I'm Kristina.  The mama behind trustypartyofsix.com.   

Seriously, Jack!

Dear Jack, 

Today you hit me in the head with a grilled cheese sandwich.  Although you claim it was an accident, I'm not sure I'm buying it.  You see, our day went a little something like this....

After getting Nola off to school we made our way to your speech lessons.  Darn that "C" sound. It's a tricky little booger.  After the session (and a snack break, plus 2 trips to the restroom) we made our way to my Dr.s appointment.  Kate was already morphing into her alter ego, SQUIRRELY SHIRLEY, and you were close behind.  Once in the waiting room, I broke up a tiff over a toy, banned you and Kate from locking the handicap accessible door and explained why it is not polite to "dive" off furniture even if you are pretending to swim. The minutes slowly ticked by and they called us back after an agonizing 48 minute wait.  Yes, I was counting.  

Once in the office, we waited some more. You and Katie-Hui were becoming hungry and eventually polished off everything edible in my purse...including but not limited to: tic tacs, 2 bananas, bunny crackers and smarties.  Hey, the bunny crackers and bananas were organic...the rest, well it was garbage. By this time, it was well past noon and Katie was not only hungry but ready for bed.  This combination is dangerous and results in a HANGRY girl.  Hungry + Angry = Hangry.  The ink wasn't dry on my receipt as I raced out the door with Kate strapped in the stroller and you on my hip. 

After hitting the drive-thru at Culvers, we came away with grilled cheese sandwiches for you and your sister and a large diet Coke for me.  I really wanted a mushroom and swiss burger, but I am trying to eat healthy (aka. lose the 15lbs of baby weight I gained with Kate. Yes, I know that I wasn't physically pregnant, but emotional eating is a common side effect of adoption. At least I like to think it is!).  As you both munched away, I enjoyed the silence in the car.  Just as I started to daydream about nap time, that's when IT hit me. A grilled cheese sandwich.

I caught a glimpse of that greasy little beauty as I turned back to tell you that "farting" isn't a nice word... even if your best buddy Jason says it at preschool. Our eyes locked and you knew that letting the "F" word slip was the least of your worries. Note: The "F" word means fart in this house.  I pulled the swagger wagon (mini van) off the side of the road, unbuckled my seat belt, picked up the grilled cheese sandwich and turned back to look at you. I said with a low, slow tone, "Seriously, Jack?" Without skipping a beat, you said, "Oh, my Dosh. I hitted you wif a cheese sandwich."

OK.  I have to admit that I wanted to laugh at your response and the shocked look on your face but held it together (brows furrowed-lips pinched tight) as you quickly let me know that your intended target was Kate.  Apparently she was making a noise that was driving you "trazy."  I decided that I would tackle throwing food and save taking the Lord's name in vain (in any variation) for another day.  I think there are a lot of lessons in your future, young man.  And honestly, I am glad I get to be the one who holds your sticky, little hand as we figure it all out.  

No throwing grilled cheese.

Love, Mama 

Little Helpers

Labor of Love