More walking

I'm so onto the video thing!

I may be a redneck...

I took my kids to Taco Bell for lunch. Two and a half years old, and eating Taco Bell.

It's so hard to resist though. We went to the post office (the hidden one inside the Ace Hardware, where I lost Robert- again.) Outside, Robert sees the Taco Bell and says,

"Mommy, the hungry store! Can we go to the hungry store?"

How do you say no to that? I did not give him Mountain Dew though, he's a lemonade boy only, so  I'm giving myself points for that at least. I did give Zoe cinnamon twists, which I'm pretty sure have ZERO nutritional value, so then I took away the lemonade points.

I'm also giving myself points for having charming kids. Zoe scored her and Robert packages of brownie bites from the manager. Got to love the Hispanic culture. They are so kid-friendly. It's one of the things I love about Texas.



Back at home, Robert says, "Mommy, sit down on the chair next to me. We can have a little talk."

Me: Okay Robert, what are we going to talk about?

Robert: You are going to grow and grow. We are having a little talk. You get taller like a daddy. And you get in a car. And climb on a ladder. And hammer things. You wanna turn into a daddy. Do you like Cocoa Crispies?

Testing... Testing

Testing photo upload. Here is Zoe, very proud that she can walk!

Let's go way back, to 2009. We'll refer to it as the great coin incident. If you're not familiar, it involved a quarter, a nickel, a plasma TV playing the part of mistaken piggy bank, and an $800 repair bill.

More recently, an unknown amount of coins have appeared in the tape deck of the car. I'm hoping that no one ever wants to play tapes anymore, so it doesn't matter.

Yesterday was Jeff's birthday. About a week ago, Robert was scouring the most recent toy catalog. He came across a piggy bank and says (unprompted by me,) "Daddy wants that piggy bank for his birthday."

A few days later, I ask Robert, "What should we get daddy for his birthday?"

"A piggy bank"

I ask again, later. Same answer. Next day, same answer. All week, same answer.

So we went out and bought daddy a piggy bank. For his 38th birthday, my husband got a piggy bank (it is high- tech, it even counts and tallies the change for you.)

I can't wait to see what we will get him when he turns 40. Robert will be 4, so I'm sure by then he will come up with something really grand :)

Hopefully, the plethora of piggy banks around will save us from having another great coin incident.

Ah, blogger, good to see you in English.

In monkey news, Robert made it through his first dentist appointment with no cavities. I, however, do have a cavity. So I'm doing a better job of brushing a wiggling 2 yr old's teeth than my own.

Our flight home, before I forget...

We flew through Florence. Florence is a fairly small town. Jeff says the airport is a redneck Italian version of the Ft. Wayne airport. Ha! Anyway, I'm not even sure they have actual gates, you just walk out a door and a mini-bus takes you to a plane. You walk through this tiny old red neck airport (plastered with GE ads by the way), go up the escalator and there, in all it's gleaming beauty, is Ferragamo. You're not going to see that anywhere else.

And this is the problem with Italian fashion. I am far from a fashionista, we all know this. Half of my wardrobe is from Target, since it's the easiest and washable. But in Italy... oh my. Of course I want a Gucci bag. Who makes those shoes? I think I need a new jacket. A girl could get into trouble in a place like that. Anytime a redneck airport has a Ferragamo store, you're in trouble.


Of course our flight from Florence was delayed (they're really not in a hurry there, they have great coffee which is all the more reason to sit and enjoy it. I guess the caffeine doesn't do much for them.) And if you know Charles de Gaulle airport at all, you know that you need a tour guide to get through it. Buses, trains, escalators. Usually the bus you get one drives in a circle at least once (are they lost? Where are they taking you?!) This is not good if you are about to miss a flight.

As we are running (literally) through the airport, I hear an announcement. I glance to the left and see our name up on the screen. That can't be good. But we make it, along with a few others from the same flight.

Snowfall in Paris is beautiful. Unless of course, it is at the airport and you were hoping to fly. Our pilot just came on with an announcement, first in French. I know enough French to get myself into trouble or know when we are totally screwed. This was a totally screwed kind of announcement.

Translation? We had heavy snow here so we’ve been delayed. We are in line for de-icing of the wings, and I have no idea how long it will be.

I have no idea. That’s what he said. We are about to begin an 9 hr transatlantic flight with 2 hours (just my guess, of course, since our captain has no idea) of sitting on the plane waiting for the efficient French airport to de-ice planes. I will also mention that the sun is now shining and all the snow is completely melted.

And after my little bout of food poisoning, I had one beautiful day. Then runny nose, sore throat and congestion. So I’m sitting happily on the VERY back of a plane, slightly miserable and wishing for some Ricola. So glad I ran to catch this flight. If I'm ever allowed out of the country again, I'm bringing Benadryl for myself!

Alright, my alone time for the day is over. Unless I lock myself in the bathroom.

The perfect show to watch in Italian

for the non-Italian speaker at least, is...

The Osbournes.

Oh yes, I can't understand a lick of the English, but dubbed over in Italian, even I can translate enough to understand :)

And we're home. Although our luggage is not. I hope my bags at least bring a croissant back or something from their stay in Paris.

Food poisoning? Gone. Head cold? Here. Off to blow my nose...