They are not American Northeast Suburban Dwarf Frogs. So I think I have start thinking about a trip to a pet store (another somewhat inhumane and sometimes controversial concept) and get me a bigger boat. Er, tank. And some more rocks. And a filter. And a bubbler. And some more plants. And some snails that may or may not be murder victims within days of their entry into the habitat. And a heater for the winter. Damn frogs.
I haven't mentioned this to the Dearly Beloved yet so he may read this and come looking for me. My pet shop jaunts don't usually end well. They usually end in many, many dollars spent on fish and fish supplies. I don't why but I can't escape their slimy little gilled clutches. I will have to be strong. And this may be a slow project- so sorry PETA but my Frog Habitat Improvement Fund is a bit low right now so we have to start slow.
I'll keep you updated.
Maybe this will be a little more Good Mommy and less Bad Mommy. Or maybe it is just Don't Alert the Media Mommy. Meh- whatever gets the job done.

Don't Go in the Water

In a previous post I mentioned our beloved quasi-pets PJTruck and Humavark. They are African Dwarf Frogs who live in what is touted to be a mostly self-sufficient environment that costs less the $25. Nice. There is rectangular plastic tank that goes on a (available for additional purchase by suckers like me) pedestal thingy so are therefor very fancy and worthy of display. Inside are supposedly very special gravel rocks that have self-filtering properties. There is lucky bamboo, a pretty rock and you only have to change the water twice a year. Again- nice. And of course there are the frogs.
Oh wait- I didn't mention the most important thing. The two EMPTY snail shells lying at the bottom as if waiting for evidence tags. I smell murder most foul.
The frog habitat came with one freshwater snail with the super important job of head janitor. He/she had a name but being a Bad Mommy I have forgotten it. A few weeks, maybe a month and a half after we brought our water loving friends home the snail was found floating. Snails don't float where there isn't a current. We gave it a day or two to try and figure out what was going on and in that time it appeared the snail was "retreating" into its shell. I now have a different theory. Anyway it was clearly dead.
Not a problem. We are modern parents. We told the kids. They got it. It was kind of sad but not requiring of a shoebox kind of sad. Paper towels and a baggie into the kitchen trash was fine. Rest in peace and look out for the incoming apple peels.
I went to the company site for the froggy sellers and as it happens they could explain the dead snail. So I wasn't too worried at that point. The company also sold replacement snails that could be shippped right to your door. Fossil fuels be damned! I do like a nice package delivery and if ot comes with as sweet little gastropod mollusc and makes my kids happy too- awesome. I will gladly buy the carbon credits to off set the shipping.
A few days later not one but two delightful snails arrived in a bubble wrapped baggie of water labeled "SNAIL X 1." Math skills aside we were pleased and introduced the little ones to the frogs. We thought it best not to name them.
Good choice because less than one week later they were DEAD.
I cannot be responsible for theses deaths. We followed the directions to the colloquial "T." We never aggravated the snails or frogs with tapping or late night phone calls, requests for money or a ride to the airport. I didn't let anyone make wishes on dropping pennies into the tank- we always kept the ventilated lid on.

The best that I can come up with is that although these teeny frogs are supposed to be very content and have even earned the nickname "Zen Frogs" for the way the float peacefully- their captivity has hardened them. Maybe it wasn't both of them who did the deed most foul. Maybe one of them came from the wrong side of town or had been through the tank business before. Maybe the two of them are just trying to send us a message. Attica. Attica. Maybe they are segregationalists. That would be awful to think I was harboring frogs of that ilk. No matter what I honestly beleive the frogs my kids love to watch jump and swim and spent hours perfecting the names for are actually snail killers and what is almost worse- snail eaters. There is not a trace of snail body to be found.
No body- no murder?
We have not sent in another snail. The frogs seem restless but I cannot sentence another snail to what seems like certain death. We continue to treat them as though they are the same frogs we knew in the first blissful weeks of our relationship and maybe one day they will be ready for us to put pretend snails on Popsicle sticks and move them around the outside of the tank. Rehabilitation will be slow but PJTruck and Humavark just might turn back into model frog habitat citizens again. For the children, I really hope they do. Frogs would need a shoebox.
On a brighter note- supposing you don't get a batch of killers- these little guys are wicked cute and would make a neat-o executive desk accessory or gift for someone who you know is completely incapable of caring for an actually needy pet. Maybe get a spare tank filled with extra snails though. Just in case.

