Party of Three

Holla!

Our little clan had a fab-u-lous weekend. We swam, we whirlpooled, we ate candy. Bliss!  Of course, the shortest member of our party could not stop talking, but that came as no surprise.  Last week the director of Kindercare emailed me to let me know that my daughter had invited the entire building to join us for our weekend getaway. I cringe when I think about some of the stuff she must say at school. One of my clients told me that when her son was around five, they caught a mouse in the breezeway between their house and garage. Later, she found out that her son had told his teacher that they had HUNDREDS of mice in their home.

As soon as we checked into the resort, we heard the following about a thousand times:

"Can I go in the ball pit now? How about now? Can I go in the ball pit now? Okay, after you use the bathroom can I go in the ball pit? Okay, but after you pour your drink can I go in the ball pit?"

We let her play in the ball pit and then took her swimming.  We stayed in the pool until we were prune-y. The goal, of course, was to wear her out. However, in all honesty, I don't think running a marathon would put a dent in my daughter's energy level. She finally passed out a few hours later.  The next morning, she immediately launched into "can we go swimming?" and "can I play in the ball pit?" - alternating them every few seconds.

The three of us went "into town" to go to a candy store. The kid was grabbing this and that, seemingly intent on rotting her teeth before lunch. I noticed she was mixing different types (price points) of candy in the same bag.  I told her she couldn't keep them all in the same baggie and instructed her to put the rest in the basket I was carrying. "Oh, I'll just put them in my pocket!" she exclaimed, shoving some foil-wrapped chocolate pennies into her coat. I guess I hadn't yet explained the issue of "perceived shoplifting" and why store owners tend to frown upon that sort of thing.

After returning to our unit, P and I decided to hit the gym.  We brought along a word find book and A's Leapster in an attempt to keep her entertained, but of course she ran her mouth the whole time. We had stopped at a Target for a few supplies on our way to the resort on Friday. A told the cashier, "We're going away for my mom's birthday!"  He laughed and asked her if she knew my age.  I held my breath.  "She won't tell me!" my daughter replied.  Whew!  It's not that I'm trying to hide my age but rather that I'm not dying to have it broadcast all over the free world.  When I went to A's parent-teacher conference a few weeks ago, the first thing her teacher said to me was, "Soooo, I understand your husband just turned 39?"

Anyway, we did take her swimming (and yes, back to the ball pit) Saturday afternoon. After dinner, we watched "The Town" while she watched "The Wizard of Oz" in her room. We briefly wondered if she'd be afraid of the flying monkeys, but she never said a word about it so we're assuming that she'll just be secretly afraid of them henceforth . . . you know, like the rest of us are.

On Sunday we had one last trip to the children's play area and then hit the road.  I stopped at a pet boutique and bought an overpriced collar for Gretchen.  Saturday was her birthday and I was feeling a little bit guilty about boarding her on her big day.  P didn't ask about the cost of the collar and I didn't offer any information.  Don't ask, don't tell!