Tuckered out

Day three of babysitting—8:07pm—and I feel like I've been hit by an excavator. Note the word choice. I'm a construction machinery expert now. What you generically call a "digger" I know to be an excavator. What you so naively call a bulldozer is actually a font-end loader. That thing you call a fork lift? Well, that is indeed a fork lift, so good job. You got one right.

The thing is, being in charge of two kids is exhausting. And these two kids are easy! They're sweet, snuggly, independent players that do pretty much everything I ask them to do. So how will I feel after taking care of my future kids all day? With half of Andy's genes, there's no doubt they'll be big time troublemakers.

Of course, the upside is that we've been having lots, and I mean LOTS, of fun. The best thing about toddlers is the jokes. The unintentional ones, of course (their intentional jokes are terrible).

Two hilarious Ollie moments from the drive to Edmonds:

1. We're playing the "Guess what animal I am?" game. I oink, he says pig. He moos, I say cow. I hiss, he says snake. Then he hisses, so I guess snake. But he tells me no, I'm not snake. So I guess, lizard? He says no. Hmm. Bee? No. OK then, just tell me. What animal are you? A deer, he says.

2. We turn the radio on and the song 'Earned It' by The Weeknd is on. You know the one. It goes, "Cause girl you're perfect. You're always worth it. And you deserve it. The way you work it." Anyway, that song comes on and Ollie pipes up with, "This is Baby Margot's favorite song!" Keep in mind Margot is 16 months old and has probably met her twice in his life. I say, "Oh really? It is?" and he says, "Yeah."

When life give you a floor, make it a place to take naps!

And with that, I must go bake a flag cake. Happy Birthday, America.

Love,
Margaret