Chloe had been begging me since last weekend to take her to a local candy store that specializes in nostalgic treats of all shapes, sizes and flavors. She was yearning for old fashioned taffy, a 12-inch long piece of gooey cavity-inducing sugar and artificial flavor that I used to buy whenever I was lucky enough to go to Allaire State Park, an historical village in central New Jersey that had an awesome general store (at least I thought it was awesome when I was 8).
It was time for a little dessert. Little did I know that “little” would be the operative word. Yes, I am on a diet. I was craving some ice cream and wanted to put the ice cream in a cone. I knew we had cones because the box of cones was on the dining room table the other night when I came home from work.
Chloe was not to be outdone the other night by Sophie’s interview. For your reading pleasure, here are Chloe’s responses to the same questions.
Sophie has requested that I write about her tonight. And of course I need to comply with her request. But what to write? I was going to write about her royal crankiness, but I’ve already covered that here. But boy, was she cranky again tonight.
“I really want to ride shotgun!” Chloe begged yesterday. I tried to find a law that prohibits kids from riding in the front passenger seat, but there isn’t one (unless you’re under 8 years old). The guides recommend no younger than 12, but it’s only a recommendation. That was enough for Chloe to beg us some more.
Sophie is going through a phase. That’s a euphemism for “she’s being a pain in the ass.” Cranky, bossy, moody, albeit still cuddly, she’s driving us crazy.
Sophie and I love playing I Spy computer games together. Especially after losing all TV, Internet and telephone service, which only just came back about 10 minutes ago. During this time of great crisis, I remembered that I had a couple of I Spy games on the computer, and boy, did they come in handy this evening after Sophie threw a fit (which she does much too frequently these days) about some mysterious slight that was known only to her.
******IMPORTANT******IMPORTANT******IMPORTANT******
OK, so whatever you heard about me (that Sophie said in the last blog post) IS NOT TRUE! I am super awesome, which somebody forgot to mention (hint, HINT)! Though I’ll give her the credit that it’s true that I called her stupid. Not like I care. Personally, I think she owes me an apology which, hmmmm, I did NOT get. I mean, you’d think that a certain MOM around here wouldn’t be too happy about what she said. But NO! Somebody gets to say bad things about her sister, and get off scott-free! HMMPH! Another VERY important thing she forgot to mention is how freakin’ AWESOME LADY GAGA is! Then, Sophie goes around CRITICIZING Lady Gaga! How HORRIBLE is that?! I think that type of thing should be totally against the law! Well, luckily for her that law doesn’t exist! So if anything important like this happens again DO NOT worry, cause I’ll clear it up!
Mommy is fun. Mommy plays in the sun. Mommy is nice. I cuddle with Mommy. I love Mommy. Mommy is very, very soft. Mommy loves Sophie. Mommy is the best. Mommy loves “Glee.” Mommy is a very, very good cuddler.
Papa tickles me very, very good. When I played the “Baby” game, I throwed Papa’s pajama undies. Papa is funny. Papa loves his daughter. Papa is fun.
Chloe is mean. Chloe once called me stupid. Chloe for a sister is ok. Today Chloe gave me some money because I did a very important job. I had to take the hose off the plants. Can we just stop writing about Chloe and write about me?
I am so fun to play with. I am a good cuddler. I just love the show “Tom and Jerry.”
This was one of the most relaxing and enjoyable Mother’s Days I’ve had in a long time. For no particular reason. My husband made us a pancake breakfast this morning and the girls gave me their presents. A homemade card, a picture, a flowering plant – all made at school – and chocolates from Sophie. An “Angry Birds” pig from Chloe. The girls used their own money for the gifts, for the first time ever. And my husband heeded my strict instructions not to get me anything – hell, he’s my husband, not my kid. And I loved my gifts. They were perfect.