Picking finger?

Our five year old put his hand down in an ant pile accidentally today and got bit on his finger. I got out some itch cream and put it on the bite and told him to make sure he doesn't put his finger in his mouth now because it has medicine on it. He told me, "Don't worry Mommy, it's not my picking finger." I said, "What?" He replied, "Don't worry Mommy, I don't pick my nose with this finger, I use my other hand. I won't put it in my nose either. Don't worry." I'm worried.

Don't touch

My poor little boy burned his finger today on the stove. I was reading this book that talked about how great it was to have your kids help out in the kitchen. The author made it sound so wonderful. The magic of the cooking process is so great for kids to see, and her kids seemed to have no problems dealing with knifes and fire. The idea sounded great, but the reality of my boys in the kitchen scared me. My previous attempts have been less than fun, mostly ending with a few hours of clean up and no food to eat as a result. But of course when lunch came around Gavyn asked if he could help. It inspired me to try it again.

So, we were making mac and cheese on the stove. I gave them instructions not to touch the stove. I am pretty paranoid about them getting hurt so they were extensive instructions; it's hot, it will burn you, that is owies, the red means it is getting hot. . . I even tried talking about the science of how the heat makes the water steam to try to get the point across. They were fascinated none the less and of course Gavyn had to touch the red part anyway. He was so fast I could not stop him in time. Even though I was standing there I could not protect his little finger from his curiosity.

The drama ensued. The rest of my day consisted of nursing a burned finger and pampering his wounded spirit. He has been carrying around a little cup with ice, sometimes with a limp, sometimes without.

Poor guy. I wish kids would learn from what we tell them, but too often they don't and have to experience it themselves. At least I was supervising the whole thing or it could have been much worse.

I wish . . .

I woke up the other day and was having breakfast with my two boys while breast feeding my 2 month old. My three year old told me, "Mommy, I wish I had big boobies like yours so I could feed Addy too." I replied, "Be careful what you wish for honey."

starting to blog

Hi all,

I have decided to start a blog to record some of the great things that happen everyday in this wild home of mine. They are not extra ordinary things but they are great, and should bring smiles here and there.
I also want to have a place to refelct on my day and life in general.