Yep, we have that kid.

The one who doesn’t find anything gross or icky and doesn’t have a squeamish bone in her body.

The one who loves ALL animals, including bugs and other creatures that give most people pause.

Tuesday, I got a call from daycare. You all know that when your phone rings and you see daycare’s number, your heart’s in your throat and you’re thinking, “Crap. Who’s sick? Who got hurt? Who’s turn is it to leave work and pick up the girls?”

Brooke, the director, immediately assured me that everyone was fine. But they wanted to call and give us a heads up before it came up during dinner that the Littlest Brewster found something on the playground. She found…

A dead bunny.

And apparently she picked it up and carried it around and brought it to her teachers. One of whom ran away. The other of whom shouted, “Put it down! Put it down!!!!”

After making sure she hadn’t been traumatized by it, I just started laughing. And so did DB. Because we have that kid that will pick up anything. (True story: On our rainy-day visit to the doctor last week, we had to spend 10 minutes rescuing earthworms from the parking lot puddles and taking them to a “worm party” in the grass. I know the parents who saw us thought we were crazy.)

The Littlest Brewster was very excited to tell us about the SLEEPING bunny she found and how soft he was and how she petted him and how it made Ms Becka scream. And the teachers at daycare are still talking about it, days later.

Maybe she’ll grow up to be a vet? Or an entemologist?

How To Discourage Unwanted Attention

I just stumbled upon a fool proof method for discouraging unwanted attention at a bar and felt obliged to share it.

If you miraculously find yourself at a bar, enjoying a beer alone and relishing the solitude, and have the misfortune to be bothered – repeatedly – by an obviously tipsy man in his 60s whose fly is not actually completely zipped up (only noticed because you are sitting and he is hovering next to your table), this is what you do:

Get out a journal or a pad of paper and a pen and say, as sincerely as possible, “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be rude, but I’m using this break from my family to write letters to my dead mother.” (Bonus points if it’s actually true.)

Then watch as he apologizes profusely and stumbles off to harass someone else at the bar.

Works like a charm.

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Disclaimer: I thought this was actually a pretty funny incident. Hopefully that came through, lest anyone think I was crying into my beer as I wrote this.

How to tell the Littlest Brewster a bedtime story

Without fail, the bedtime story I tell LB every night follows the same basic formula:

The Littlest Brewster (along with various and sundry family members) goes somewhere to get something. As soon as they find said object, the bad witch and the bad man attempt to take it away. The Littlest Brewster then challenges them to a contest, which she naturally wins quite handily. But because she’s nice, she decides to share with the bad witch and bad man. They are moved by her generosity and have a change of heart and vow never to steal again.

The only things that change are the object of the adventure and the nature of the contest.

For instance, here’s our story from last night. The parts that LB is responsible for saying are bolded. (She only has two lines, but they’re very important.)

LB and BIT and LB and Grandy and LB and Daddy and LB and Mommy and LB (that’s how she likes it. You have to say her the most) went on an adventure to the grocery store to buy strawberries and milk.

Just as we were putting the strawberries and milk in the cart, the bad witch and the bad man came and took our strawberries and said, “You can’t have these! These are OUR strawberries and milk!!!!”

Daddy said, “Hey, that’s not nice!”

And Mommy said, “Yeah, we don’t steal!”

And Grandy said, “Stealing is wrong! We share.”

And BIT said, “Dadadadadada.”

And LB said, “I challenge you to a… (at this point, the Littlest Brewster picks the contest for the night. It’s ranged from an Elsa twirling contest to a farting contest. I kid you not. She refuses to repeat contests and the more outlandish, the better in her opinion.)… jumping on one foot contest!

So first the bad man went. And he went like this (at this point Mommy does an impression of really bad one footed hopping) and everyone laughed because it was so terrible.

Then the bad witch went and she did this (now Mommy does slightly better one footed hopping). And everyone said, “Eh, that’s okay.”

