On Relations with the Neighbors...

We live on the second floor. We have an 80-something year old tiny little lady that lives underneath us. She is not senile; she is incredibly active and always running around (to work!) and doing charity stuff, chatting up the neighbors, etc. She's feisty. Very feisty. And she likes to have her way. Her name is Miss Nina.

Various incidents have occurred with her, including (but not limited to):
- I had to tenderize some chicken breasts for dinner at 7pm. This pounding on the kitchen counter lasted for less than two minutes. It annoyed her enough to come outside and yell up at me, and then to go as far as to send her son outside to yell at Boyfriend. Repeat: it was 7pm.
- I have flowers planted on my balcony. She has literally harassed me for DAYS into sweeping off her porch due to "this mess of dead flowers." I went down there and there were literally three dead flower buds. I regretted bringing my broom. This has happened on more than one occasion.
- Blue will get going and start doing laps up and down the hallway. I try to quiet him immediately for her sake. A couple times this has happened while I was in the shower, so I couldn't get to him right away. Seeing as my showers last no longer than 10 minutes most nights, I figured this wouldn't be a problem. She has come out of her condo, hooting and hollering, shouting "KEEP IT DOWN UP THERE!!!"

Needless to say, the woman is a little touchy about noise.

(For the record: these condos are wonderfully insulated. I have a family with three kids and three dogs who live above me, and yes, I hear them every so often, but it has never been anything that I'd ever bat an eye at or would wake me at night... Ever.)

Tonight, Seven was out of her bath and started jumping up and down in the living room. She would jump up and fall to her hands and knees, making loud noises. She and I have had the "Miss Nina" chat before, so she knows better.
I told her to knock off the jumping and crashing around.

Sev's response:
"Why? Because I'm banging Miss Nina?"

On Natural Order...

In recent months, Sev has been introduced to the concept of death. This sounds morbid, but I guess there comes a time when every kid starts asking questions. This past spring, my grandmother passed away and Seven and I attended her funeral. This past week, a dear friend of mine passed away and although I didn't take Seven to her memorial service, I've had to explain a few times why mommy was crying.

I've also found this lesson useful in helping explain to her why safety is important. i.e.: crossing the street, watching for cars, wearing a life vest in the pool, and so on.

On the way home from the park yesterday, Sev started a little rant about safety precautions:
Sev: Mom, you always need to watch for cars and traffic when you cross the street.
Me: Indeed, you do.
Sev: Because if you don't and you get hit by a car, you'll get dead. And then you'll have to go to the doctor and your arm will be broken and then you'll go to sleep for a long, long, long, long time, and then the doctor will poke you with needles, and then you'll go to heaven.
Me: ....Um.... Well... That's kind of how it works.
Sev: You'll have a case of the dead-ness.

Happy Birthday?

It's my dad's 63rd birthday today. The other day, Sev and I went shopping to find him something Packers related, as we're from Wisconsin and he's a diehard fan. And... success! Sev and I picked him out a sweet t-shirt with Rodger's numbers embroidered on it, jersey-style. 2XL, just the way dad likes his shirts. I was happy with our purchase. I knew he'd love it.

This afternoon, I take the time to lovingly wrap his present, tied up with a bow and everything. We pick up his cake, and off we go to his house. I give Sev the cute little parcel to give to her Papa.

She bursts into the house, runs up to him, tells him happy birthday, and hands him the gift. He hasn't even begun to get the bow untied yet when Sev blurts out,
"Hope you like it! It's a football shirt!"

Dammit, Seven.

A Slight Exaggeration?

Seven and I went to Monkey Joe's last night, which is basically a giant warehouse filled with mammoth bouncy houses, and they also have an area for arcade games. I sat down and propped my pregnant, swollen feet up to get some computer stuff done for work, and Sev was off and running.

Not even five minutes into it, a woman rushed over to me and said the words every mother dreads to hear: "I think your daughter is hurt." I literally dropped my laptop on the ground and ran over to Sev, who was crying hysterically. The woman explained to me what had happened: her little boy, who is probably younger than Seven, was playing ski-ball. He tried to roll the ball up the ramp but it didn't make it, so it came back, jumped up, and popped Seven right in the eye. There was a mark and a bruise, but no blood. After a few minutes of tears and hugs, she was good to go.

Today, there's a pretty good mark on her face, at the outer corner of her right eye. My dad came over this afternoon, saw the mark, and asked Seven what happened.

Her response: "This boy... he was playing this game... and HE HIT ME IN THE FACE WITH A CANNONBALL."

Man, I knew it was intense, but I didn't know it was THAT intense.

On the Eating Habits of Babies...

Seven and I were having a chat about the baby this morning and what it'll be like. I told her that she needs to be a good big sister and show him how to do everything that he won't know how to do, like walk, talk, and eat.

Sev: "He won't know how to eat?!"
Me: "No, he'll be too little!"
Sev: "I can show him how to eat yogurt."
Me: "That would be great, but for a long time, all he'll eat or drink is milk."
Sev: "What?! Why? What does that mean?!"
Me: "When babies are very very tiny, they drink milk from their mom's tatas. So Atticus will only have milk that he gets from mom's tatas, for breakfast, lunch, and dinner."
Sev: "ARE YOU KIDDING ME."
Me: "No! I'm totally serious."
Sev: "Mom, he can just borrow my cups if he wants to."

On Being Family...

Sev was getting dressed this morning. She got dressed in the living room and immediately picked up the pajamas she had been wearing and put them in her dirty clothes hamper. Dirty clothes on the floor are a constant battle in our household, so I was pleasantly shocked she did this without me even having to ask.

Me: "Did you just put your dirty clothes in the dirty laundry?!"
Sev: "I just did!"
Me: "Good job, big sister!! I didn't even have to ask you! That's awesome!"
Sev: "Do you like me?"
Me: "Of course I do. I always like you. Do you like me?"
...Sev doesn't answer...
Me: "Some days?"
Sev: "No choice!"

On Units of Measurement...

As I've mentioned nine billion times, Sev and I were both sick pretty much the last whole month. Because of this, the thermometer has been floating around the house. Seven is now a champ at using it by herself.

She asked me this morning if she could take her temperature. Alright, no harm, no foul. Go for it, kid. She put it under her tongue and paced the house with purpose as she waited for the thing to beep.

It beeped. She analyzed what the little screen said.

"MOM. It says sixty-three pounds and two seconds. I'm not sick."