Kids, kids, and more kids

Life as big girls

When my brother and SIL moved back to WI about three years ago, they didn't know they were pregnant with Schmugly. Knowing they had two kids and were not planning on another, was a big consideration in the house they bought. They couldn't afford much and were basically limited to little 3br ranch houses, but had they known about the third child, they might have picked one with a different layout. They ended up with three small bedrooms, a bathroom, living room, and a kitchen/dining area. Until two weeks ago, the twins shared a bedroom, the baby got a bedroom, and M&D got the bigger bedroom. Guests slept in the basement. That's all changed now. All three kids are now in the same room (the biggest). The twins are in bunks and the baby is in her new single bed. The third bedroom is being used for toys and guests and will probably morph into some sort of study when they get older.

The kids were away with their mom visiting their grandparents while my brother prepared the new bedroom. Each kid picked out a wall color (pink/purple, orange, and yellow), and dad bought a princess border and stickers. He also found Tinkerbell curtains in the clearance pile. Grandma B made each kid a fleece blanket with their favorite Disney character (don't get me started on the whole princess thing, but this too shall pass.) When they arrived home, the kids were beside themselves with excitement. The twins have to switch off using the top bunk with bossy Oatmeal getting the first chance. But, they've been doing a great job sharing. No fights over who goes when. They keep track. The cutest thing said about the whole change came from ReeRee the first night she got the top bunk, "I feel like a princess looking out the top window of the castle." No one has the heart to tell her that's where she'll be trapped until she grows her hair or figures out how to un-prick her finger.

Bad Daddy

Here's one for when you're feeling like a bad parent. My brother got in a little trouble with SIL after he inadvertently taught Oatmeal a not-so-nice word. A few weeks back, she was having some stomach issues and had what my brother refers to as a "shart" in her undies. (If you don't know what that is, think hard or look it up.) Without thinking he said something like, "you have a shart in there," in reference to the spot in her pants. The next day mom had the kids in the grocery store. Oatmeal started complaining again about a stomachache and having to go to the bathroom. Before she could get there, she started yelling loudly, "Mommy, I have a shart. I had a shart." Mommy was not happy. Kids were taught not to use that word and brother got a lecture. I, of course, laughed.