Then LB went and she did this (now Mommy does the best one footed hopping she possibly can). And everyone said, “Oh my goodness! That’s the best jumping on one foot we’ve ever seen! You definitely deserve the strawberries and milk!”

But because LB is magnanimous, which means nice, she said, “There are enough strawberries and milk for everyone! We will share with you!”

And the bad witch and the bad man had a change of heart and said, “Thank you for sharing with us! We will never steal from anyone ever again!”

And they all lived happily ever after!

It was almost like a cartoon

Last Tuesday night at our house was almost like a cartoon. Seriously, it couldn’t have been more comically disastrous if I had tried. (Okay, it probably could have, but it was still fairly epic.)

To set the stage, you have to keep in mind that BIT had had a bad night Monday and had been up crying, off and on, from 2:45 to 4:15. Thus, I was up at 2:45 and, finding myself unable to sleep when she finally settled down, just got out of bed and went downstairs. So I’m running on about 4 ½ hours of sleep. And I don’t tolerate sleep deprivation very well.

After a crazy hectic day at work, I come home and help the DreadBrewer do dinner with BIT and LB. BIT gets off to bed around 6:30 without incident, which is good since I’m frustrated and tired and ready to be done for the day.

At 7:20, we tell the Littlest Brewster that she needs to clean up her toys before bath time. She’s a total turd about it and earns herself a trip to time out. After a few minutes, I go over and we have a bit of a chat about why she’s in time out and how she’s going to be a good girl and clean up now. As she’s walking down the hallway to her pile of crap toys she needs to clean up, I see a stray toy and bend over to get it. Coming up, I smack my head into the chair rail hard enough to see stars. And proceed to holler something along the lines of “sweet baby fudge fudgerson!”

The Littlest Brewster is staring at me, wide eyed, and I’m sort of dancing around in pain when I hear a splash. A big splash.

I go into the kitchen to find that Ethan, in his quest for sustenance (since we’re obviously starving him), has knocked over LB’s full cup of milk that was left on the table after dinner.

At which point I yell something like “Oh for crying out loud!” at the top of my lungs. The Littlest Brewster is continuing with the whole wide-eyed staring thing, which is super helpful.

I grab a towel and stomp over to the milk to wipe it up, still rubbing my abused head, swipe at it a few times, and decide I need the sponge. So I stomp my way over to the sink.

And proceed to step straight into a giant puddle of water that the DreadBrewer has unknowingly left on the floor. (Draining broccoli is hard and complicated, you know.)

I may have reverted to my favorite “Sweet mary mother of jiminy jominy” at this point.

I squelch back to the puddle of milk and proceed to start cleaning it up, only to look over and realize that I’m face to face with a big puddle of cat vomit. (Thanks, Ethan.)

By now, I’ve just devolved into making unintelligible angry noises under my breath.

Everything gets cleaned up and the Littlest Brewster gets bathed and brushed and put to bed. I go back into her room to kiss her one last time before the DreadBrewer does his final story and cuddle and what is she doing?

Licking something that she calls “the sticky” off of her fingers.

That she has discovered between her mattress and the bed frame.

DB comes in and we proceed to have a firm discussion with her about how we do NOT eat random things that we find under our mattress, no matter how delicious they may appear. Upon further investigation, we decide that “the sticky” is left over from an incident with Zarbee’s a few weeks ago where I may have spilled some on the bed frame.

Needless to say, I then proceeded to have an extremely large glass of wine in an extremely hot bubble bath.

Thanks a lot, LB

As we were driving the other day, the Littlest Brewster informed DB, “I can be a dragon and you can be a butterfly.”

DB says, “Why can’t I be a dragon? You always get to be the dragon!”

So LB answers, “I can be a grasshopper and you can be a lady bug.”

I pipe up, “What do I get to be?”

LB replies, “You can be a cow.”

Thanks, kid.