Yes, that is permanent marker. And it's on the other side of his face, too. My little Einstein.
Greta said she wanted to draw a picture of me the other day. She said she was going to draw me, on a mountain top, with snow falling all around. She forgot to mention that she would be including one other little detail: what I am apparently thinking about when I'm standing on this mountain:
After a week of sickness, I ended up with the world's largest cold sore on my lip. Seriously, it's big. It has been kind of amusing to talk to people this week and watch them studiously avoid trying to stare at it. Last night I was lecturing Greta about one thing or another, when she put her hand up, and said "Stop, Mom. I just can't take you seriously with that THING on your face."
Parenting question I couldn't answer #435, from Greta: "Mom, who decides which words are bad words? Can I make up my own bad word and say it when I'm mad? Like, why can't 'glap' be a bad word?"
Sunday after church Greta is giggling to herself. I ask her why, and she says "Sometimes? When I'm in church? And it's quiet? I want to yell out "pooooooooop!"
Me to Greta: "Sometimes? When I'm in church? And it's quiet? I want to do that, too..."
It is 10pm, and I poke my head in the kids' room to check on them before heading to bed. Greta is wide awake, staring at the ceiling. "What's wrong?" I ask. "Can't sleep?" She looks at me and rolls her eyes. "No, I can't," she says. "It feels like my brain is doing the Cha-Cha."
It makes me so glapping mad when that happens to me.