On Fragrances...

It was approximately nine million degrees here yesterday, so Sev and I decided that playing at the mall would the best available afternoon activity. We stopped into Bath and Body Works because a.) we needed more soap and b.) they were having this super-great sale... on soap! I'm still a bit sick and I still have almost zero sense of smell. I told Sev that she would have to help me pick out good-smelling soap because Mom's nose is broken from being sick. She was on a mission.

So we were at the wall o' hand soaps, and we were both sniffing them all. Granted, she thought that every single one smelled great and tried to throw it in our shopping bag. I could barely smell them, so I'd ask her which one she liked better. It was between Peach Cilantro and Watermelon Basil. I made her choose.

She said, "I like the peach one. So fresh... so delicious."

On the Lower Digestive System...

We were at the pool today. We had already been there for some time when Sev, while in the water, announced to me that she "needed to poop." I told her that it would probably be a good idea to get out of the pool, dry off, and go home anyway, especially if she needed to use the restroom.
Obviously, her logic was that if she no longer needed to go to the bathroom, she could stay in the pool.
A moment passed that she was working this logic out in her head, then she announced to everyone,
"I sucked the poop back up in my butt."

(I was slightly embarrassed at this statement and wasn't going to post it. But then my darling neighbor Grace had to lay her head down in laughter and convinced me that it wasn't TOO offensive for this blog. Hope you all enjoyed.)

On Telling the Truth...

Sev was really sick last week with croup and a sinus infection. There was one day where she had sneezed so much that she gave herself a bloody nose (she gets this from me, as this happens to me, too). It was intense.
I seem to have gotten a sinus infection, too. I've felt like garbage and been sneezing up a storm for the past 36 hours.
Sev and I were sitting at the table tonight, eating dinner together. I was sneezing so much and so many times in a row, I was physically unable to eat my pizza. After that much sneezing, my eyes were essentially swollen shut for a few moments. This was Seven's observation:

Sev: Your eyes look funny.
Me: Yeah, I think your mom's face just exploded.
Sev: You're so funny!
Me: Remember when your face exploded last week and you sneezed super hard and got a ketchup nose? ["Ketchup" is our term for anything that might bleed]
Sev: YEAH! That was crazy!
Me: Well now it's time for mom's face to explode. Heck, I might get a ketchup nose tonight, too.
Sev: [long pause to mull this over] ...I think you're a dirty liar.

On Breaking Wind and Explosions...

Seven loves tooting. This is a well-known fact. I'm sure her love of toots stems from the fact that both Boyfriend and I think it's hilarious to hear a tiny, pretty little girl pass gas, and loudly. One day I'll tell her that it's probably not socially acceptable, but for now, we all giggle about it and most of the time she'll say "excuse me."
One day, Sev was wearing a pair of shorts that were made of very lightweight fabric. She had a serious case of the toots and the force of the air puffed up her shorts a bit in the back.
She came to me, laughing hysterically and said,
"I tooted and my pants blew up!"

Wait, Was That In the Rule Book?

Sev is still a bit under the weather. She's using it as an excuse to watch all the tv she wants.
I was getting ready this morning, and she asked to watch tv. I said no. She asked to play Angry Birds on my computer, and I said yes. She got through a few levels then started getting frustrated because it got too tough for her.
She came up to me and said, "This game is kinda hard. Looks like I need to watch tv."
I told her no, and that she needed to come up with a better use of her time.
"Mom, I'm tired. I need to watch tv."
I told her no again.
"MOM. When people hate games, they must watch tv."

I then started laughing, and she got legitimately angry at me and chased me down the hallway screaming, "IT'S NOT FUNNY."

On Thermometers...

On father's day, Boyfriend's family had grilled pork chops and ribs for dinner. This was also the night that Sev was very, very sick with a wicked fever.
I was about ready to go to bed, and Seven was due for another round of Tylenol for her fever. I gently tried to wake her to have her sit up so I could take her temperature. She sat up a little bit and had the thermometer in her mouth before she spit it out, stuck her thumb back in, rolled over, and tried going back to sleep. I tried coaxing her into taking her temperature. She covered her head with her blankie. From under her blanket, I heard,
"No. I don't want a cork-chop."

Kid must have been dreaming about pork chops.

On Limitations...

Sev has been pretty sick the past couple days, which made for a very relaxed father's day. She's had a temperature of anywhere between 101 and 103 for the last 36 hours. The fever has finally broken, but she's still acting pretty run down and I'm trying my best to keep her subdued, which is a feat in and of itself.
This morning, the little neighbor girl came and knocked at the door, asking if Sev could play outside with her. Seven was right there listening when I told the little girl that Sev was too sick and that we needed to go to the doctor today. This particular little girl is quite, ahem, persistent, and was asking all sorts of questions, which was getting Seven even more wound up about not being able to play outside. Eventually, Sev started bawling, saying she wanted to play, and I had to finally interrupt the little girl and say, "OKAY, BYE." and shut the door.
Sev sat down, sobbing her little eyes out. She usually doesn't have intense reactions like this, but the sickness and lethargy added to the tears, I think. I explained to her that she was sick, and it would make me very sad if she got even more sick because she was playing outside. I explained that everybody gets sick sometimes, and we need to rest to get better.
Through her sobs, she screamed out at me, "YOU ARE SO NOT FUNNY!!!" and then busted into a whole new realm of sobbing into her hands.

