Tales of Wit and Charm…

Dear Carter and Hannah,

Happy fourth birthday! The last four years have flown by–you’re growing up too fast. I wish you didn’t live in Utah County, so I could see you more. Twice a month isn’t nearly enough. I feel badly that the only time I see you are when your parents are gone. Remember I’m there because I want to be.

Carter, I’m so happy I didn’t throw you out the window the first time I babysat you. Trust me, I was tempted. You cried so much, more than any baby ever, but my friend Alecia was with me and she talked me out of doing it. You owe Leash your life.

I love you Buddy. More than I ever imagined I could love a small child who likes to play big trucks and wear animals on his clothing. You’ll always be my buddy.

Hannah, you’re everything a little girl should be: cute, pink-loving and spunky. You never stop making me laugh, especially when you attempt to have an adult conversation with me. You use vocabulary just slightly beyond your comprehension, much like your Uncle Ben.

I love you Hannah Gatanna more than the color pink. And you, of all people, will understand that’s a hell of a lot.

I have a Starbucks gift card for both of you in my purse. I couldn’t bother giving it to you on your birthday because Grandma Myrna might have been angry. And I don’t want to anger her. She calls pregnant people fat, so can you imagine what she would do to me if provoked. I’m sure you understand.

I love you two more every single day. You’ve brought our family together in a way that I never expected. I would do anything in the world for you, and would do whatever it took to protect you. You’re the closest things to true love I’ve ever known. Thank you for letting me be your Auntie.

Love, Aunt Sarah

Yesterday afternoon I picked the kids up at school and was headed home when my random iPod mix started playing Richard Cheese singing “Baby Got Back.” Naively, I didn’t bother changing it because the kids were talking and I didn’t think they’d even notice. They did, and LOVED it! And really, why wouldn’t they, the song says butt repeatedly–which is apparently a bad word. They insisted on listening to it over and over–always on a quest to be the “fun auntie” I let them.

Once we were inside Target I realized what a bad idea it had been. I was looking at jackets and they were singing lyrics about asses, which wasn’t exactly a big hit with those Utah County mothers. For a moment I thought about pretending they weren’t with me, but once Hannah started shaking her butt and singing I didn’t have the heart to. Instead I scooped her up, gave her a kiss and told her she was the best dancer I’d ever seen. And it was the truth.

This morning I was two hours late for work. I didn’t factor in three and a half year old time. Seriously, these kids have major attitude. Don’t get me wrong, I love that about them, but when you’re trying to hurry and they aren’t… well you know.

I spent at least ten minutes arguing with Hannah why she can’t have chips for breakfast. She, of course, insisted her mom lets her eat them for breakfast every single day, which, she obviously doesn’t. I tried giving her the whole nutritional value speech, but she wasn’t having any of that.

So what did I do? I gave up. I took a Dorito, broke it into pieces and tossed it on top of her oatmeal. And guess what? She ate it. In a way we both won, or at least that’s what I’m telling myself.

My brother and sister-in-law are out of town so I’m staying with the twins this week. I’m fully aware of just what an awesome sister I am. Are they?

While the kids were finding their blankets, dolls, and special pillows they apparently can’t sleep without, I changed into my pj’s. When I walked out Carter looked up at me in disdain and asked, “What are those?” I replied, “These are my pajamas, Buddy.” He looked confused for a moment and blurted out, “But, that’s boy underwear… and yellow with crocodiles, not pink.”

He was less than pleased at the idea of his auntie wearing something other than pink. You can’t really explain to a child that there’s nothing more comfortable to sleep in than a pair of boxers stolen from an ex-boyfriend. Hannah, on the other hand, took one look at me and said, “I like your underwear and I’m not scared of them.”

It’s nice to have underwear approval from a three-year-old. Now if I could find an adult male who felt the same way.