MyThreeDaughters

“Daddy, what’s that bone sticking out of the middle of T. Rex?”
Oh, Lord, please, Oh Lawdylawdylawdylawdy…Do they really have to make skeletons so, so, so FREAKING BONY?
We sat on Rosebud’s couch, the innocent three-year-old on my left side and Elizabeth, the innocent six-year-old on my right. “Innocent,” I say, but they surely must know they are torturing me.
I had surely never noticed the bone that now seemed to stick two feet straight out of T. Rex’s mid-section. I know I had never noticed it in middle school, or my friends and I would have made lots of jokes about it.
Dang Dinosaur bones. Mr. Rex, put that thing away!
Daddy, I told myself, I believe there is a question that has been posed.
Clearly, it wasn’t an arm. I saw two arms up higher.
Maybe it’s for weight, to help balance out the tail, see how his tail goes straight back from there? I suggested.
(C’mon, girls, sounds logical, right, just like the weights on a crane, buy it, buy it, buy it…)
But no sale.
“MAYBE IT’S HIS PENIS!” Rosebud shouted.
Innocent, oh no, planned torture.
Then Elizabeth piled on: “A HARD penis, whoever heard of that?!”
Oh lawdy, lawdy, oh man, oh please stop. Please let me sing “Rockabye baby” and tuck in these rascals. Please, at least, let’s move on to Brontosaurus.
But then they both began giggling uncontrollably, as I tried to slither down between the couch cushions.
I think I saw the little devils go behind my back and high five.

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Boy, dear readers, we never grow up, do we?
My post of a few days ago, The Great Booger Cover-up Scandal, got the greatest number of hits any of my posts have ever received. (Not saying much, but still.)
More than any of them mentioning breasts or vaginas.
More than the one when my wife was out of town and the headline implied she might have wised up, ditched us (read: me) and taken off to a country in which neither she nor her bank account is traceable and with which the U.S. has no extradition treaty.
Lesson learned.
I am now actively seeking incidents involving more boogers, burps, “toots” and diaper-content explosions.
I thought it was just men who never grow up, but most of my readers are “grown” women.
The truth comes out, just like the Queen’s boogers. At least she’s mannered enough to do it with the gloved hand.

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Wife was at work.
As usual, I read books to Rosebud (“ANOTHER BOOK! BUT DADDY…! ONE MORE BOOK! ANOTHER BOOK!”).
I put Rosebud in her crib and sang songs (“ANOTHER SONG! BUT DADDY! WAIT, BUT WAIT! I HAVE A QUESTION!”).
Then, I went and read books to the other two.
We finished, and headed down the hallway to tuck them in.
Halfway down the hall…creak, moan, creak, went the floorboards.
Someone was coming up the steps.
My heart skipped. I beckoned for help from the Lord (O.K., under my breath, I muttered one of his full names.)
Creeeeeeaaaaak.
“WHAT?!” said one of the girls.
“Huh?!” said the other girl.
The girls grabbed me and tried to hide behind me. I briefly thought about using Elizabeth, the lighter of the two, as a projectile. I then wondered if I would have time to run back to the room and grab our home defense mechanism, “The Instrument of Extreme Facial Laceration,” a.k.a., a rusty machete.
No time.
Oh, please be Wife who has gotten off work at an unbelievably early hour.
Then we saw it.
Thirty inches tall and packed with terror. Its blue eyes glistening. Already at the top of the stairs.
Rosebud.
She’d climbed out of her crib and come to hunt us down.
“Daddy, I forgot to say goodnight.”
Goodnight, Rosebud, now STAY IN YOUR (*&%$^%#) CRIB!
I went downstairs and watched an FBI show about home invasions. It wasn’t scary at all.

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Elizabeth has apparently abandoned her Princess-esque ways. Sometime back, she began picking her nose and disposing of the findings by sticking them to her headboard and wall.
(Oh yeah, this does not pass the breakfast, lunch or dinner test, so if you are eating right now, especially something like raisins, either stop reading or stop eating.)
Now, a booger here, slim pickin’s. A booger there, still not a big deal, but a couple of boogers a day for even a week or two and suddenly your walls are buggered up with boogers. Your walls are pock-marked like a teenager’s face with pimples.
Well, that Elizabeth is a creative little booger bugger, and she came up with a solution. One thing that sticks at least as good as a booger is a sticker.
She came down the other day and informed that she had found a solution to her pock-marked walls and headboard, an effort that got her off the hook — for now — of hand-picking nose pickings off the wall.
She stuck decorate stickers over top of them. Which might actually work…when she (we) finally has to peel off the stickers, they’ll work like tape does with lint and a booger will come off with the sticker.
But, if for some reason we don’t get around to this, watch out. Someday there might appear to be a really good deal on a white, single bed on Craigslist — one already decorated with oh-so-cute stickers.

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