Monday, May 10, 2010

It's nice to meet you!

I've fallen into the unfortunate habit of over-sharing the mundane details of our adventures in erranding, especially trips to the grocery store.

I'm sorry.  

I'm even more sorry that I have no real plans to stop.  

I tell myself, "okay.  Okay.  That's enough for a while," but then we go to the grocery store and while I'm wearing Quin on my front, he discovers the wonderful world of (and do excuse the lack of sophistication in the following term) motorboating.  Not the water sport, friends.  The face-in-cleavage kind.  With loud and exuberant sound effects.  And I'm pushing Rhys in the cart and he and I are shaking hands non-stop while I say emphatically, over and over again, "It's nice to meet you!" because that's our grocery store game and he finds it hilarious and it keeps him from jumping ship and escaping to the banana display.  And then Quin decides that motorboating is significantly more fun if he grabs onto my ears and pulls outward, so now we're really attracting attention as I push our cart with one hand trying to avoid a collision while one child practices manners, the other practices a total lack thereof, and my ears are stretched beyond the realms of normalcy and any pretense of comfort.  And as all this is happening, I'm thinking how I really need to do a post on this because I have no self control and I cannot stop.  

And so I'm sorry.

4 comments:

Daryl said...

I am so loving this and laughing .. and hoping you dont have pierced ears and if you do you dont wear earrings while the Mighty Quin exercises your ears for you

Babes Mami said...

my son who wanted nothing to do with my boobs when he was born has suddenly decided he must raspberrie, bit and attack them everyday now! Hilarious!

Jilliane said...

Sounds like fun....can I try it?

Sandra said...

lol!! That's why I now do all my grocery shopping at 9pm after the twins are asleep. Along with the raspberries, my daughter would beg constantly for "Boobie-juice? Mama? Boobie-juice?" at the top of her lungs. In hindsight, I rather wish I'd come up with a more discrete name for nursing.