My perfect children

 In case you hadn't noticed, my children are practically perfect in every way.  I was told this nearly constantly on my trip to Seattle.  My parents (obviously) think they're perfect.  My siblings.  My aunts.  Uncles.  Cousins.  Everyone.  Even the poor souls who had to, nay, I mean were so privileged as to sit next to us on the flight all said my children are practically perfect.  

Look how cute they are.  Rex hanging onto Alice so she doesn't fall out.

Look how cute they are.  Alice crawls her gimpy little crawl over and tires to get on all by herself.

Look how cute they are.  Rex goes slow so Alice doesn't fall off.  Alice just cracks up the whole time.

Alice simply adores Rex.  She spends most of her day crawling as fast as she can after Rex, just trying to keep up with him.  She picks up every toys he drops.  She's also taking after his good humor.  She hates wearing diapers so whenever I change her diaper she rolls over as soon as the old one is off and away she goes.  But only a foot or two.  Then she sits down, turns back, looks at me, laughs and is off again.  She thinks she's pretty funny.

Rex is the sweetest thing on the planet.  He's quick to apologize when he hurts Alice.  He tries so hard to be a little adult and do just as he's asked.  He loves to pee standing up--his new thing.  He's still afraid of loud noises, like flushing toilets and garage doors.  He's tender just tender.

G-ma has a Rex-sized, real, working vacuum.  He loved it.  He now requests that I buy him on for our house.

But sometimes, sometimes, on occasion my children are not perfect.

Alice, for example, has this little grunt-y cry and this prushed up red face that could just drive you crazy.  It's not quite a mad grunt, but it's not happy.  It's her way of say--I'm done doing what I'm doing and would like to do something else RIGHT NOW.  Alice's new goal in life: pick all my cuticles and finger nails off.  Alice knows what she wants and will have it NOW.  She's fairly dramatic.  Not feeding her fast enough--head dive.  Not showering fast enough--scream.

Rex, on the other hand, what Mom?  What? What did you say?  Huh?  Huh? What? After every phase--he not even sentence--phrase/  What Mom?  Greg spent the day with him yesterday and finally understood why at the end of the I literally scream E V E R Y W O R D T O R E X.  And Mom, Daddy drives a white Ford Ranger.  What kind of car do you drive. AndMomDaddydrivesawhiteFordRanger,whatkindofcardoyoudrive?AndMomDaddydrivesawhiteFordrRanger,whatkindofcardoyoudrive?ANDMOM...Rex, if you want to know the answer to a question you have to stop and listen to the answer.

So don't feel too bad that my children are more perfect than yours, because, although they are practically perfect in every way, they are only practically perfect.