Harry's On The Move and Ellie's on the Outs...

With Jacque-Jacque that is, but more on that later. Harry has managed to combo army crawl/actual crawl several feet this morning. He can get into moving position from a sit or from his back and he's getting seriously angry when the arms and legs do not cooperate with each other. They're trying to get their act together and I anticipate full on, world record speed crawling by this time next week. Lock up your valuables!

In other, elf related, news, the elf seems to fancy himself a comedian, but Ellie is not impressed. Last night, instead of leaving candy in the advent calendar (hey, sometimes the elf has a few too many glasses of wine while wearing her, I mean, his tacky Christmas sweatshirt) Jacque-Jacque left several business cards. No 3 Musketeers, but if Ellie needs assistance from the controller of Sun Link or the legal services of one Darrell L. Sutton, Esq. she's covered. Needless to say, the elf had better straighten up and pay up tomorrow!

Ask and Ye Shall Receive

Jacque-Jacque's legitimacy can no longer be doubted. Spurred, no doubt, by the incessant inquiries into his origin and occupation, Jacque-Jacque had gotten his mitts on an actual (not fake) i.d.

Many thanks to the forger, er, I mean, Elf Licensing Officer, known as Grandpa.

All Elf. All the Time.

I can see a theme to this month's postings. Day 3 of Jacque-Jacque's (she named him, so don't look at me) stay and, well, let's just say it's a love/hate relationship. Above all else, though, there is a trust issue. Ellie is not sure that the Elf is entirely on her side, and she has some questions about his background and the extent of his abilities.

1. How do we know Santa sent him and he's not from somewhere else?
2. What if Santa gives him my present for the advent calendar and he keeps it for himself?
3. Do elves like chocolate? (That relates directly to #2 as all advent gifts involve chocolate.)
4. What if I do something bad while he's with Santa? Will he know?
5. Can he get into my school?
6. Does he have to let the teacher know he's there?
7. Does he know where my classroom is?
8. Does he know why I sit in the thinking chair, or does he think I'm sitting just because?
9. Do Elves like carrots, because he can have mine? (I wonder if they like broccoli.)
10.How do we know he's the same elf that was here last year? Maybe they're confused.

This is THREE days in people!!!! I need the name of a guy that create a fake indentity for Jacque-Jacque. I'm not sure I can keep up.

Not You Again!

The Elf is back and tensions are already running high. Less than 4 hours into his holiday stay on a reconnaisance mission for Santa, the Elf has already elicited a visceral reaction from the little lady and has provided more than one example of her ability to avoid detection while participating in acts of outright defiance. (For those of you not in the know, Google "Elf on the Shelf" to learn all about this tool of child behavior manipulation.)

Episode 1, The Bottle Incident: Daddy to Ellie, "please go put your brother's bottle in the sink." Ellie marches into the kitchen and sets the bottle on the barstool. Mommy to Ellie, "I think your Daddy told you to put that in the sink. The Elf is watching you. You don't want him to tell Santa you're being bad already, do you?" Ellie to Mommy, "the Elf can't tell on me if the Elf can't see me." I'm stumped. Her reasoning is unassailable under the Georgia Rules of Evidence.

Episode 2, No Whining: After being told she didn't need another snack this morning she begins to whine. I say "no whining, the Elf doesn't like it and he'll tell Santa." (Maybe I've been to this well too often already.) She ducks behind the couch and continues full on whining. I give her "the look." She says, "he can hear me, but he can't see me so he doesn't know the whining is coming from me." I'm setting up the law school fund right now. She has already mastered the evidentiary concepts of both foundation and hearsay.

She just asked whether the Elf likes loud sounds, quiet sounds, crunchy sounds or laughy sounds. I said definitely not loud sounds, but he was probably okay with the others, even though I'm taking a big chance on that "crunchy" sound. Currently she is standing in front of him laughing. "He's not laughing back. I don't think he gets it." Only 27 more days!

Ugggh!!!

After a difficult night running a pretty high fever, getting Ellie to school while hauling a sick boy, getting to the doctor's office early, being pleasantly surprised to be seen by the nurse early and then waiting in the exam room for 45 minutes with a squirmy, whiny, 8 month old, I'm told "ear infections from that cold you should of brought him in for." Oh, you mean the one I called about twice and was told no one could see me until this week? That one? Oh, silly me.

But, the good news: he did shoot snot rockets at her. Justice!

What?!!?!

Dude, I didn't take your cookie. Seriously. What would I do with a milk bone?

Ok, meaty feet, but if I find one crumb, let's just say you won't like me when I'm angry.

Oldies, but Goodies

A few exchanges between Ellie and the powers that be:

Me: Ellie, you need to work on the yes ma'am, no ma'am
Ellie: I'll work on it when I'm older
Me: No, you'll work on it now.
Ellie: How 'bout I just don't answer anymore questions?

Me: Finish your supper.
Ellie: I'm finished.
Me.: You didn't eat anything.
Ellie: It wasn't brownies.

