Buttercup's secret wishes

So this morning the whole gang got to eat breakfast together since Charming is out of school for the week. I cheerily whipped up some scrambled eggs and called in the troops for feeding.

Lou Lou dutifully came to be buckled into her high chair, and Buttercup ran in screaming (with a slight smile on her face). Charming followed close behind crawling on all fours pretending to be a bear. I very sweetly told him to knock it off and come sit up to the table.

Rather than quiet down for the blessing on the food, Buttercup continued the game, but instead of screaming and running she became the predator, roaring fearfully with a death look in her eyes. Charming, with his head bowed, arms folded, and eyes closed, began a menacing growl deep in his chest that filled the room with the threat of an imminent attack. He peered at Buttercup like she was something to eat, and her lip trembled. She pled, "No Daddy! Be a frightened small child!"

I think she's learned her lesson? And I've learned that my sweet little girls are learning no mercy, not even for small children like themselves.

Still, hilariousness.

Hallelujah.

It's raining.

In North Dakota.

In February.

See the happiness streaming down my face.

A hopeless letter to a long-time enemy

Dear Body,

Why do you hate me? It is a question I have been longing to ask throughout the years, ever since I noticed the continuity of really ugly, loud, repetitive frog-like hiccups and torturous periods.

Did you not see what a sweet toddler I was? Instead you cursed me with nightly leg-aches that plague me to this day (and then decided to pass them on to dear, sweet Buttercup I might add). You filled my teenage years with acne and klutzyness. Why do you still insist on daily stubbing my toe and kunging my elbow on a passing wall/dresser/lamp? It would be nice if once in awhile you would kindly do your job and send my brain a signal that my limbs are so long and there are big objects obstructing my path and thus my arm/leg/head/hip perhaps ought to move over a bit to make room.

I have tried so hard to be kind to you--reaching out to you with the hand of friendship by doing endless step-aerobics, washing my face nightly, and eating vegetables. But those gestures of love you have thrown back in my face like a slap. What was with those terrible pregnancies and the so-not-necessary extra weight gain? Why?

I will never give up, because that would mean the war is over and you have won. But I do have a small request for you. It shouldn't be too difficult to handle. When you decide to smite me with a physical abnormality/disease/bothersome random symptoms, could you please make it clear what the actual underlying problem is? I'm really sick of these guessing games, so really it would help us both out if you could just be open and honest. And then give the doctors proof that I'm not a hypochondriac the next time they decide to do an expensive test/procedure.

Body, I know we've had some rough times, but we could start over and begin a new relationship right now if you're willing to cooperate. I want to love you. Please trust me. Please stop the madness.

Please.

Sincerely,

Megs