We made a little trek out to an area we rarely visit. Since I'm not working anymore (and even when I was I drove to and from work during non-traffic hours) and Eric gets home by 4 o'clock most days, I always forget about peak traffic times. It ended up taking us twice as long as usual and Peabody barely made it to the parking lot. To her credit, she was crying and telling us, "I'm sick!" before anything happened. I gotta admit I'm impressed that she was able to so clearly articulate what was wrong, although the only other times she's ever said that has been while playing Sick Girl with her sister. So now we know: Peabody gets car sick and will tell us that she is.
Praise the Lord, we "happened" to park near a children's clothing store with a clearance rack, since my change of clothes for her did not include a shirt. Poor thing, I had to strip her down in the parking lot. It was about forty-five degrees and windy. It's times like those that a minivan sure would be nice ...
Today the Boogie asked me, "Do tigers live in prides like lions?"
"I don't know," I said, "I guess we'll have to look it up."
"Okay, you look it up," she instructed, "look at meat eaters dot com."
This is our last week of school before Christmas break. This whole month has been kind of lax, one of the perks of homeschooling! I scheduled every Friday off but we ended up taking several random days instead. Another perk is doing school in bed while in pjs every now and then.
Peabody is picking up random little things, too. This morning she looked at a letter "R" on my shirt and said, "Look, it's a rrrrr."
We've been watching Leave it to Beaver on Netflix. During one episode while Beaver ran away from something Peabody declared, "Beaver dash away!"
She came crying to me that the Boogie and DR wouldn't let her play. They argued
that she wasn't playing right. "Remember, she's just little," I
reminded them, "and it's okay if she doesn't do everything exactly like
"Yeah, I little, guys!" Peabody echoed. "I jus' little."
She was whining for the umpteenth time one morning because she wasn't
getting her way. "That's enough whining," I told her firmly, "and if I
hear any more you have to go into your crib."
"Otay Honey," she said meekly. But as I left the room I heard her mutter darkly, "Honey is a bad boy."