Mom, here’s your update.

Roz has eaten her first pancake.  She has also joined the daily-banana-for-breakfast bunch and eats it just like the boys.  I just hand her the banana.

I have the boys singing the tune to Far, Far Away on Judea’s Plains because it’s been stuck in my head.  Who knows why.  Just this morning Brookston sang the tune with the words “ambulance truck am-bu-lance truck. Fire truck and fire truck, go outside.”

Brookston feeding Rosalyn.

We have a sugar ant infestation.  If I had to choose any bug infestation to have, it would be sugar ants.  Sometimes, I tell myself that they’re being friendly and just trying to help me get things cleaned up.  It’s teaching me not to lean against the counter when I’m doing dishes because they’ll crawl up my shirt.  I was always getting my shirt wet doing dishes.  Really wet.

Since I just revealed grossness, here’s a picture of my kitchen – perfectly clean.  Because this is how it always looks.  Always.

The boys have given up their naps and I, in turn, my sanity.  Theirs was willingly given, and mine unwillingly.  Now we have “quiet time” and that stays in quotes.

Rosalyn pulls up on the furniture to stand.  She gives high fives, claps her hands, and crawls fast enough that she can harass B&E if she wants to.  I encourage this behavior.  And if I hear “don’t eat that, Roz, don’t eat that” ten more times today I’ll…I’ll...I’ll…*sigh.  I don’t know.  Roz has three Moms.  Two are misguided for certain, one we’re not certain about.

The Roz Baby.  Nice bruise, eh?

The boys still won’t eat mashed potatoes and gravy.  I know, I know.  You’re saying “they can’t be your kids, Nicole.”  But I think they are my kids -- enough to know not to get in the way of me and the gravy.

We have the greatest neighbors.  They are heaven sent neighbors and I love them.  They are teaching me what it means to be a good neighbor and I’m taking notes.  We just went to the 35th annual (or something like that) block party.  It was in the street fantastic.  I’ma blog more about that later.

Need a shower?  There’s a handy setting on the hose for that.

Rosalyn is a library book assassin. If you have any books you’re not fond of, request to have her over.

These days I say cool things like: “Brookston, don’t touch your sister with your hot-dog.”  And “Everett, are you having booger trouble?”  And “Let’s not put the books in the dishwasher.”