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Mange Mama


I was about five and a half months pregnant with Boy Blue in this picture and now Boy Blue is five and a half months old!

I was looking through the pics on our computer trying to find some I may have missed to post on Flickr for my parents. I decided this particular picture was so adorable I would share it here as well!

Sweet Bear was giving her little brother a kiss. “Kiss, Bebe!” was a regular demand for several months.

He still gets lots of kisses from the girls in this family! He is a babe magnet! We love to press our faces against his warm, soft face. He tries his best to kiss back with his mouth wide open as he kicks furiously while making the Hhhhh, hhhhh, hhhhhh sound babies make. The girls dissolve into giggles and say in unison, “Boy Blue mange (eat) me!”

That reminds me of the girls new favorite game. For the past few days our family participates in the Mange Mama game. My husband was teasing me and pretending he was going to kiss or better yet bite me like Boy Blue tries to. Sweet Bear began jumping up and down saying over and over, “Papa mange Mama! Papa mange Mama, whhheeee…whhheeeee! It was not long before Petite Clown ran over and helped her big sis out in cheering Papa on!

I had on my old college sweatshirt while all of this was going on. This sweatshirt has been keeping me warm for some years now. So, it is understandable that there should be a small hole starting at the wrist. When Sweet Bear saw this hole her face lit up and she got right close to my ear. She whispered real soft, “Papa manged Mama’s shirt.” I lost it…we both fell on the floor and I tickled her silly. I told her, “Papa is always hungry! You better watch out or he may eat your clothes too.” Now, she giggles every time she thinks he is close enough to take a bite out of her.

Both girls demand at least twice a day that their Papa mange Mama! Papa is happy to accommodate his little sweethearts and my little stinkers by chasing me down and pinning me while he tickles me so hard that I can take it no more. The girls love to see Mama tickled into a meltdown of laughter. For them, while I am convulsing in laughter and begging Papa to stop, I must look just like a little girl myself.

I love my children. Their gift to me is their laughter bouncing like a ball around the room with each of us catching it one after another.

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