Day in the Life

Sometimes I feel like my days are busy, but I can't quite figure out with what. One morning, I decided to jot down notes:

I'm lying on the floor of the living room. This is where most of our playing takes place. Harper is running around singing something and Violet is sitting by my head, trying to force feed me pre-chewed pretzel sticks. I'm clenching my mouth shut and shaking my head vigorously, which is mostly working but occasionally she jabs me in the face with the pretzel.

At this point Harper decides to do what I can only describe as a wrestling-style elbow drop. If you don't know what that is, here's the most accurate portrayal I could find:

Photo credit: Wrestling Amino

Reflexively, I sit strait up and gasp for air. Violet sees this as her perfect opportunity to jam her sawed off shotgun of a pretzel stick into my mouth. Anyone who's had the back of their throat pierced by a jagged pretzel rod feels my pain.

The girls seem pleased with themselves. It's 9 a.m.

"Who wants to watch Daniel Tiger?" I'm not above using TV so I can drink coffee in peace.

Well, mostly in peace.

"Please don't pour your water on the floor," I tell Harper.

"Why? Because it will bring ants?" she asks.

"No, because it's supposed to stay in your cup."

"So ants don't like water?"

"I'm not sure. They probably like water. Everything likes water."

"So the water will bring ants?"

"Yes."

Defeated again.

Violet turns and waves to me. "Hi," she says. She has a low voice for a one year old and I love it. She gets out of her chair and totters over to me for a hug. She's my little cuddler and I can't get enough.

As I'm cherishing my sweet hug, a slimy, mushy piece of chewed up orange falls out of her mouth, inside the collar of my shirt, and slides down my back. This is when I discovered I react exactly the same to an orange sliding down my back as I do to a great white shark brushing up against my leg in the ocean.

For the record (mom), a shark has never brushed up against my leg in the ocean. It was likely seaweed. Though it felt like a shark and the fear was very real.

"Ouch! Ouch! My eye is burning!" Harper yells and runs toward me with one eye squeezed shut.

"Ok, let's rinse it out. What'd you do?" I asked.

"I squeezed my orange in it."

"Why?"

"I thought it would burn and it does," said my little scientist.

"Well, don't squeeze any in your sister's, she still has two good eyes."

Interspersed throughout the morning are Violet's silent tantrums. I'm not sure if she's a non-conformist or if she just never learned how to properly throw a tantrum. But for some reason when she doesn't want to do something she silently lies on the ground and ignores everyone around her. It's an interesting technique.

Here, Violet doesn't want to eat breakfast:

Here, Violet doesn't want to put her shoes on before going outside:

I'm not sure what this one was about:

And finally, Violet doesn't want to get out of the bath. Even after it's been drained:

I stopped taking notes around noon.