So, we totally use the 5 second rule in our house when it comes to food items that have been dropped on the floor. Correction: the girls and I use the 5 second rule — I can’t speak for DH, and even if he did use it, I doubt he’d want me to put it out there for all to know. Anywhoodle, the 5 second rule is in full effect.

The other day, my mom had come over for lunch and Co dropped a grape or four over the side of her tray. My mom subscribes to the “kiss it up to God” rule of dropped items and put it into practice. Mo watched her with intense curiosity, and demanded (seriously) that Yia–Yia explain what she did.

After “Kissing it up to God 101” was complete, lunch was over, another granddaughter/grandmother moment was in the books. Fast forward to today’s lunchtime at my parents house. Yia–Yia is out, Co-dizzle is doing her chipmunk impression with at least half a dozen grapes wedged into her cheeks, and Mo is trying to cajole Pop-Pop out his last remaining potato chips.

Lunch was pretty basic: tuna sandwiches, grapes, chips and sliced cucumbers. The girls did a pretty good job on it, considering they both had had breakfast at home, snack at school and snack in the car on the way to my parents house . I don’t know if they’ve trained me to give them snack as soon as they get in the car or I’ve trained them to expect it, but as soon as they are secured in the car seats, cries for snack (or “nack” as Co says) abound!

Mo ate most of her sandwich, a few grapes and all of her chips. She saw that Pop-Pop was methodically eating what was left of his and so began to negotiate with him for some chips.

Mo: How about five chips?

Pop-Pop: How about ten chips? (I should have warned him that she’s quick.)

Mo: Okay!

Pop-Pop: Wait, wait. You know that ten is more than five?

Mo: Yes (like duh, old man, gimme the chips).

So, Pop-Pop tries to stall and gives her a few cucumber slices with the promise that once those are eaten, she can have the chips. As she’s eating those, he makes short work of the chips he has left and tries to cover up the rest with his hand at the bottom of the bowl. When Mo asks for her chips, Pop-Pop turns the bowl upside down and says, “They’re all gone!” and of course, one lonely chip breaks free from his grasp and hits the floor.

Faster than you can say “Lay’s”, Mo is out her seat, smooching the chip, raising it to the sky and popping it in her mouth.

That kid learns quick, I tell ya.

Mo is on spring break this week, and the TV has been sweating from the work-out that it has been getting. For those of you who don’t know, I really try to limit TV watching for Mo to the week-ends only. That usually means, an hour or two on Saturdays and another hour or so on Sundays. Any TV watching at Yia–Yia and Pop-Pop’s during the week or anything that DH happens to put on when I’m not around, well, don’t ask, don’t tell.

So, Mo has been giving the TV a fit this week. She’s on break, which is like extended week-end, we had a snow day, then she’s not feeling so good, Co is underfoot, I need some Calgon and it was just easier to put it on. She’s watched The Backyardigans, and the Wonder Pets, and Olivia (which is SO awesome, by the way), and Yo Gabba, Gabba! — which I’m still not sure I can even classify as a children’s program and more of a meth trip gone awry. But, I digress.

Sunday, Mo’s watching Blues Clues, and it’s a harmless enough episode about Love Day (aka Valentine’s Day). Part of the reason it’s so riveting for Mo is that it features Cinderella, and we all know how she loves her DP’s (*sigh*). Anyway, Blues Clues, like these other shows, feature singing and dancing, which is great because it gets her up off the couch and moving and shaking. Her mind is like a steel trap; she hears a song and she’s rattling the lyrics off, on key, in tune, word for word — except for her rendition of Pump It, by the Black Eyed Peas, but that’s another story for another time. She’s wiggling around the house, singing, “We are looking for Blue’s Clues, we are looking for Blue’s Clues,”. It sounds like what the Gypsy Kings would play if they catered to the preschool set.

Today, Mo is at the table coloring printable pages of DP’s (yes, I gave them to her) and singing something about a mop, a slipper and a man. Here goes the convo.

Me: What are you singing?

Mo: A song from Blue’s Clues

Me: What song?

Mo: A Cinderella Blue’s Clues Love Day Song.

Me: How’s it go?

Mo: (puts down the crayons and starts to shimmy in her seat) I dropped my mop and to the castle I ran. I lost my slipper, but I got my man!

