Robin's Chicks

Nudge The Nest & Pray They Fly

Sadie Sings: (Brace yourselves) My Ding-A-Ling

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Can someone PUH-LEEZE tell me how I ended up with three daughters and yet STILL we have to discusses male parts on an almost weekly basis? It is, pardon the pun, nuts.

Zeb was out of town a few nights last week and every night when I put Sadie to bed she asked me to sing, “Da Ding-A-Wing song.” And I was all, “Whaaaaaaaa?”

So when Zeb came home, I was about to put Sadie to bed and I called him into the room and said, “What is she talking about? What is the Ding-A-Wing song?”

Zeb laughed. “You don’t have to sing it. She’s knows the whole song. Sadie, sing for Momma, ‘When I was a little bitty boy…'” Sadie didn’t miss a beat. She sang the first two verses of Chuck Berry’s “My Ding-A-Ling.”


When she finished I shook my head with tears streaming down my face (from shame or utter hilarity, I’m not yet sure) and asked him, “So are you proud of yourself?”

THIS is why men need a chaperone almost all of the time. I’m not sure if this was a ploy to get me to stop asking for help at bedtime, or what he considered appropriate lullaby material for his two-year-old daughter. This may explain why my five-year-old was trying to download T-Pain to my iPhone.

What has your husband done lately that made you question leaving him unsupervised with the kids?

(Men, I’m joking. Sort of. If my husband didn’t help me at bedtime, my kids and I would be UP a creek. Vive la Ding-A-Ling.)

Emma Said: I Wanted To Hold That Baby

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Today I ran some errands with all three of my girls. My friend Alexandra and her baby boy, Vonte went with us. We drove all over town dropping off copies of Metro Christian Living at area businesses, we stopped for lunch and ran by the library to sign up for a summer reading program.

After we took Alexandra and Vonte home, Emma whined from the third row, “Momma, I weally wanted to hold Alexander!”

Aubrey snorted, “Alexan-DRA is the momma, NOT the baby!”

I giggled a little with the girls as Emma realized she just said she wanted to hold a grown-up.

“Yeah,” I said, “Vonte is the baby…”

“Huh?” Aubrey said, confused. “I thought his name was Cosco?”

“HONEY!! That was the BRAND of his car seat!!!” I yelled.

It is not safe to laugh as hard as I laughed while I was driving. Oh, I’m still laughing at those two.

 

Sadie Said: Don’t Look at Me 2.0

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Oh. Em. GEEEEEE.

Y’all.

Sadie has been soooo two-years-old today. There was A Potty Incident that is worthy of another post entirely, but she got in a fight with my iPhone this afty and I thought I was going to die I laughed so hard.

This is what had happened… (Do not send me angry Grammar Nazi emails. I don’t care.)

Sadie: Momma, I pway game on you pone pweeze.

Me: Ok. *Forks it over*

Sadie: Momma, you hep me pay dat kitty cat peeze?

 

I pulled up Talking Tom. It’s an app with an animated cat that mimics everything you say in a high-pitched voice. THAT’S WHAT THE APP DOES. That is the entire point. It copies everything you say and says it back to you. Sadie has played this game one MILLION times. I handed her my phone.

Sadie: Hi, wittle kitty.

Talking Tom: *in a higher pitch* Hi, wittle kitty.

Sadie frowned. “NO! ‘TOP DAT!”

TT: *higher pitch* NO! ‘TOP DAT!

Sadie growled. “Mmmmmmmmmm-aaaaaaah!!!!”

TT growled back. “Mmmmmmmmmm-aaaaaaah!!!!”

Sadie stomped her fat little feet and jumped up and down. “Momma, HIM IS WOOKING AT ME!”

TT: Momma, HIM IS WOOKING AT ME!

I was wheezing on the couch I was laughing so hard.

Sadie blew a raspberry at my phone and yelled, “I DON’T WIKE YOU!” She dropped my phone on the coffee table and ran screaming out of the room.

I’m still laughing.

To read about Sadie being mad at the FREAKING MOON for looking at her, click HERE.

 

 

 

 

Weed Whacker Wheezie

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Photo via Greg Adams Photography

I received an email from one of my readers today that was so hilarious, I begged to share it with y’all. Wheezie* agreed only if I would protect her identity. And being a Serious Journalist, I agreed. Here is *Wheezie’s story.

Little Johnny* and I were in his room and I had to “fluff.” It was loud, like shockingly loud.  Little Johnny* gasped.

“Momma!! You hear dat weed whacker????”  He asked.

I collapsed in laughter and he just kept saying “Dat weed whacker outside sooooo woud!!!” I did not correct him because I didn’t want everyone we see for the rest of the week to know that my fluffs sounds like landscaping equipment.

*Names changed to protect the flatulent.

Got a story to tell that you don’t want your name on?? Momma can keep a secret. Email me, Boo.

Just a few more hours before the Farris Wheel Pottery Giveaway ends!