This makes day 2 of no makeup

This has been my favorite weekend since whenever the last time was that I sat around for two days straight without putting on makeup or washing my hair. If memory serves me (which is doubtful since I can no longer remember to get things at the grocery store that ARE ON my list) it has been a sweet forever. 

Friday I decided to play Russian rullet with my life and go to Walmart for a few necessities. One lady in a power wheelchair approached me and asked if I had won the lottery to pay for everything in my buggy. No, but $335 later I headed to the car with a rounded off buggy of essentials like rice crispy treats, instant oatmeal, and diet Dr. Pepper while silently praying I would never again be subjected to the agony of a Friday night shopping trip to Walmart. Adulthood is a blast. 

Adam met me in town when he got off of work and took Reese home with him. He knows the danger of a trip to Walmart on a Friday night and he wanted his daughter to be no part of it. She quickly shuffled through the bags until she found a few summer items I purchased her, and began the never ending quest of sorting and folding them to her liking. 

She then proceeded to climb upon her stage and perform her number 1 hit which is a remix of 5 Little Monkeys/Wheels on the Bus/Jesus Loves Me.

It devastates me that we got a kid with no personality. 

Later that night I was giving her a bath

Me: Did you have fun with Daddy while I was gone?

Reese: Yes. 

Me: I'm so glad.

Reese: But I cwy. 

Me: Why?

Reese: Cause I want you. 

And with that statement she completed my. whole. life. 

I spent the better part of Saturday cleaning and organizing her tee tiny bedroom around her gigantic big girl bed while I thanked the good Lord that he saw fit for her to actually close her sweet little eyes and sleep in there. It has been the greatest blessing of my two and a half year mothering career. I was secretly gloating about the fact that we got rid of the bottle, the paci, and she is now fluently speaking the language of potty training when I heard her say, "Ma-ie I poop in my pants." And that's exactly what I get for mentally patting us on the back for our mediocre parenting skills. (Plus who am I kidding? Ms. Liz has been the driver of the potty train. We have merely been along for the ride.That woman is worth every penny we pay her.)

She spent Saturday like this. 

There has been an array of sickness going through daycare this week. It's either the flu, pneumonia, or the dreaded virus. Allison text me Thursday, "Beware. Liz just called me. Addie is throwing up." My heart sank. I started devising ways I would keep this news from one virus paranoid Adam. Reese had other plans. The first thing she told him that afternoon was, "Addie frewd up. On the table. It big." Well. Thank goodness you told him that. I give it 12 hours maximum until he is declaring he has virus like symptoms. 

I was wrong. He didn't mention feeling sick, but he made sure to put the items needed for "the Tummy Bug" drink on my grocery list.  

Saturday Reese found a book my Auntie Kay made of the day she was born. She and her daddy were looking  through it while he told her all about that life changing day. They got to a picture of the 3 of us and I heard him say, "In this picture daddy was going on about 2 hours of sleep." Well, yes. Of course he was. I GAVE BIRTH to her and his 2 hours of sleep is what he tells her about. 

Reese and I didn't go to church this morning because I felt sure the other mothers would frown upon the hacking cough she is toting around. About an hour ago I finally talked her into getting a bath and changing PJs. She told me about a hundred times that her bath was too "haaawwtt" (hot). She is from a very deep part of the South.). Other than that bath, cooking a pan of brownies is about as much physical exertion I plan to put forth this afternoon. 

As we speak, she is sitting behind me brushing my hair and calling me "Lay Lay" which is her southern version of Lee Lee that she has heard her daddy and Jolie call me. She also finds it necessary to tell me, "You hair not pwetty." Thank you, baby. Thank you for breaking it to me gently.