(Get your hankie) (and, as a disclaimer, I knew she'd watch part of the Georgia game and hear that Uga had died, so I thought I'd explain first)

Me: Ellie, Uga died a few days ago.
Ellie: He died? The same one I saw at the game?
Me: Yeah, sweetie, his heart gave out.
Ellie: It's ok, he's with Munson and Jesus is scratching their booties
Me: (Silence. From her lips to God.)

Naked Windy Bridges

I started to include a photo of Ellie's newest project, head on end of couch, feet on ottoman, wearing nothing but her cupcake panties, making a "windy bridge," but I decided decency laws may prohibit such things.

While Wes is tailgating and Harry is snoozing (thank goodness, he figured out how to pull up and sort of army crawl all this morning; another two hours and he'll have mastered the Georgia playbook and learned the fine art of krumping), Ellie and I have remained in our pjs allegedly "cleaning the house." Imagine my suprise when she stripped to her skivvies and began the nude olympics.

We (meaning she) have built a naked bridge (windy bridges being wobbly, straight bridges being, well, straight), played solo naked leap (red eyed tree) frog, performed a naked interpretive dance, and layed in the mud room foyer to do a little naked sunbathing where its sunny, but not outside, so its not 10 degrees, because when it's 1o degrees we need mittens and hers don't fit.

She is currently sticking all of her National Geographic trading cards strategically into the waistband of the cupcake panties so that she sort of resembles a yellow daisy with monkey faces on it. I really should go clean the house, or make that mimosa out of flat champagne and leftover breakfast oj.

Preach It, Sister!

Yes, I've heard it thousands of times: "she's you in miniature." "Oh, yes," I say, "she does look like me." But it has only been in the last week that I have realized thAT having a mini-me is not all its cracked up to be.

In attempting to cut the sass, I've been implementing immediate time outs whenever she argues, disagrees, attempts to explain (that is, informs me that what I have accused her of doing is not actually what she is doing, such as "Ellie, don't touch that wine glass." "I'm not touching it, I'm just holding my fingers around it in a circle."), or otherwise gives me grief whilst I'm controlling her behavior. I finally had my moment of reckoning when she gave me a look that I have only ever seen in pictures--of myself. It was pure disdain, contempt and loathing rolled into one. She even had the same crinkles between her eyebrows. And then she tells me, "Mommy, Jesus wouldn't like you right now, and I don't think Santa would either."

What? What? I'm trying to keep you from coming down with a viscious case of salmonella poisining wrought by picking up the raw chicken going into the stir fry and I'm somehow offending JC, his dad and the fat man with the goodies? "It's not nice to tell me no." Ok, now I'm scared.

We'll Miss You, UGA VII

His reign may not have been long, or all that distinguished, but he was a DAMN GOOD DAWG!

There Oughta Be A Law!

Only ladies 5 and under should be permitted to wear skinny jeans. A little girl in skinny jeans is adorable, sassy and downright hilarious. A grown girl in skinny jeans is just trying to make the rest of us feel bad.

This morning while wearing her aforementioned skinny jeans, cowgirl smocked tunic (that's what we call dresses that have gotten too short) and her red and white polka dot mary janes, Ellie informed me of two things:

1. Harry is wearing a pirate outfit because pirates and cowgirls are practically the same thing. I'm not sure I can disagree with that statement.

2. (Hand on hip, foot stuck out to the side, school shoulder bag slung across her chest) Today is going to be a short day at school because she needs to go shopping.

Any of that coming out of a grown girl's mouth while wearing skinny jeans is just inane, ignorant, stupid skank talk.

Not That There's Anything Wrong With That ...

This morning I took a moment to peruse the art hanging outside the little lady and meaty feet's classrooms. Harry's were turkeys made by doing a brown baby footprint and then filling in the feathers, waddle, beak, etc. Not suprisingly, the turkey created by Harry looked like he would be the first goner on Thanksgiving. All the other turkeys were downright anorexic compared to the meaty foot turkey.

As for the little lady, they had to do fingerpainting and then the teacher filled in what they were "thankful" for. Some were cute and sweet, e.g. "I'm thankful for Bunny and Mommy" (awwww). Some made it obvious who would be sitting in the front row in freshman history in 15 years, "I'm thankful for God" (showoff). Ellie? Ellie is thankful for noodles. So am I sweetie. So. Am. I.

Things the History Books Don't Tell Us

Indians wear hairbows. First Baptist had their Thanksgiving Feast today with a parade of Pilgrims, turkeys, and Indians. That's right, Indians. Not Native Americans, but Indians. I'm guessing criss-cross applesauce isn't the standard.

Seriously, I'm Blogging?

Yep. After telling and retelling hilarious stories of things my three year old drama queen says and does I decided to just stick it in a blog. Somehow I doubt this will cut down on the amount of audible story telling that goes on in and around the Smith house, but at least it will all be in one place. I'll also pass on any super-duper cool info I may have about all things interesting to Angie!