4 Letter Words

Ezra is 5 and is working on writing and spelling and is using special Post-It notes to label things all over the house. He wants to fit more and more on the little pages even though they are really only meant for 4 or 5 letter words like wall and house. When I gave him the sticky-notes he used them appropriately. But after labeling less than ten things I found him chasing my 3 year old Lena around the house with one while she cried.

Why was he chasing her? Why was she crying?

Ezra had written "sweet smell" on a sticky and wanted to attach it to her butt.

I don't even know what to do with that. I had to make him stop because he was making her cry but I also thought it was hysterical. It was also a pretty smart joke. And he had written two words small enough that they fit. Still- you can't let one child use irony to make another cry. Still I was so proud of his writing and spelling... It was one of those parenting moments you have to file under "What the Hell?" and cross-reference with "Fodder for Embarrassing Children" and "Graduation Inscriptions."

We finally worked it out by me consoling Lena and Dear Old Dad helping Ezra find something else in the house with a "sweet smell." It ended up being the refrigerator. I'm encouraged by that as an indication of my cleaning skills and grocery lists.

Ezra is growing brain cells faster than a frat boy can kill them during Spring Break in Cancun. He wanted to write a longer word on his little Post-It so he asked my husband to think of a 12 letter word. During the 45 to 90 seconds he was trying to come up with one Ezra said "Is kindergarten a 12 letter word? It is, isn't it?"

Yep.

When my husband relayed that conversation I sat dumbfounded trying to think of another 12 letter word. I couldn't. I know some. I write them. I say them. But for whatever reason- my 5 1/2 year old can pull them from the ether. I know I have to file that under "What the Hell?" but what do I cross-reference it with? "Mommy isn't That Smart?" "Do More Crosswords?"

What it boils down to is that every parent is convinced their child is a genius of monumental proportion. If you frequent mommy chat rooms, blogs or library story times you would have to come to the conclusion that in the next 10 to 20 years our country will be inundated with Nobel Prize winners, MacArthur Grant recipients and Forbes magazine cover makers all under the age of 25. In a lot of ways I hope Ezra isn't in that projected group. A lot of kids level out and the rest of their peers catch up. And in the mean time, being smart and carrying a lot of stuff in your head can be hard when you are just a wee little person with wee little person skills and wee little social mechanisms. But Ezra is smart right now and I am going to let him enjoy it when it doesn't involve chasing people with clever bits of word play.

The real bonus for me is that since Ezra has all the big words covered for me I get to stick my friendly four-letter friends. Not that I swear, I do have small children you know...

Show and Tell Day

I'm not going to show the pictures so don't worry.

I am just setting to keyboard what once would be set to pen that I don't know yet where the line is. I don't know what I want to share and what is only mine. Who do I know is reading? Who will secretly read? Am I seriously convinced I am that important?

I haven't read any Blogging for Dummies type thing and trust me, have NO intentions of doing so. But I wish there was a Big Brother Big Sister program that matched you up based on your life and what you like to talk about and then they help you decide if you are going to bring your new puppy to show and tell or the map to the old puppy's grave. Geez that sounds creepy. See- I'm not actually that creepy. I don't think.

There is almost a need for a person to have one blog for everything they have done, do or will do. Mommy, wife, work, hobbies, medical history, civil war re-en-actor, conspiracy theorist, writer, gamseshow contestant, pie lover, gambling adddict- whatever your category is.

I barely know my categories and I still need to figure out my audience. Hello audience. It's me. How are you? How is all this working out for you? Want more milk and cookies or do you prefer gin and tonics?

Egads but don't this just beat all. Well today for show and tell I am bringing me, my blog as it stands and my willingness to push myself farther. Onward and upward, forward march, small steps for mankind and all that tripe. Enough of the New Year's resolutions in July, I have crazy-ing to do and make. Here is a picture of my little man so he doesn't feel left out after all the pictures of his sister. Enjoy.

It was preschool graduation. Hence the overalls. They are de rigeur for all graduations these days.

Open up and say ahhhhhhhh....

I had an endoscopy yesterday and they let me take home pictures. Hehehehehe. Ewwww. I know I shouldn't share and I totally won't and I'm not even going to go into the topic right now because I'm tired but I kind of want to show you.

Don't you kind of want to see?