I had to stifle laughter. Mainly at the fact that I could tell my kid wanted to cuss me out, but she's so darn nice and polite, that the only thing she could think to tell me was that I was not, in fact, being funny.

On Anger...

Last weekend, Sev and I got into a bit of a spat over the fact that I have probably spent a combined total of six weeks of my entire life looking for her hairbrush. I swear, this kid misplaces her darn brush EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. We were in a hurry to get somewhere, and we seriously couldn't find her brush anywhere. All three of us tore the house apart for a good 25 minutes looking for this stupid thing. It got to the point where I was ranting and raving about her taking care of her belongings while I tossed things over my shoulder looking for the brush. I literally tore her room completely apart.

We found the brush. Three days later. Wrapped up in her sheets at the foot of her bed.

We stopped at the store that evening and bought a new brush. Along with that brush came one HELLUVA lecture about taking care of her stuff from that point forward.  Needless to say, she has placed her brush in her bathroom drawer each day after we're done using it.

Tonight, after her bath, I asked Sev to get her brush for me as we finished brushing her teeth. She said, "Mom! Here's my brush! I didn't lose it again! When I lost my brush you got REALLY mad and you made a big mess that I had to clean up!"
I told her that I asked her to clean up the mess that was made looking for the brush that SHE had lost.
She said, "Yeah. And then you yelled. You were FRICKIN' mad!!"

An Introduction to the Fathead.

About a month ago, we started fostering this new big, gorgeous dog. We found out within a couple hours that he's also a stark-raving idiot. He also looks absolutely terrifying and very enthusiastically protects his house and people from intruders (we found out the hard way). But the best part about him is that he's Seven's best friend and he babies her like she's his pup, constantly following her around to check on her. So, needless to say, Boyfriend signed papers to adopt him.
So for the past month, we've had this beast of a dog invade our lives. He's wonderful and we love him. And this blog entry is becoming a sappy dedication to the damn dog. Anyway...

Meet Blue. AKA "the Fathead."

This is what Blue looks like to other people:

This is what Blue looks like to us:

So Blue does this thing (please tell me if anybody else has experienced this... I had to google it!) when he's "feeling the love," as I put it, where he like, corncob nibbles everything. You know how dogs scratch an itch with just their very front teeth and it sounds like a typewriter? Well he does that. To us. Whenever we touch him. I looked it up and I guess it's a gesture of affection, trust, and family, and that dogs do it to groom their family members. But... uh, it's weird. And it can hurt sometimes.

Personally, it makes me nervous. After a few good pinches on his part (and a few good black and blue marks on me), I try to avoid it. Seven, on the other hand, LOVES it. She thinks it's hilarious. She'll laugh until she can barely breathe, which only gets Blue going even more.

I've heard her laughing in the other room before, and asked if Blue was nibbling again. She'd giggle out "yes!"

Sev started asking for goodnights from Blue. One night, she was in bed, and as I was tucking her in and saying goodnight, she asked for Blue. So I got him to hop up in her bed to say goodnight. She said, "Mom, can you get Blue to nipple me?" I was caught off guard. "What?" I asked her.
"Nipples. I want some nipples from Blue."

So now we have yet another weird term in this household: nippling.
Used in a sentence: "Blue is nippling again."

On Deductive Reasoning...

Sev crawls into bed with me around 7am each day and watches cartoons for a little while. We got out of bed this morning and I saw three little dots of blood on my white sheets where she had been laying. She was in the middle of getting dressed when I spotted this, so before she got her shirt on, I asked her to spin around so I could do a quick check to see if she had any "ketchup boo-boos," which is our name for anything that might bleed. There was nothing. The conversation went as follows:

me: Huh. I wonder where that came from, then.
Sev: I think it was Blue. Blue must have ketchup boo-boos.
me: No, I don't think so.
Sev: It was baby Atticus.
me: Baby Atticus? Baby Atticus had ketchup boo-boos? Yikes.
Sev: No. It's poop. Baby Atticus pooped in your bed.

Cut 'Em Down, Build 'Em Back Up.

This morning, Seven got dressed and came out of her room wearing shorts with the pockets turned all the way out, so they were hanging off of her like awkward elephant ears. She walked into my room where Boyfriend and I were, and I said, "Sev, come here and let me fix your pockets. You look like a homeless guy."
Her response: "Like Birthday!"

("Birthday" is Sev's name for Boyfriend. He was unimpressed. Boyfriend is also not homeless, for the record.)



Tonight, Boyfriend gave Sev a bath. Seven commented on how large his hands were. He said, "Yep, that's because I'm a boy."
She said, "No, you're not a boy. You're a man, silly."



Afterthought: Boyfriend then taught Seven to flex her arms and kiss her biceps. Because that's what a man does. Or something.

An Awkward Social Situation.

This morning as we were walking the dogs, we came across two little girls, ages 5 and 6, taking a walk in the neighborhood. Sev has really gotten into this whole female-socialization thing lately, so she drummed up a good conversation.

Seven's opening statement: "I was born at school yesterday."
Girls: *looking confused*
Me: "Sev, you were born at the hospital almost four years ago."
Sev: "Oh yeah, you're right."
Girls: "Seven, when is your birthday?"
Seven: "At my birthday party last year, Grandma brought me a card. And Grandma's house is upside-down."
Girls: *looking confused*

Note: My mom moved a couple weeks ago and made the mistake of informing Sev that her house was upside down, meaning that everything was packed up in boxes. Seven hasn't let go of the literal meaning since.