Laugh Lines: Christmas Edition

I really have to get working on the pork chops and sweet potatoes, but if I didn't take this moment to sit down to record these, I'd lose the moment forever ...

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Grace has been doing amazingly well in the poop department (and I've been delighted at the savings involved with less diapers used!). As I sat her down on her purple seat, she said to me proudly, "Mommy, I know I have to go poopies when I get a headache in my belly."

Clearly anatomy is not her forté ...

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As I was cleaning up the dishes in the kitchen, I overheard my kids' conversation in the living room. Aidan has set up shop on our early 18th century blanket chest as his personal art center (oooh, I fight the cringe daily -- antiques and crayons do not make good bedfellows!!! -- but when space is limited, what are you going to do ...) and this afternoon he sat in his little red chair and commenced his favorite task: coloring.

Meanwhile, Grace -- happy to have her buddy home -- couldn't stop babbling to him, at him ... to his complete and utter annoyance.

"Gra-a-a-ce! I am trying to color! I had a long, hard day and I need some peace and quiet. You are being too distractive!"

Grace replied indignantly, "Oh, no I'm not! I am GRACE!"

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The bickering continued as Grace began to whirl around the living room, dressed in her Cinderella costume. She was making up some song about how beautiful she is (she doesn't lack much in the self-esteem department, apparently) and she came to the verse about her beautiful long brown hair.

Aidan interrupted: "Your hair isn't brown, Grace. It's red."

(Note: It's a little bit of both. Neither of my kids know about "copper" or "auburn.")

That set Grace off into a personal fury. "Yes, it is brown! It's BROWN!"

Aidan, of course, couldn't let it go. "No, it's not. It's red."

Level 2: "NOO! My hair is not red. It's BROWN!"

Aidan: "I'm telling you, Grace, it's not brown. It's red."

Level 3: "AIDAN! You stop this! My hair is BLACK!"

Hmmmmmm .....

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Grace is passionate about singing, and with Christmas at hand a whole new repertoire has been opened up to her. However, she gets hung up on many -- if not most -- of the words of the various carols. (Hey, she's only 3 -- gotta start somewhere!) I have been delighting in listening to her sing her little heart out, completely oblivious to the errors, or simply not caring. This is Grace we're talking about -- if she wants to sing about Rudolph on the "Island of Mit-Whips" (my personal favorite) that's her prerogative. Or how about "Silent Night" ... or rather,

"Oooh, the night ... It is night ... Yes, it's night ... in the night ..."

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The kids had a fun time playing in the snow, except now it has completely iced over. Innocent snowballs are now deadly weapons of ice chunks, and no matter how many times I tell them to keep their aim low, somehow faces and heads end up as targets. Grace is sporting a lovely bump, scratch and bruise combo smack in the middle of her forehead, and if you asked her how she got it she will waste no time in telling you its origin:

"Aidan did it. He threw it at me, and I got hit by a nice bird."

A ... what?

Finally, after several re-tellings of her misadventure, we figured out what she was trying to say. Then she amended her story:

"Aidan did it. I got hit by an iceberg."