No? Okay, so admittedly once I saw them there was a pang of regret for having asked but the chance to say "Hey Doc- can I get a copy of the shot of my esophagus?" is pretty rare. I promise I won't share.

I was just bursting at the seams with the knowledge that I have the pictures and I needed to put it out there. Okay- no more sharing.

Now onto your day and enjoy your lunch.

Girls in Their Summer Dresses

I made this dress for my baby girl and I adore it. I don't know if she does or not but oh well- I am the Mommy and the boss and I get to pick the outfits sometimes. Seriously- I flipping love it. Modesty aside because I hate being boastful.

She has only a handful of wee sundresses and I had been meaning to whip a few up for ages but nonsense had gotten in the way. I finally decided to just do it as quickly as I could and see how it went. So we picked out the fabric from ye' old box o' fabric (fabric I have spent way too much time and money gathering but wish I could sleep in a pile of sometimes because I love it sooo much) I cut out a piece I thought was bigger than her and had her lay down on it.

I marked her armpits (and measured around them), belly button, knees and where I wanted it to fall on her legs. Then I measured around her belly and added two-ish inches. I am not an exact crafter although I have heard they exist. I cut according to my marks.

I pinned down the top to form a channel wide enough for the 1/2 inch elastic I had found in my bits and pieces collection and pinned the bottom of the fabric to make a close seam. After that it was easy-peasy-pudding-pie. I sewed straight lines where I had pinned and made them as neat as possible for an "on the fly" kind of project. I threaded the elastic through the channel and attached it at one end. Using the measurement of her armpit/bust/chest whatever it is when you are 3, I pulled the elastic until it was stretched enough to fit closely around her top without leaving marks or pinching, pinned the stretched end in place at the opening of the channel and then pinned the elastic in several places to keep it flat and prevent it from changing size. Next I sewed the elastic at the open channel, thereby closing the channel and forcing a gather in the top of the dress. After that I made a straight seam across the bottom of the dress and a simple flattened out seam to close the back of the dress.

To make the straps I attached 1/2 inch double fold bias tape cut to about 8 inches to the inside of the top of the dress on both sides, being careful to match front to back so the ties would work well. I also added a VERY long belt loop on the back with the same bias tape. I figure this will allow for the dress to grow with her some. It is generous in size already and the shoulder ties can be adjusted, have buttons added or sewn together to fit a larger child. The belt is simply the same bias tape with the ends stitched to stop fraying. I will probably knot them later.



It took about an hour to an hour and a half all told but as I said it was not done with exact measuring or perfection in mind. It has stood up so far though. Plus she had been wearing braids the day before the picture was taken so she looks all crazy, wild child in it. She was a little put off by the tiger being the main image on the chest so we made up a story about Bernard the Tiger who lives in and ice cream shop. It was very complex and fascinating. Email if you want first pick for the movie rights.

I will try to post more projects and have more exact directions. This was more of a "Look Ma- No hands!" kind of thing I guess. I also wanted to show myself that I still had it in me to find time to do the things I want to do. In the meantime I am going to strongly encourage her to wear the dress everywhere but especially places where people will see how adorable she is and ooh and ahh over her. Because then secretly they'll be oohing and ahhing over me right? In written form that does seem very very wrong. Bad Mommy. But ooooh. Aaaaah. Wheee!

Birthdays Gone-by

Since I have already posted about my anniversary coming and going without a parade I wanted to mention that my baby sister had her 30th birthday just the other day. That means she is O-L-D! Okay so if she is my baby sister I guess I am also old. But I am only 2 years older- 21 months actually. I am pretty much younger than she is.

She got to spend her birthday in Maine in spite of having abandoned the majestic and generally free of major earthquakes East Coast for Seattle and then Portland, OR 6ish years ago. I think she had a good day from what she described. Still she probably missed being on the "other side" with her friends who would have celebrated in a style more fitting than my mom can muster.

I haven't sent her a gift yet. Originally it was because she was in Maine and had a mail stop on her Oregon address so I figured I would wait. Then I thought I would be enviro-me and not send something via jumbo shipping company vehicle but find a local merchant to purchase from in Portland and have it delivered locally. Then I got sleepy and took a nap after supper. Then I woke up and watched Law and Order: Criminal Intent. Then I decided enviro-me would really rather send an e-card with an e-gift certificate.

