"I'll eat that one...it has mommy juice in it."

Mommy juice. Why we started using that particular term, I'm not so sure, but the kids know not to touch it. I wonder what they think it is, because it takes on different forms...but anyway, there we were, the kids and I, looking through the bag of candy my neighbor had just brought over. He went to Italy last month with his wife and thoughtfully made us a bag of Italian candies. Although I don't think he looked too closely at what he put in it because if he had seen the 'mommy juice' filled chocolate, it would NOT have made it in that bag. Just sayin'. Now I'm not a huge fan of chocolate, so that would explain the look of surprise when I lunged toward the mound my son was unwrapping. It had "Disaronno" fancily typed onto the shiny golden (silver?) wrapping and was decoratively shaped and quite aesthetically pleasing. My sweet kids kind of look at me funny, their eyes questioning my rather uncharacteristic behavior. But once I explained (see above) they seemed a little less confused, albeit a bit more curious. They watched me closely as I took a bite (I wonder what they thought was going to happen), then leaned in to see just what was inside this delicious-looking confection that would cause their normally ambivalent-to-sweets mother to take such an interest in that particular item. I carefully bit the top off so as not to disturb the liquid contents inside. There was actually an audible gasp from my little audience. My oldest inquired first, "What is that stuff?" Mommy juice, I replied. "Can we try some?" asked my youngest. Nope. I then consumed the surprise in one gulp, leaving only the shell of its existence. The kids quickly peered inside, sniffing and looking for traces, but they found nothing. "Can we eat the rest of it?" my darling daughter inquired. Nope. I popped the remaining chocolate covering into my mouth and sat back in, for some strange and inexplicable reason, complete satisfaction. My, I guess I've just been eating the wrong kind of chocolate.

"Please stop barking and answer your sister."

Why do I feel like I've said something eerily similar at some point in the not-so-distant past?? Why would I even need to say that in the first place? And why do kids bark so much? So many things to ponder on this cold and wet day. I think I'll just sit here a bit longer, sip my tea and contemplate the absurdities of parenthood.

Are these images any bigger/clearer?

Strange things you discover around your house when you have kids

This one I found while I was about to put a drawer back in its place. At first I thought, "Oh, that's funny." Then I looked closer and began to wonder what exactly my daughter was trying to convey...

This little gem I just stumbled upon when I walked into my boys' room to look for something. I almost asked my youngest why his shoe was wedged in between books on the bookshelf when I noticed what was inside. But I took a picture instead.

"How can you not remember hitting someone?"

Does that happen? I'm curious. I suppose if you were caught up in a moment of chaos or distraction, it might be possible to forget striking another person, sure. But if you're a sister who was just playing with her brother a moment earlier, probably not. And that same sister running into your room under the guise of just wanting to say hi makes it even less believable. And the little brother following closely behind angrily calling out his sister's name adds to the dubiousness of this claim. So...after very little contemplation I've come to the conclusion that no, her claim of momentary amnesia is not valid and has now, as a matter of fact, added another element to her punishment. Case closed.

"So you lock your kids' up during the day?" "Yep."

Now read that again without the apostrophe. Sounds exactly the same, right? So to someone who might have been standing nearby, inadvertently listening to our conversation, this interchange might come across as a bit, mmm, odd. But in the written form it suggests that there might be something else to it, all because of that cute little punctuation mark. I don't mean to sound nerdy here, but I think we need to take a moment to appreciate the power of punctuation. We've all heard of the somewhat-dramatic-yet-powerfully-accurate slogan, "Punctuation Saves Lives," haven't we? You know the one: "Let's eat grandma. Let's eat, grandma." I mean really, without those little marks we'd be constantly backtracking and explaining just what the heck we meant. But instead, thanks to them, we can freely write down our thoughts without a worry in the world that we might be misunderstood. (clearly I don't mean that at all since I'm constantly explaining myself in this blog). But anyway, you get the point. The gesture. The intention. So there we were, my friend and I, waiting for our kinders to come out after their first day of school today, just chatting about stuff, when we casually had this exchange. We were innocently talking about biking to school...buying another lock since three bikes on one lock was a bit of a stretch...etc. She actually pointed out the humor in it, since I, apparently, have become almost oblivious to the strangeness of parental interactions these days. So perhaps I owe her a thanks as well. Thank you, friend, for appreciating the power of punctuation and pointing out the preposterousness of our parlance.

"It's not a good day for eyeballs, huh?"

You could just hear the kindness in her tone, the empathy with which she uttered these words to her teary-eyed daughter, the patience in how she shared examples of recent poke-age. I'm sure my friend never planned on ever feeling the need to give a shout out to eyeballs, giving them a moment of silence, or even working them sympathetically into a conversation. But, alas, here she was, most seriously referring to them as if they had feelings and needed some well-deserved recognition. Her little girl just nodded at her words and intermittently added to the memories of when my own son got gored with a sword and when her sister poked herself in the eye while trying to move some hair out of her face. It seemed as though once she realized she was not alone in having to temporarily walk around with one eye shut, she calmed down a bit, took a deep breath, and went back outside to play, immediately seeming to forget there ever was a mishap as she gleefully hurdled herself back onto the trampoline.