When Reasoning Doesn’t Work…

I made a song for my grumpy boy.

“Oh, my name is mom,
and my son is such a bum,
and he makes me want to live
in a garbage can…”



Friday Morning

Boy: “Ughhn. Mleh. Fnnnn. uuuuuUUUUUuuuuuuhhhhHH. This day is howwible. This is a bad day. I don’t like being home. I don’t like being anywhere. These markers are bad. Nothing ever works.”

Me: “When you whine like this it makes me want to go live in a paper bag on the side of the road.”


Boy: “I don’t like anything. I only like Nana’s house.”


Then we drew fantastical pictures of clouds with houses built on them.


It makes sense that when a baby lets one sleep only intermittently from 11pm-6:30am, that one would fill this time of slumber with dreams of desperately trying to make the other children go to sleep.

Hahahaha teething.

I Understand Now…

“Hello sixteen year old girl I’ve never met! You like my son? I like my son, too! Isn’t he nice? Look! Baby pictures!”

I’d like to say I won’t do that, but it’s possible that M. Papa will have to forcibly veto such behaviour.

My plan is to keep enough inoffensive baby pictures on the living room wall, so that I don’t have to pull out albums.


…Beware my craftiness.



Baby Style


Oh lord, there's another one in  the kitchen!

Oh lord, there’s another one in the kitchen!



I will eat you, and make a house from your bones...

I will eat you, and make a house from your bones…



He's eating meeeeee!

He’s eating meeeeee!

Birthday Times

Hmm. That will do, I suppose.

Hmm. That will do, I suppose.

Hmm, yes. This is acceptable.

Hmm, yes. This is acceptable.

It's mine! Get away!

It’s mine! Get away!

Baby Times




See? Told you I'd nail the dismount.

See? Told you I’d nail the dismount.

Because I am awesome.

Because I am awesome.

Now let's go jump our bikes off the roof!

Now let’s go jump our bikes off the roof!

A Poem For A Baby

I have a child, just twelve months old,
who strangles snakes and garden rakes.
Strives with the gods of circumstance,
in death-match all his milestones’ takes.
Days like a toddler, nights like a newborn,
such an odd, chimerical constitution
that plays and eats and fights, and knows not sleep.

The sitter’s hollow eyes and sickly hue
After but three short hours apart
tells his parents ought but what we knew
This child he has no ceasing – only start!
I make exterior apology, but inwardly
must rejoice in some small vindication
‘Rambunctious’ – I feel rather proud to be your match.

Last blessed night, he finally slept
one full hour before midnight struck
and did not rise till six a.m.!
I slept, house slept, what the dickens?
He then fell promptly back asleep
and did not make a single peep
until just now – the clock tells me
it’s 8:30.

-Tara S

My Head, She Rings!

It is very impressive to me that the issuance of a single five minute time-out can turn into hours of screaming and throwing. ย One truly can’t *make* a child do anything, can one? ย :-p

Anyhow, here is the smaller, and currently more entertaining of my monkeys!