Surprise! Then I fell asleep. I think I went to the Farmer's Market. I know I went to Starbucks. Later I thought about sending her some of the jam I canned but that went back to the fuel-sucking shipping company thing again so I decided no. Wait but now it gets good- I have totally neglected to get her a damn thing.

I could try and pass this off as being enviro-me and smaller-footprint me. Or it could be hey-my-husband-works-for-a-non-profit-where-they-made-massive-cut-backs me. Or it could be schmucky-sister me. I think I have to fess up and admit to option three. It may have started one way but after all the naps and tv and outings and the days that have passed and the fact that she is now back home with no mail stop... well... I just have to lay it out and say I blew it.

So my dear peepsio sister, if you are reading this- hi. I love you. Isn't love enough? How's about I said you a smnabddkgkfndsglybu via onlinupsfedbikemesenpostal ? I know you've always wanted one. It'll be there for sure by... oh geez- I would say I heard Mom calling me but in order to update that I will say I hear the kids stepping on rusty nails outside. I really ought to get to that. But I'll be in touch super soon. Honest.

Yeah. I blew the 30th birthday thing for her. Good thing is, I remembered to call and there is still the 40th birthday to totally not screw up. Better write that down though.

9 Years in the Making

My anniversary has come and gone. It was July 15th. My dearly beloved and I have been married nine years. Wow. Not quite a decade. Everyone asked us afterward "Why didn't you say anything?" or "What did you do? Where did you go?"

Ummm. We didn't say anything because it has been nine years and we have two kids and we know we have been married and don't really expect the people around us to keep track of something that happened again, nine years ago. Also- we're not that impressed. We kind of figured we would be married in 2009 when we got married in 2000. Wine and roses, candies and bowls of cherries all the way- yeah, no. But we have always worked under the assumption that we would stay married. When things were hard and words were exchanged that we tried to suck back into the empty space of our lungs- it was still okay. Fights are fights. This is the last time is not always the last time just as the first time isn't always the first. We all know time is indeed relative.

I have always maintained that the ability to call one's spouse a jackass with a smile and alternately a sneer all the while knowing you love them regardless is what makes a relationship. If you were to ask my dearly beloved he would definitely vouch for having been called a jackass under both circumstances. And here we are at the nine year mark. Ta da- jackass.

So where did we go? What magical way did we find to express our triumphant love and joy on that magical night of the 15th?

Well, I had an appointment so I missed dinner but I think the kids may have had a bath. We don't have a babysitter. Wah wah wah waaah. That is the true sound of suck for a parent: "We don't have a babysitter." There are a million ways I could express my sadness on this topic but I will leave it with the understanding that it is wicked, wicked, wicked, wicked crappy.

Okay so we weren't going anywhere anyway and if we were we might have taken the kids. We like them. They are funny and we get served faster when they're around too... Really though I am not sure we would choose to spend money on one night of a sitter and a few hours of pricey alone time with pricey food when we could put that toward something better. We can eek out alone time- even if it is at midnight over True Blood on the DVR and popcorn. But my husband makes the best damn popcorn in the whole freaking world. For real. And popcorn is cheap. And I don't usually have to tip him for bringing extra sodas.

So it has been nine years. I don't mean to diminish them. They have been wonderful in so many ways. I love my husband, he loves me- that works very nicely for a gal such as myself. We have hit many a roadblock as a family, as a couple, as parents and as individuals and so far we always make it to the other side. I don't think that is coincidence or luck. I think that comes from way back in 2000 when we got hitched under an assumption that that was that. A big anniversary will be the one when I am surprised to have made it to that year. I sincerely hope that is a long way away.

In the meantime we are accepting applications for babysitters or in-house sous chefs.

Over the River and Through the Woods

I recently had the chance to spend a weekend at my grandparents' house in Maine. They passed away (she in 1999 and he in 2007) and now my mom and her siblings are trying to get it set up as a rental. It is an okay house as houses go. The view and setting is what really sets it. The house is actually on a bluff, as in walk too many feet past the driveway and you might drop and hit the breakers kind of bluff. You can see endless ocean and a lighthouse and all sorts of boats and buoys and gen-u-ine Maine beauty.

I swore I would never sleep there. EVER. Ever, ever, ever, ever, ever.

