Because I want to remember them forever, this page is a list of every. single. cute thing that comes out of the mouth of each of our girls, as long as I can find a piece of paper or my phone to jot it down. Do I expect you to frequent this page often and read all of the adorableness that is my children? Gosh, no, silly! But I wouldn’t blame you if you did.
Saoirse and Quinn
(ages 5 and 2 1/2)
Both children are holding pretend baby bottles and play cups up to their chests.
SK: “Look, Mom! Quinn and I are pumping our breastmilk!”
* * * * *
SK: “Mom! Quinn bited my thumb!”
QG: ”No, I didn’t! I bit your finger!”
Saoirse, age 5
“I’m so hungry I can’t think straight!”
“Are you thinking backwards?”
* * * * *
“Do you play with Dane?”
“Mmm. He eats Play-Doh sometimes.”
* * * * *
In the middle of a conversation:
“Mom, I have to go pee very badly. I’ve no time to talk.”
Saoirse, age 4 1/2
“Gram, are you going to run around?”
“I don’t think so, sweetheart.”
“Are you too old?
* * * * *
Signs that we were eating take-out too often after Cian was born:
On seeing David walk in the door with a grocery bag: “Is Dad bringing home dinner?!”
Play time involved “swiping” her library card, and playing restaurant.
* * * * *
(Note: SK was basically raised as a vegetarian for her first two years)
“I love meat!”
On a recent dinner of pot roast:
“Mom, I love that stuff that we ate.”
* * * * *
In the car, passing a housing development. David points to a house.
D: ”You see that deck? They’ve been building that for awhile. It’s taking forever!”
SK: ”Just like Mommy’s book!”
Saoirse, age 4
“Mom, I don’t know about us having three kids.”
“Why is that, Saoirse?”
“It’s going to get awfully noisy in here…”
* * * * *
“One day, on a rainy day, can we go on an airplaine to see the sun?”
* * * * *
SK’s thoughts on early pregnancy: just look at this.
* * * * *
Me: “We’re going on vacation. Daddy won’t have to work.”
SK: “Why won’t he have to work?”
Me: “Because vacation means he’s taking off of work and can spend time with his family.”
SK: “Yay! Now I’m not going to miss him.”
* * * * *
SK: “Mom? Can we have another baby?”
Me: “You want another sister or a brother?”
SK: “Yes. Can you go get me one?”
* * * * *
In preparation for SK’s “What I want to be when I grow up” dress-up day, where she went as a “mommy.”
Me: “Do you want to wear jeans, or do mommies wear pants?”
SK: “Hmmm. Jeans.”
Me: “Okay. Do mommies wear their hair down or in ponytails?”
SK: “Po’tails.”
Me: “Okay. And what do mommies carry? A purse? A baby?”
(pause)
SK: “Groceries.”
* * * * *
SK: ”Mom, what’d you dream about last night?”
Me: ”Mmm, raindrops and thunderstorms.”
SK: ”No, I don’t like that dream. I dreamed about butterflies and rainbows. That’s what you dreamed about, too. Rainbows and butterflies.”
* * * * *
SK: ”Can we have pasta with just butter for lunch?”
Me: ”You just want butter?”
SK: ”Yeah, just butter. Not sauce. Because that sauce was terrible.”
(That “terrible” sauce was homemade, with roasted-tomatoes that took six hours to prepare.)
* * * * *
Me: ”Where’s your dad?”
SK: ”He’s downstairs.”
Me: ”Oh. What’s he doing? Do you know?”
SK: ”Yes. I think he’s writing his book.”
* * * * *
“Mom, what are you going to dream about tonight? You can dream about anything you can like.”
* * * * *
“I was hoping we should make cookies today…because we made cookies a long, long time ago.”
* * * * *
“Mom, I wiped my room with a wipe!”
“You did?!”
“Yeah!”
(pause)
“Uh, did you make a mess up there?”
“Nooo-oo.”
“Should I go see?”
“Nooo-oo.”
* * * * *
“That was a long long time ago, back when I was a little girl.”
* * * * *
“Oh. I for-da-got.”
Saoirse, age 3 ½
Overheard, while playing at her train table:
“Gram! Look at this engine! His name is Bitch!”
Silence. Then, “Oh. Uh. What’s your engine’s name?”
“Stitch!” Saoirse clarifies. “Stitch-Bitch. My favorite train, and he’s Stitch-Bitch!”
“Okay, then,” says my conservative mother, trying not to fall over from giggling. “Stitch-Bitch it is! Hello, Stitch-Bitch.”
(And for the record, no, Saoirse’s never heard either one of us say that word. So stop wagging your finger. She just likes to rhyme.)
* * * * *
“Mom! Quinn’s barfing!’
* * * * *
“Mommy, may we have crab legs tonight for dinner?”
“Uh, no, honey. I’m making shrimp with pasta.”
“Oh, yummy! Shrimp?! That’s what I wanted!”
* * * * *
“Mommy, do you like when Daddy plays his guitar? Do you like his noise?”
