Ireland's Favorite Juice

This recipe came from a conversation this morning with Ireland. We've made it many times, except the apple and sugar additions are new. Normaly it's just the juice of one each: Lemon, Lime, Orange, Grapefruit. Enjoy!


Ireland's Favorite Juice

Lemon
Lime
Orange
Grapefruit
Apple (optional)
Sugar (optional)

Slice the citrus fruit in half, squeeze out the juice, strain out the seeds, and pour juice into a picher. Repete to desired amount, or until you run out.
Stir.

Add sugar and stir

Cut apple into small slices
Put into juice one at a time (garnish).
Stir.

Pour it in everyone's favorite cup.
Share with your friends.
When you're done, put the picher in the fridge.

It's too deep

Ireland has discovered slang.

Not only has she discovered it, but she's inventing her own.

Lately, without apparent reason, she has been referring to things as "too deep". Things that normally aren't referred to by their depth.

For example, she can't pick up her mess or clean a room because they're too deep.

We have yet to pin down exactly what the phrase means. But context clues teach us that it referres to a negative quality.

What's in a name?

When I was younger (or so I'm told), I went through a stage where I tried to call my parents by their first names. It made sense. If I was Michael, then they were Marjie and Mike.

I was informed that they were Mom and Dad.

Well, if they were Mom and Dad, then I'm Baby.

Gotta love the logic of children.

Two decades later, Ireland is also trying to figure things out.

She tries to call me Michael at times.
When I inform her that I'm Papa, she calls me MichaelPapa.
I respond by calling her IrelandDaughter.

And then there are times she tries to call me Dad (or Daddy). She gets it from other adults. They ask her questions and use the term.
But whenever she does, she does it with a mischievous little grin.

And I can't leave out this next one.
Whenever I'm wearing my Klingon forehead (or sometimes when I'm not), she calls me PapaKlingon.


It'll be interesting to see where all of this goes. After all, I call My Mother "My Mother".

My First Con

This past weekend, then we attended Starbase Indy.
It was Ireland and Scotland's first Star Trek convention.

While it was 3-day event, they only went on Saturday.
Ireland started out the day in full Klingon armor and makeup.

During the Klingon Language Panel, she decided she no longer wanted to be a Klingon and ripped off the forehead and her gauntlets. The rest of the uniform stayed on mostly because she couldn't easily remove it.

As a three-year-old, she naturally had her good moments and not-so-good moments.
She enjoyed seeing the other Klingons, and running around.
The only character she shyed away from was a green Big Bad Wolf.
After a 2-3 hour nap, she woke up just in time to see more Klingons arrive.
It just so happened that a Klingon girl slightly older than her was with them.

After a tantrum or two, she calmed down and decided that she wanted to find the Klingons.
She found the girl and they hit it off instantly, comparing uniforms and all sorts of little girl talk.

Can't wait to take her again.

I'm not a Princess

For some reason, Ireland refuses to accept her royal status.

"I'm a Princess, all girls are."

Whenever we try to get her to wear a dress, she proclaims her commoner status.

She'll call Dalyn a Princess, she'll accept her cartoon characters dressing up as Princesses.
But for some reason "I'm not a Princess, I'm Ireland" always shines through.

It could be as simple as not wanting to wear a dress. From what I hear, they're not always comfortable.

It could be that Princesses are always being attacked by bad guys and evil Queens.

By the time she's old enough to answer the question, she'll be too old to.


She turned three on the 7th.
Dalyn bought her a very pretty hoop dress that any young lady would love to wear.
Ireland refused it outright and offered it to Dalyn to wear.
"You be a Princess."

Maybe she's a tomboy in the making.
For the past few weeks, she's seen me get ready for All Hallows Eve, and dress up as a Klingon.
She's been begging to be a Klingon.
"I want to be a Klingon.
Where's my makeup?
Where's my forehead?
I don't have a sword."

A few days ago I found her applying dark brown makeup to her face with a cosmetic sponge. She had my latex forehead in the other hand.

Last night (Thanks go out to qurgh and Erin), a child-size Klingon uniform showed up.
She lit right up.
She was uber-excited.
She gladly put it on (she's not too fond of getting dressed) and poudly showed everyone she could.
And then asked for her makeup.

We'll need to do a few alterations to get it fitting right, but it's well on the way to being a favorite item.

This morning, just minutes after coming downstairs, she went right over to where she left her uniform, and started putting it on herself.
I had to help her with the zipper, but she was dressed and ready for battle in notime.

And then she looked down and asked for her sword.

Bad guys at Target

Yesterday, we went to Target.

From the moment we walked through the door, Ireland was on a mission to find pumpkins.

Eventually, she spied the Halloween department.

PUMPKINS!!!

Yes, lots and lots of plastic pumpkins.

But then, she noticed who was standing behind her.

A bad guy.

Now you may not be able to tell from the picture, but this fella is electronic. Sounds, lights, motion--it's got it all.
So not only is this creepy guy three feet from my daughter, but he's moving and looking at her with those glowing red eyes that cartoon badguys always have.

She froze. "Papa, it's a bad guy." It was just above a whisper.
"He's scary" she said louder.

And he was.

We slowly backed away.

She was so scared that she eventually had to hop in the shopping cart.

We went to go make sure that Mommy was safe.
But the back aisle was still a straight shot to the bad guy.
She knew where he was, and she could see him.

We went home and I got ready for work and soon forgot about it.
Until later that nigt when I was told that she was still worrying about "the bad guy at the market".

That's when I realized what I should have done. And what is probably going through her mind.

He looks remarkably like a standard cartoon villain. Drapey clothes, glowing red eyes, skelatol features. Yup, he's a bad guy allright.

She has no reason to believe otherwise. She saw him with her own two eyes. She knows I saw it too. And instead of calming her fears, and explaining that it was fake, I "played along".
Of course I didn't do anything to purposly scare her, but my actions (or lack there of) helped to support the fact that we were in the presence of evil.

Go back to your childhood, pull out the evilest villain you can think of, and then put him in the same room with you.

The poor thing was terrified. She knows she got away, but he's still out there--and he saw her. Will he follow?

I've got some damage control ahead of me...

Bleach

So Tuesday afternoon/evening my children discovered bleach.

Yeah.

Luckily, it was in the bathroom and not on the carpet.

Apparently a bottle had been left behind in our bathroom (we just
moved). I hadn't even looked in those cupboards yet.

Anyway, Ireland found the bottle and since she loves liquids and
pouring, had some fun.

We found them (Ireland and Scotland) in a puddle of bleach. The bottle
was empty, and a watering can had been filled.

The children were quickly put in the tub to be cleaned, and then I set
to work on the floor.

Dalyn and I both reacted very quickly to the bleach. Our eyes were
burning, and boy did it smell.

Dalyn tried asking Ireland some questions about what happened, making
sure no one had ingested the chemical.

One of the questions was "When you opened the bleach, did anything get hurt?"

"Yes."

"What got hurt?"

"Germs."