I loved/love my grandparents but that house was theirs and it is freaky to think of settling in at night in the room next to the one my grandmother died in. Or using the shower my grandfather used so infrequently as he got older and needed to be reminded of more things. Plus- who would make me root beer floats if I was behaving nicely?

However, my baby sister (not my baby, baby sister mind you but my regular baby sister) and her husband of a year were flying in from the west coast and we all really wanted to see them. And "due to the current economic climate we are unable to "fill in the blank______." Here the blank was pay last minute prices for a hotel in the high season on the coast of Maine. There is always the option of staying with one of my parents but my dearly beloved and I have decided against that for various reasons. So that left us with Dearly Departed Loved Ones Creepy Mc-Seaside-Escape and Resort. I cannot even tell you how many precious minutes of therapy I spent discussing rational vs. irrational concerns, grounding techniques and ways to deal with my family while I tried to avoid seeing dead people. (god rest their souls)

So we went. It wasn't as bad as I had expected- no visits from beyond over breakfast or while gazing through Grampa's binoculars. Hmmm. A lot of changes had been made to the house physically which is only a help in the finding renters department because as fabulous as my grandmother was she really could have used a color session or whatever they call it when they "do your colors." Aqua and Moroccan orange were not hers and they certainly were not those of the house. There was still work to be done but my sister and her husband had a firm hand on it and my help only proved problematic so I settled into uselessness and poking people.

I love my family. You know whenever someone leads with that there is more than chocolates and popsicles coming. They are amazing and wonderful and we are all completely out of our minds in one way or another. We function in our worlds and when we mix can pull it off for a while but there will invariably be some discord. Unheard of I am sure- we must be unique as each time an argument erupts it does seem like there has never been anyone in the world who has had experiences like ours that would lead to fights like ours. I'm guessing I'm wrong.

Anyway (I hate when I say that but I have yet to hone my transition skills so enjoy or complain but get used to it for now while I work at it please)- my constant worry is that my family is afraid that I am surrounded by eggshells. Or that my reactions are more than what they seem; that they can't be simple irritation or fatigue but most be signs of a coming melt-down. I need to find a way to fix that but the time spent in Maine made it feel particularly necessary.

Everyone knows/knew my feelings about the house, about Maine, coming "home," my health carpola, blah blah. Even when I stopped waiting for Grandma to appear from her sewing room with half a quilt and suggest I go play under the stairs (that sounds WAY crazier than I meant it) it seemed my family still was waiting for me to shiver in the night, be terribly on edge or bust out with anxiety. Maybe I was. Maybe I did. My current vision is poor and my hindsight is definitely not 20/20 so I would have to take a poll. History takes a toll on all of us and in my case that toll is that sometimes things feel icky. But guess what- I am quite confident many could say the same and I could be the icky making factor.

How do you resolve the ick when it is so individualized but comes from a common thread?

It is hard to evaluate yourself and to guess what other people are thinking about- especially family. It is also a very dangerous practice that leads to people you love becoming very angry or hurt. They all know I love them beyond the beyond and I assume the same in reverse. One of these days I will learn to act after thinking and think things from a more muitli-dimensional view before the acting part.

The good news is that the house my grandparents love although it will never be a second home or a dreamy summer retreat for me, has the potential to be a place I can go and be with my sisters and their families whether we're staying at hotels or the house itself. I don't know that my grandmother would have been happy with all the changes and my grandfather certainly would have had something to say about the use of conventional methods to secure things. He preferred twist-ties, rubber bands and bits of string. Maybe next visit I'll wiggle loose a handle just to tighten it back up with a paperclip. Then I'll watch the boats for a spell with my family.

Pick Your Berry

It has come to my attention that I ramble and my posts are a wee bit, well out with it- I am taking up a lot of valuable blog viewing time with my lengthy posts. So here is a short one to break up the monotony. Although you get what you pay for.

I think New Jersey blueberries make a mockery of nature's purest intentions. Wild blueberries of the sort found in Downeast Maine are the only true blueberry and anyone who says different has clearly lost their marbles or taste buds. Maine blueberries are grown on the glacial barrens and nurtured by lightly salted air. They take a delicate touch and still a firm stance to pick and they taste perfect warm, cold, frozen or hot. Beauteous and ideal in pies, covered in cream in sugar, on oatmeal, in muffins, in big heaping spoonfuls. Clearly a higher power had a hand in this creation.