Oh. My. Word.

I swear, just let me get that Cinderella in a dark alley. Just me, just her. She’s gonna lose a lot more than that flippin‘ slipper!

This is one of my favorite pictures of Mo and Co. It was taken the day we brought Co home from the hospital. Mo is still a young 3 years old and not quite sure what my going away in the middle of the night and coming home with a wrinkled, mewling loaf of bread means for her rotation around the Earth’s gravitational pull, but she’s adjusted.

Over the past 18 months, I’ve chased after her and Co with the camera, trying to capture their sisterly interactions, especially the ones that don’t involve pushing, shoving, eye poking, and whacking with assorted plush dolls — and that’s just Co. Everyone has told me that as they get older, they’ll become the best of friends and they’ll have such a good time together. Well, when Co is stealing crayons from Mo or Mo is commandeering Co’s baby doll and stroller and they’re basically acting like extras from John Dollar, I’m like, “Yeah, right.” I’m a baby sister; I’ve got an older brother — this is a new and improbable concept for me.

They loved each other very much, indeed. . .

So, I took the girls with me to Wal-Mart the other day, as I have decided to forego the ol’ sweatpants and Marvel Comic inspired T-shirt in favor of some honest to goodness pajamas. Me and VS don’t see eye to eye on sizing, and I knew my cart would be full of everything BUT the pajamas if I went to Tar-jay, so off to Sam Walton’s store we went.

Now, me and el Walla-Marte have a love/hate relationship. I love that they have stuff I need for pretty decent prices. I hate having to actually go there to get it. I don’t know about where you live, but most of the Wal-Marts around me are 1) in the ‘hood, 2) in the ghetto 3) in the hood next to the ghetto and 4) seemingly staff the most inbred, bass-ackwards, multi-syllabic named, “I’m-on-my-break” retorting types of individuals. And those are the managers! Let’s not even get started on the regular staff.

The last time I went to the customer service desk, I was second in line behind a super-quick transaction. When “Darryl Anne” (yes, that was her name) was processing my return, the phone started ringing. And ringing, and ringing, and ringing. And ringing. And I stood there and thought, so this is why the phone never gets answered. She was straight ignoring it. Finally, when it rang for the gazillionth time, ol’ Darryl Ann sauntered over to it, pick up the receiver like it had avian flu, and listened to the other end. Evidently, Joe Customer had given up and hung up and that did not sit well with Darryl Ann. I think she said something like, “How you just gonna hang up on me when I pick up the phone?! Dang!” And then Mo and Co said, “Dang!” in perfect unison and surround sound, and I said, “I’m never shopping here again.” But I digress.

We’re in the Wal-Mart, and I spy some nice Hanes cotton pajama pants on sale for like $6. Sweet! I scoop up two sizes and head off to the changing room to see which pair will work. I hate having to strip down period, let alone in a department store, but having to make a return to Wal-Mart — let’s just say I’d rather have my bikini line waxed and then daubed with an isopropyl alcohol and lemon juice cocktail.

I wheel Mo and Co into the handicapped dressing room, barr the door and turn my back to the mirror. I know what I’ve got; I don’t need to see it reflected back at me 3 ways. So, I’m kicking off my pants, sticking my feet in the first pair when this exchange transpires.

Mo: Mom, you’re little.

Me: Huh? What’d you say?

Mo: Mom, you’re little.

Me: Oh, thanks Mo! That’s so ni-

Mo (interrupting): No, Mom. You’re a little big for those!

Yeah, we didn’t get the pajamas pants or that box of Crayola’s she had in her traitorous little hands.

Kidding, kidding! I bought the pj’s. And the crayons!

So, I had written this hilarious post about Target and how I had come to love it and how the last time I was there, I actually left without buying anything — hence the title. Of course, I didn’t save it, so when the computer froze and then spontaneously shut down, I was like Floria Evans when James died.

Suffice it to say, I’m spent and so, instead of hearing about how the angels sang the Alleluia Chorus went the doors to Target opened the very first time I set foot into their store, here’s a photo from a walk around the block we took the other day. Yeah, I know; it’s not quite the same, but you’ve got to love the accessorizing that’s going on here.

And note to self. . .”Save, Saaaave, SAAAAAAAAAAAAAAVE!!”