"You don't need a rainbow pony right now!!!"

Oh, the woes of a mother. Although not a hard and fast rule in our household, I have set the general tone with my four children that if they choose to get out of bed in the middle of the night, then they may return independently to that bed. Henry showed up at my bedside almost an hour ago. I've been trying to go back to sleep without success, and it is 4:20 am. He said, "I can't find my little rainbow pony." My closest friend let him borrow a My Little Pony miniature toy yesterday, and he went to sleep with it. He got Lightning McQueen Striderite Cars shoes that we let him put under his sheets to sleep with too. I try to say, "Yes," when I can. Usually if he wakes up in the night he is pretty quiet (for a 3-year-old boy) and calm. He'll snuggle me for a minute or two until I tell him it is time to go back to his big boy bed. However, he would not rest the issue of the missing pony. My reasoning got me nowhere. Whispered insistence that he be quiet and go to bed failed, and I snapped. Raising one's voice in the vicinity of 3 am in the dark to a distressed child is not very productive. There is a very adult book that has picture storybook illustrations called Go the (blank) to Sleep. Robbie heard about it on talk radio. Part of it has rhymes and depicts our parental love and adoration. The next verses include some well placed profanity which mimics the inner voice of a parent who has reached the limits of patience. I obviously do not swear at my children, but I made it quite clear that I was not going to go on a pony search in the dark, and I conveyed that making a fuss over it was unacceptable.

Henry's latest phrase is, "Can I please be your girl dog, Violet?" She's the neighbor's old dog next door, and Henry goes around on all fours pretending to be my dog. At first he asked to be called Woofy Woof Woof. That is his favorite game right now. He'll then ask, "Am I still your girl dog?" "Do you want to still be my girl dog, Henry?" "Yes, mom." "Okay, then, Violet. You're still my girl dog." This exchange happens something like 87 times a day. Luckily, he has not posed the question in the night, and he only pees in the potty. My typical phrase when Henry shows up next to the bed is, "Go potty." He goes, then he returns. Well, Olivia recently came into my room in the night. I sleep without contacts, so I'm quite blind. I didn't even open my eyes. I just felt an arm and said, "Go potty." Olivia later told me that she thought to herself, "That's odd. Mommy doesn't usually tell me to go potty when I need her in the night, but okay, I'll go." She used the restroom, returned to me, I held her and was so tired that I thought she was Henry the whole time. I can't explain that one, but it is true. She and I laughed to death when we discovered my mistake about her identity.

We watched the Beezus and Ramona movie as a family recently, and a woman married a couple. Evelyn asked why the priest was a girl, and Olivia said, "She's not a priest. She's a weddinger." Love it.

As Robbie and I went to bed one night close to 11 pm, we noticed a light coming from under Henry and Vivian's door. Buddy was responsible for it, and the baby never made a peep. Robbie carefully opened the door, and he said over his shoulder in a frightened whisper, "The baby's not in her bed!" Ha, ha. He gets a thrill out of messing with me, but when I got to the doorway I too saw no baby Vivian. Her crib was devoid of a baby. Robbie crept over the squeaky wooden floorboards to examine the bed. He wondered where Henry had put the baby. She was sleeping horizontal as close to the far end of the bed as possible, and our view of her from the doorway was blocked by a dresser. We breathed sighs of relief, then we tried to control our giggles. I think she was trying to escape the light.

Henry has a dance move that he calls his booty shake. I can't watch it without laughing my head off. He gets his bent arms into it, and he drops lower and moves that tush side to side. This is an original dance move on his part. He has been asked to perform it in various venues, and it always delights the onlookers. Yesterday we finally took a walk outside, and I let Henry run. He saw an approaching elderly lady, and just as she passed us he transitioned from a full run to a sideways stance. He gave three booty shakes, then he was off again at a dead run. She missed it, but I got another good laugh.

Evelyn starts kindergarten next week. How is this possible? She has a new embroidered backpack, and she has worn it all over God's creation to show friends and other shoppers her little owls and does. The "pack-pack" as Vivian calls it, is precious. Evelyn LOVES Vivian, and she keeps picking up the baby. This makes Vivian scream. While out yesterday, Henry said to me, "Mommy, I'm so happy we have our baby." The kids really love her.

Vivian's vocabulary is exploding. She turned 18 months on the 8th, and I am in disbelief that my youngest is one and a half. I don't feel "done" having babies, but with my age and our house logistics, we are likely finished. At a meeting at school last night I saw numerous newborns. I got that baby fever wave of emotion. It was just awful. Anyhow, Vivian's most adorable word is cupcake. She says it like this, "cuh-CAAAke." Her term defines anything sweet, from a healthy morning muffin to a cookie or ice cream. She says it like she's from Georgia, Robbie says. She is so cute I could scream.

Well, folks. That's all I've got. Maybe now my racing mind can rest.