But Jersey High Bush berries? Come now? Who are you fooling? Standing comfortably and picking leisurely with minimal effort. Giant berries that are an affront to the order of things? And the tart, slightly sour taste when there is taste at all? What is going on with that? I'm not beating up on New Jersey- they take care of themselves in that department. I'm just begging you as a reader with a palate and interest in pleasing it to consider choosing the better berry this year if you haven't already. Blueberry season starts around August in Maine so I'd get on it.

Finis et bon apetit.

I and Screamy

My daughter has made friends with some newcomers to the neighborhood. I can't see them and they are according to her "the size of a pea." Their names are I and Screamy. I'm trying really hard not to read into that. She has had imaginary friends for a little bit now- ever since my physical health issues amped up the interference with our daily lives. Not so much the Mommy-on-the-floor or couch again but the Mommy-missing-dinner or Mommy-missing-library because of appointments. She is no dummy. I am gone a lot.

In some ways you would think this would be awesome because of all the extra time with dear old Dad or Grammie and Zadie but apparently parents are not interchangeable. So enter stage left her new friends. I think the first was Lomaid. Then Lateet. Yeah- that one makes me giggle too. Especially when for a little while she decided it was Daddy's new nickname. Nothing shrieks of masculinity like being called "La-Teet." I am spelling it in a generous way but I really want to spell it the other way because it is much funnier.

Now we have I and Screamy and a host of others who come and ago. They have names like Kapoofaca and such. I don't really understand but I am not 3 1/2. As background I should mention that after much deliberation and list making the wee children decided to name our two African Dwarf frogs "PJ Truck" and "Humavark." Again- I am not 3 or 5 so what do I know about names.

Other than the frogs we are expected to be very respectful of her friends at all times, taking them places, holding the door for them, making room at the table etc. Mind you- they are the size of a pea. She talks to them and being proper imaginary friends they talk back to her. Most of their talks seem quite serious but she assures me they are very funny and tell good jokes. My son has no imaginary friends of his own but he interacts regularly with Screamy and the gang. I think he likes to stick to the tangible when he can.

My brother-in-law is a pediatric neuropsychologist and I routinely beg for free advice like "is my kid crazy because she's afraid of spiders?" or "do you think he reads too much and therefore has a disorder that we are making worse by letting him go to the library?" It is even rumoured that on one ocassion I may have asked why if my IQ was what it was I couldn't speak 7 languages or solve complex physics equations and the like. If you choose to believe the rumour then the answer may have been a suggestion that perhaps I lacked motivation and follow-through which would explain MANY MANY things including all the classes I dropped out of in school mid-semester... Anyway- he is confident my daughter is just fine. But in the middle of saying that he did have to stop and consult with a six-foot tall rabbit.

It is of no surprise that my little lass came up with her peepsios when she did. Developmentally she is right on the money, her imagination has started to race ahead of her and she can rip a yarn like no one's business, Do people say that? Rip a yarn? What the hell does that mean? Is that a real saying? Maybe I should check my imagination or get a dictionary of antiquated slang that only people like me find use for. I wonder if there is one. Hmmm. Hello eBay.

Oh yes- the arrival of my little girl's friends also coincides with changes in the household as I mentioned above and what I believe is her new understanding that in the fall my son will start kindergarten and she will not. He was in preschool last year but we had lunch together, dropped him off, she took a nap and then we picked him up. I don't think she missed him that much. Loves him buckets but missed him in her sleep- not so much. But now she knows he'll be gone all day and she'll be stuck with Mommy all day who may be Art Project Mommy, Sick Mommy, Park or Museum Mommy, Appointment Mommy or just Crap There Isn't Any Damn Diet Dr. Pepper Mommy. It's all me. I am fortunate to be a singularly minded crazy person but that doesn't mean that for a 3 year old you might find comfort in numbers. Even imaginary, oddly named, miniature friend numbers.

Lastly- because it I have been awake for too long today and I can't vouch for the cohesiveness of this post I want to mention that she often has to chase her friends around the house for extended periods of time calling after them quite loudly. They sometimes get caught and put in time out. In case someone who reads this ever witnesses an event like that in my home- I want to set the record straight that we generally don't chase the kids into captivity. We barely even use time out. Why use time out when we can just ask Lateet to have a sit-down talk to hash things out and clear the air. Parenting by imaginary friend proxy. I think I read about it in a Dr. Sears book...?...