Ginger Unplugged

Princess would like the world to know she does NOT approve of the nickname Sleestack. Why? Because it sounds like a stack of sleaze.

So. I haven't posted very often since Sleestack developed a personality. Or should I say, even more personality? She is currently three years old, is growing out the haircut she gave herself, and is sporting a black eye I assume she also gave herself. Here are Sleestack favorites from just this week: 1. Sitting in church. The little boy in front of us keeps dropping his bouncy ball and Sleestack retrieves it for him several times. It happens again until she decides the best way to remedy the situation is to hurl it as far as possible into the congregation. I don't know whose head it hit, since I covered up my face in what I hoped looked like pious shame but was truly hysterical laughter. 2. Playing "Ponies" with me, Slee decides her pony is the teacher and mine is the student. She decides to teach me that flower stems are green because they get the energy from the sun for food that way. Okay!? Who's been teaching my daughter photosynthesis on the sly? I ta...

So, I think it's very possible that I'm losing some of my hearing. This first occurred to me several years ago at the Disneyland equivalent of a book club where a woman I didn't know was trying to talk to me while 50 other women I didn't know chatted in a crowd around the divine artichoke dip. Not being able to even yell loud enough to convey the thought, Hey! I can't hear you!! I dutifully smiled and nodded and before I knew it she had completely held and exited the conversation I had no idea was coming to a close. As she wended her way through mobs of passionate book lovers, I deeply hoped that I hadn't smiled and nodded at something terribly embarrassing to us both. My family has caught onto this and there have been a lot of whispers around here which sometimes I DO hear, and sometimes I've been told about. Here are my favorite three from just the last week. Whisper 1 Sleestack: Waaaa-haaa-haaaa (this was not the whispered part). Monkey: That...

In case my husband Facebooks this, I wanted to get the real story in writing...because I like to think was justified! Back Story: Around bedtime tonight, Sleestack whines and whines for me to put her to bed. I explain many times that she has to actually get ready for bed before I can put her in it. Her father is trying to help her with this but she keeps crying and yelling for Mom to put her to bed. Ack. She is finally ready and asks me to change her pajama shirt because there is some undetectable something in the elbow that is causing her great pain. Fine.  She is finally in the bed, and I'm sent to get her water. I sing her choice of song. It's time for her to pray and she's suddenly forgotten how and I am out of patience. Normal people would probably just say the prayer for the child. Do I? No. I'm sick of being ordered around by a two-year-old. Me: You're not going to pray? Sleestack: I don't know how. Me: Seriously? Fine. Then we won't...

Like all Moms I hate the phrase, "Mom! What should I do?" I usually claim I can think of lots of things and start giving them work around the house until they magically come up with something to do on their own. Trouble is, they're so well trained now, most of the housework I actually want them to do (those things besides painting the bathrooms or pruning the roses) is actually done. So I got out a list Butterfly's online school sent me for the summer. "40 Things To Do The Next Time You Are Bored!" I told Crash--surprisingly the most bored of my children--that when he asked me for something to do I'd make him pick a number and he'd have to do whatever the list said. He quickly chose #27. "Order a pizza." I accused him of cheating and hid the list but to prove I wasn't kidding, I ordered him a pizza. Paybacks were today when he chose #4. "Bead some bracelets and sell them for charity." The bracelets turned into toe rings ...

My cell phone rings at 8:45 am in Walmart. Butterfly: Mom! Come home. (Sniffle, sniffle). My head hurts SO bad! Me: Oh sweetie, really? I'm so sorry. Who's in charge? Butterfly (crying): I am. Dad took Crash somewhere. Me: Oh no. So sorry! Go up to the medicine closet and...how else are you sick? Does your stomach hurt? How are your ears? Butterfly: Oh I'm not sick. Sleestack just keeps jumping on my head! Me: Um...the baby's jumping on your head? (A lady in the aisle starts smiling at this point.) Me: Okay...wait. Don't get the medicine. First, let's just have you get your head in a place where Sleestack can't jump on it. Buttefly (whimpering): Okay. Me: Better? Butterfly: Yes. Me: Now. Get a drink of water and remember the first rule of babysitting--Never let anyone jump on your head. Buttefly: Okay. Me: Call me in twenty minutes and let me know how you're feeling. I worry about the aisle-lady's sense of closure becaus...

Monkey brought home these little pom poms from preschool the other day and immediately demanded tweezers and two plates to go with them. Apparently he's supposed to be learning eye-hand coordination and developing finger muscles by tweezing the colorful little fluffy things from one plate to the other. He eventually left them to go play with friends. As soon as he was gone, Sleestack, who'd been studying the whole process, climbed up into his chair. Instead of the tweezers though, she went for the salt. She salted, salted and salted until the plate resembled the beach of the Great Salt Lake (I know, I've been there). Only then did she grab the tweezers to stick one in her mouth. She made a disgusted face but then caught me watching her. She started nodding and tried to smile while saying, "Mmmmmm." I'm not sure if she wants me to think she's a good cook or what, but I was really worried when I checked back later and they were all missing. I had flashbacks ...

Out and about the other day an adorable little girl came up to me. "Excuse me, Ma'am. Ma'am? Excuse me. But your baby looks like a hippopotamus."

We've long known that Sleestack was special--her awe inspiring eyes, perfect smile and cuteness that makes my neighbor say, "Hey, I even have a baby and YOUR baby is the cutest baby I have ever seen." Her list of talents includes making delightful cooing noises, giggling more than any other 7 month old on the planet, being happy nearly 24/7 and now, eating everything she comes across. Everything. I've decided this is much more advanced behavior than it seems. Because, you know, first she has to see stuff. Little pink bead stuck between the carpet and the wall? No problem. Small bit of white Styrofoam on white carpet? Check, check. That inch of fishing line on the bottom of the baby swing? She hones in on it with laser sharp precision. Next, she has to grasp it. You know I have a lot of kids, right? Well none of them were able to pick up carpet fibers at the age of seven months. Sleestack was born for this task apparently. I've been vacuuming twice a day. Do...

Besides the obvious similarities between our baby and a sleestack, what you don't see is that she constantly practices unique sounds of the hissing variety. No lie.