Dinner Misunderstanding

On the way home from kindergarten we stopped at the store for ice cream because my special baby asked nicely, and was behaving well up until that point. Fish sticks were for dinner, because my special lady was out getting some exercise, and when it's just the two of us I'm not motivated to make anything special, except for buffalo wings from time to time, but only on a weekend. This being a Tuesday, it was fish sticks. Because I'm on a weight loss kick, I baked them instead of frying them, which took a while. Because I was already quite hungry, we had a plate of cheese and olives as an appetizer. When that was finished we had a conversation:

Baby: I want ice cream and Family Guy!
Tete: I told we'll have the ice-cream after dinner, and then we'll watch the Simpsons, okay? (I'm all Family Guyed out lately)
Baby: This [the empty cheese plate] is dinner, so now I want ice cream please and the Simpsons watch!
Tete: No no, Baby, this wasn't dinner, this was just an appetizer, this was sort of a snack before dinner.
Baby: moaaaaaaaaaaan............

Busted Bed

How many times should you be able to sleep in a bread before it breaks? When I first mentioned it was breaking, my father recommended less vigorous sex.

I estimate that in the ten months since we built our bed in Vilnius we've slept in it up to 75 times. Last night we finally broke it. It was a wooden mattress on nine steal legs that we just screwed onto it. Is 75 nights a good lifespan for a bed? To be fair, sometimes we slept at other times of day too.

More Precocious Than I Was?

I assume many three year old girls pretend their baby-dolls are their own babies, by imitating their mothers. Lately mine has been witness to my friend Juste nursing her four month old. This morning we saw her pretending to...feed...her doll...in a similar fashion.

Normal?!

My daughter picked up this number three sideways and said...

Looks like Family Guy!

A Three Year Old Has Good Taste

Tete: What do you want for breakfast, yoghurt?
Child: No...
Tete: A sandwich?
Child: No...
Tete: So, what do you want for breakfast, then?
Child: Pizza!
Mama: She's your daughter!

Unfortunately, we didn't have any left over pizza...

What's up with the hell of cleaning?

When I was single, I would clean only before having company, and when I did, it was a quick intense effort that I didn't have time to moan about because it would get cut off when the guests arrived.

How come now, with my special lady around, cleaning up the place has to happen at least twice a week, it's a long arduous process, and she's in a terrible mood throughout, even if I help? If it's such hell, can't we skip it, at least half the time? No! It's apparently unskippable.