The fun of outings.

     One thing that is commented on rather frequently whenever I venture out to, say...the high-class location of our neighborhood Walmart, is the fact that I have three children.  Three young children.  Three young FEMALE children.  Often, the comments are more or less harmless and ridden with the prerequisite "Aw isn't she CUTE" or "What a pretty girl!" kind of thing.  Less often, yet still frequent, are the onlookers who mention that I must be insane, and to just wait until puberty hits, and what a shame I don't have a boy! (This after they discover that the kid in the blue crab shirt is a girl and not a boy...which is a different topic altogether.  What can I say, Squish loves blue AND crabs.  In her mind, that shirt is the best of both worlds.)
     Firstly...pointing out that my children will one day suffer puberty is like saying "So you have kids...you realize you're going to have to raise them, don't you?" I am always tempted to respond with something along the lines of, "Nah, I plan on tossing them outside on the eve of their thirteenth birthday.  It's a custom from Home Country... I've raise myself since that age, and just LOOK how I've turned out!!!" Alas...I have refrained.  Perhaps one day.
     Secondly, I don't have a boy because Y chromosomes haven't mingled with any of my fertile eggs, not because I am somehow unfortunate.  I don't need a verbal reminder of it, although I thank all the people who have done it because maybe without their commentary I might have been stunned by the lack of a penis during a routine diaper-change or bathroom trip.  "I COULD HAVE SWORN IT WAS HERE!!!!!!"
     Thirdly, I will point out that I am indeed insane, so the joke's on YOU!  But seriously.  It astounds me to no end how much of my business others take it upon themselves to try to become involved in.  If someone is rude to us, and one of my children asks a question about it, I will explain that yes...that person IS being rude, so don't you do that, all right?  (As I get the evil eye from referenced rude person...mwahahahaha...)
     Don't mess with momma bear!  Or mommy shark.  Or...whatever it was Azzy said I was today.  Maybe I'm supposed to be a goldfish?...  Great, now I have to come up with a good onomatopoeia for the sound a goldfish makes... Blub blub blub.  BLUB BLUB!  For the record, it's incredibly difficult to type with imaginary fins.
     But I digress.  I do not in any way think of my daughters as a burden, and nor should anyone else.  The grocery store is a HORRIBLE place to form one's entire opinion on anyone or anything, much less a child.  If one's opinion of my parenting or children in general is based upon that pterodactyl-summoning of a tantrum that Squish threw after being in a car and sitting still in a shopping cart and being out and about for three hours, then that opinion is about as valid as mine of you if I think you're a douchecanoe for giving me and my three kids a dirty look during said tantrum.  So I guess we're even!  Kumbaya!
     Aren't changes in perspective fun?

A day in the life of the Trifecta.

     In order to properly open this little mess of a blog, first I must introduce the main characters (i.e. my demonspawn) that will more than likely be referred to by various monikers. My oldest child is Azrielle, or 'Azzy' as she prefers a few hours a day- but mostly she is a sea turtle, a shark, a beautiful snowman, or a fish...or...whatever else she feels like calling herself at any given moment.  Fruit Cake and Octopus are also notable mentions.  She's precocious, empathetic to a fault, and very, very, VERY talkative.
     Next is Squish.  Ah, Squish...I won't even tell you her real name.  Because it should have been Squish.  Squish is a force of nature that really shouldn't even be allowed upon this Earth, but no other planets wanted her.  (I kid, I kid.) Squish likes to climb, bark at people, pet other children on the head and giggle, get into peoples faces and loudly declare "HIIIII! I'M A PUPPY!!! FUFF FUFF!!!!" Oh, have I mentioned she likes to climb?  Yeah, she climbs. A. LOT.
     Lastly is the baby, or ze Smooshy One as we like to call her. (The affected French accent is a must when saying "ze Smooshy One", or you just sound silly.) As you have probably surmised, all of the mentioned children are young- the oldest being 3 1/2- and they're all girls. Yes. I AM masochistic.
    Terrific, now that the introduction is out of the way, we can get down to business...right after I get Squish a glass of water, because it's the end of the world and she is dying of thirst.  It would be a shame if she didn't make it to the end of the world in December...I hear it's supposed to be fun! WITH ZOMBIES!

Squish: "I need water, mommy! I need water! I NEED WATER, MOMMY!"

I hand her a sippy cup of water.

Squish: "Thank you." She takes a drink.  "AZZY NEEDS WATER, MOMMY!"

At this point, Azzy is soundly asleep.  I retrieve a sippy cup of water for her anyway, and hand it to a now-mollified Squish, who promptly wakes Azzy with a cup to the head.
Sigh.