* * * * *
”Saoirse, don’t go near that toy. Quinn’s playing with it right now, and you’re playing with this.”
”No, she isn’t! Damn!”
* * * * *
Commenting on her day at preschool:
“I just played with the girls. Not the boys…The boys are mean. Not the girls. The boys miss their mamas. Not the girls.”
* * * * *
Monday is known as “My Day”
* * * * *
“Mom, you can’t go 42. The speed limit is 35. Daddy drives slow. He doesn’t breaking the law, so you should drive slow, too.”
* * * * *
During mass, when the rest of the church is quiet:
‘Mom! This is taking FOREVER!’
* * * * *
After fighting with her over toys all morning, gives Quinn a sudden hug:
“Oh, you’re my best, best friend.”
* * * * *
”Saoirse, don’t misbehave.”
“Don’t worry, Mom. I won’t. I just need toys.”
* * * * *
Singing the Notre Dame victory march:
“Shake down the ‘funder’ from the sky…go Irish!”
* * * * *
Upon seeing a girl walk out of preschool in a princess dress, gasped, and:
“Mom, look at that girl! She’s wearing a princess dress. I would like to have a dress like that.”
* * * * *
“I love you writing. I love that sound.”
* * * * *
“Who’s this singer, Mom?”
“It’s Florence and the Machine, babe!”
“I don’t like it. It’s noise.”
* * * * *
All words beginning with “Y” are replaced with “L”: “logurt,” “lellow”
* * * * *
Singing Quinn’s “theme song:”
“Come all wifout, come all wif Quinn. You’ll not see NUFFIN’ like the mighty Quinn!”
Quinn, age 2 1/2
“Mom? Is Cian finished eating your other boob yet?”
* * * *
“I want vanilla. Hmm, correction. I want chocolate.”
* * * *
Aghast, as her father begins eating his lunch:
“Daddy, you can’t eat yet! You’ve haven’t said grapes yet!”
Quinn, age 2
* * * *
Changing the “diaper” of one of her stuffed animals:
“Oh my goodness! That’s HUGE!”
* * * *
The girls, watching a 49ers game with their dad. I’m upstairs in another room, listening in. Quinn has just looked at the TV and noticed the line of scrimmage.
Q: ”Why is he pooping?
D, completely seriously: “Oh, he’s not pooping. That’s how they start to play.”
* * * *
Upon seeing a newspaper photo of elderly women exercising in a pool:
“I see mom!”
* * * * *
Waking in the morning, standing in the middle of her crib:
“Let’s go! Let’s GO!!”
* * * * *
“What DAT called?” (repeated 25 times per minute)
* * * * *
Q: “Mommy. I hun-gee.”
Me: “You’re hungry, sweetie? Okay, then. Let’s go get some breakfast.”
Q: “No. No beck-fast. I want cereal.”
* * * * *
Quinn, age 1 1/2
“You’re fuddy.”
(starts laughing)
“I’m fuddy!”
* * * * *
To strange man in a diner. He’s tall, wearing blue jeans and a flannel shirt:
“Hi! Hi, Daaaadddeeee!”
* * * * *
(waving)
“Hiiiiiieeeee! Hiiieeee, Seir-sha! I poopted!”
* * * * *
“I yuv you, Sir-sha.” (smacks SK, then hugs her)
* * * * *
“I want dat.”
“Can you say please?”
“Yeah. I want dat.”
* * * * *
With arms outstretched:
“I want a ho.”
“Uh. What do you want, honey?”
“I want a ho.”
“A ho? Ohhh, a hug! You want a hug?”
“Yeah. A ho.”
Saoirse, age 3
‘There are fish that live in the ocean? That sounds delicious!’
* * * * *
“That’s a really nice picture you’re painting, Saoirse.”
“I know. It’s mine.”
* * * * *
”Mom, I put your brush in the toilet. Don’t cry.”
* * * * *
“Mom, you’re the best. You’re the best mom that ever was.”
* * * * *
”Mom, are we racing those other cars?”
* * * * *
Placing her hand on my shoulder:
“Mommy, I’m so proud of you.”
* * * * *
After falling out of her chair onto the hardwood floor. Heartrending wails ensue.
”Saoirse! Are you okay? What’d you hit?”
With a look, incredulous:
“The floor!”
Quinn, age 1
Waking up from her nap:
“Uh-oh, uh-oh, uh-oh…”
Saoirse, age 2 1/2
”Look, I’m ironing–just like Daddy.”
* * * * *
“You’re the best mommy. I yuv you.”
* * * * *
Overheard rapping to a Tribe Called Quest song:
“Here we go, yo! Here we go, yo!”
David
I’m near the end of my pregnancy with the third baby. The girls are curled up in a chair together, playing with their stuffed animals. David watches them warily. Quinn has her toy Clifford in a sort-of headlock. Saoirse has wrapped her hands around the neck of her bear and is shaking its head back and forth.
“I don’t think I’m going to let them hold our baby.”
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