[D]hat [D]y Dearest, Devotedest, Darlingest Daughter Done Did Do During Da [D]ight

DISLAIMER: Please note that faces have been changed to protect the innocent. My husband has not given me permission to post the real pictures of our beloved and perfect children despite my telling him that the war would end and world peace would be initiated simply by allowing everyone to gaze at the angelic visages of our offspring. He wasn't moved by my argument in the least. When did I lose my power of persuasion? As such, I offer this delightful cutie (no where near as good as the real thing) with touches of Lulu; note the crown and the fairy wings all in pink - like a good princess.

Lulu crawled in bed with me tonight. I snuggled her and a while later (time is so relative in the middle of the night) told her to return to her bed. She whined and fussed and didn't want to go (even with my magnanimous offer to carry her) so I succumbed to her pleadings (so easy at 3 something AM) and threw her over to my other side, a little ways away from me so I could have my "sleeping space." This didn't last long. She began to whine. "Lulu, why are you crying?" Next thing I know, she's sitting up and making sounds. Those kind of sounds. "Oh, no, you are not throwing up on my bed." (This is the part where Robert is quite grateful we don't sleep together.) My dearest, devotedest, darlingest daughter promptly clapped her hands over her mouth and clamped her lips together while her stomach was trying to imitate a sea cucumber. I scooped her up, hauled ass to the bathroom (about 10 steps away) to the toilet. Her stomach emptied and I surveyed the damage. Nothing on my bed. (Yea! I don't have a waterproof mattress pad. And I don't want to do laundry - I could hurt myself!) Nothing on the hall floor. A few drops on the bathroom floor. I cleaned the toilet seat with a bleach wipe (the smell of bleach being extraordinarily welcome in the moment), washed my dearest, devotedest, darlingest daughter's hands and face and brushed her teeth and we were done. Oh yeah, I whipped of my shirt for good measure but that was it. At the age of four, she somehow managed to hold onto her stomach's contents until they could be dumped in the toilet. Fabulous. Love her so much. (Wipe away tear in the eye. Sniff. So beautiful.)

But wait, it gets even better. Thursday night we fed the missionaries. (I try really hard not to, but every once in awhile my maternal side takes over and I want to take care of these boys who are getting increasingly younger than me; I discovered that as I tried to compare our childhoods and then realized that these were the boys that I would have been babysitting. Not much to compare.) They started the, "Sister, we hear you play the piano." A sentence that can never lead to anything good. Turns out there is a baptism Saturday and they wanted me to play for the musical number. Robert is going to be working so I hesitated knowing that all my children would be with me and despite their advancing years (4, 7 &9), they are still not so good at reverent behavior while unattended. Lizzie offered to take Lulu so I felt confident that my boys would be moderately well behaved (no one running and leaping into the font). However, no one called me until tonight (at 9:30pm and at 10:something pm - seriously, doesn't the mission pres tell these boys not to call after 9p?) regarding what in the world was going on. Even then the phone calls, on principle I refused to answer the phone, were: (at 9:30) the missionaries asking me to play the piano for the whole baptism (they failed to leave any clue as to what music they might want to have played there - Mia suggested that I play "fairy music" wherein, since I can't play the real songs, I just play whatever comes out of my hands and call it good); and at 10:something (one of the girls who was singing the musical number) suggested that we meet at 1p to practice "I Know My Redeemer Lives." Easy enough song. The practice time is a wee bit inconvenient as it means meeting at our meeting house, practicing for a few minutes and then driving to the stake center (45 min away) for a baptism at 2p. You do the math.

So, how does this relate to my dearest, devotedest, darlingest daughter and our delightful midnight escapades? Since she had "nocturnal emissions," I can't go. Darn. Rascals. I felt guilt about not going to the baptism (which I contemplated in my frustration that no one was giving me information about what to play, etc.) as I think everyone deserves a magical baptism. But now...now I have a perfectly valid, good, solid reason for not being able to go. (Vomit at a baptism would be a downer especially if it was in the font, and then there'd be the floaties, not to mention trying to clean out the font....) Yea for Lulu. *Sigh* She is so my favorite daughter! (Even though she is currently sleeping in my bed - with a bowl, thank you very much - and I am blogging because all of the adrenaline necessary to whisk my child to the toilet resulted in me being very much awake.)