My Kids are Normal. Sort of.

My kids are pretty normal. They just do a couple of weird things.

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London is obsessed with underwear. If you have it in a drawer, she will find it. In the laundry pile on the bed? She’s making a beeline for it. Wrapped up in tissue paper in a bag from the Nordstrom anniversary sale and half shoved under a chair? Not for long, sister. Girlfriend loves underwear. I walked into my bedroom to find four brand new pairs around her head like headbands. Cute… kind of.

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Cruz likes to answer us in riddles, as if just answering our questions is far beneath his intelligence (it is). “How many carrots would you like?” “My age at my next birthday number of carrots.” “Which shirt would you like to wear?” “The color of my balloon is the color I would like to wear.” He makes us work for it.

Disgustingly, they refuse to NOT share a sippy cup.

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It must have been around Easter because we were playing with the empty plastic Easter eggs. London stuck half of one in her mouth. “A beak!” we all laughed. “You’re our little bird!” And because of that one big laugh, she can’t pass up an Easter-egg-beak opportunity. Cruz loves them too. They found a stash of empty Easter eggs in my dresser drawer the other day (probably while searching for underwear) and went CRAZY. Eggs shells all over our room.

And when it’s all said and done, once I’ve cleaned up the plastic eggs and answered all the riddles and found my missing underwear, there’s not even one thing I’d change about them. Well, maybe the sippy cup thing.

 

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