A-Camping We Will Go

Ben's sister got Allyson a play tent for her birthday. Kerri got a really good deal on it, and when we went to put it together we figured out why: Thing didn't come with tent poles! So, with no way to make it stand up, we kind of hid it in a corner until we get around to getting a new one.

Allyson found it today. I figured out how to get it to stand up: Long scarf attached to the top, taped to the drop ceiling. Hey, it works, okay? And she is having a blast in there.  She even dragged in her blanket and pillow and informed me she will see me in the morning.

"Okay, Ally. Good night, love you. Don't get eaten by bears."
"I won't eat a bear, Mommy, that's silly."

She also mentioned that she was a team. Huh.

Fingers.

These are the official names of fingers, according to Allyson:

Thumb = thumb

Pointer = "I don't know." Allyson, it's a pointer. "Oh. That's funny."

Middle = "That tall one."

Ring = ringmaster

Pinky = pinky

My favorite is totally the ringmaster.

Apple Picking

So today is my mom's birthday. If she happens to read this - Happy birthday, Mom! :)

To celebrate, she took Allyson apple picking at Tanner's Orchard. We got a nice big bowlful of apples that I will probably have to make apple crisp out of. I'm not much of a pie maker. Anyway:

Me: Ally! What did you guys do at Tanner's?
Allyson: We pick apples! It was fun.
Me: Yeah? What else did you do?
Allyson: Just... ride the little train. That was long. And we fed the goats.
Me: You fed goats! How was that?
Allyson: It felt good. The goats tickled me.
Me: What else did you do?
Allyson: Drank.

Just soda, you guys. I checked.

Me: And then Grandma Sue took you out for supper, right?
Allyson: Yeah, I ate chicken nuggets!
Me: Good! Do you think Grandma Sue had a nice birthday?
Allyson: Yeah.
Me: Why?
Allyson: Because she loves me. When's Daddy coming home? I want a cupcake.

So there you go.

If I'd-a known you were coming, I'd-a baked you a cake.

My mom's birthday is on Saturday. For her birthday present, she wants to take Allyson apple-picking. So I decided to explain this today:

Me: Allyson! Did you know that Saturday is Grandma Sue's birthday?

Allyson: Oh! Can I help?

Me: Help with what?

Allyson: The cake!

Me: Uh... how do I say this... well, Ally, I wasn't planning on making a cake.

Allyson: (*big sigh*) MOMMY. Everybody gets a chocolate cake on their birthday.

So, looks like I'm baking a cake now.

Anyway:

Me: And for her birthday, she wants to take you apple-picking.

Allyson: YAY! I don't know what that is.

Me: It's where you go and pick apples off the trees.

Allyson: To eat them?

Me: Sure.

Allyson: YAY! Can we put them in the cake?

Me: I certainly hope not.

Allyson: I will eat mine with peanut butter.

Great, now I want apples.

"Mommy, Henry is a dog."

Yes. Yes he is.

Henry is one of my mom's two dogs. He is a mutt. The vet's office has officially classified him as a "coon hound mix." He's about seven years old. I"m not sure what is in the rest of the mix, but judging by his usual demeanor I would bet it's espresso.

Anyway, Henry recently hurt one of his back paws. My brother took him to the vet today for x-rays and all that. Paw's not broken but the tendon is strained. The vet had to sedate him for testing, so he's still a little dopey from all the medicine.

Allyson, as is her way, is trying to comfort him: "Oh, Henry. Poor baby dog. Your leg hurts. But you'll get over it." And now she's trying to keep Frances (the other dog, an 11-year-old Brittany spaniel and about as threatening as a newly born kitten) away from him. "FRAN! Henry is hurt. You stay away, you'll scare him."

I'm not sure which dog I feel more sorry for right now.

We are at my mom's doing laundry today. (What? We live in an apartment with no onsite laundry and it's cheaper than the Laundromat). Mom has turned my brother Kevin's room (which used to be my room when I still lived here) into a room for Allyson. She is in there playing with a little dollhouse:

"Wake up! It's morning time! Oh, Daddy, you can't be asleep on the toilet. Beds are for sleeping, toilets are for peeing."

I have been married to Ben for a little over nine years now and have no recollection of him ever falling asleep on the toilet. So I have no clue where this came from.

We have on the Cardinals/Phillies game. Roy Halladay just struck someone out.

Allyson: "Nice throw, you dude."

NOTE: We are Cardinals fans. Roy Halladay does not play for the Cardinals.

A Series of Dreams

Last week, for three mornings in a row, Allyson greeted me with a recap of what she dreamed about.

Tuesday: "I had a bad dream. The boy hit my head with a red pot. That's not good, Mommy."

Wednesday:  "This time I had a nice dream. The boy hit my head again. But this time it was funny."

Thursday: "Oh, Mommy, I had a scary dream. The boy wasn't there. But a dinosaur picked me up. I didn't like it, and I told him to put me down. He did, and he went to find his mommy. But it still scared me."

I am curious as to who this boy is. Also: Nice to see that the dinosaur respected her boundaries.

Welcome!

This is Allyson:

Allyson is three. This picture was actually taken on her third birthday, while en route to a children's museum my mother-in-law and I took her to. 

Looks perfectly normal, right? 

This normal-looking child says some of the most hilarious things. I was encouraged to write them down someplace, so this blog was born.

To start, here is what I'm sure is an instant classic from last night. We are trying to potty-train her, and it's going pretty okay, I guess. She hasn't quite figured out that she can also poop in the potty. But anyway, we were at my in-laws' and she comes running in. Ben (my husband) asks: "Allyson, did you poop?"

Allyson's reply: "No. Yeah. No. Not in my socks, bye."