Every now and then, the Manager has to moonlight in order to please our tyrant CFO. Now is one of these times, and keeping the company files updated as usual is more of a challenge. Here is a little bit of catch-up:

• Lately on the way home from the Outsourcer (or even on the way to the Outsourcer, just before 9AM), K.Lo requests French fries from Old McDonald’s. The request is repeatedly deflected or denied, as Management does not want to set precedent for all future trips to and from the Outsourcer. Today, I tried to convince K.Lo that fries were an every-now-and-then treat, rather than an everyday snack, because they aren’t the healthiest. She said, “Yes they are.” Hmmm. And, just when I thought the subject had been dropped, we passed the sign for Cruisers Car Wash, which K.Lo looked at thoughtfully and said, “Those are fries.” She kind of had a point, but I’m not sure she believed that they only do car washes at Cruisers.
• N.Lo has a few new cute, recurring phrases that never fail to get a laugh at the Lo.Co. One is, “I have gas!” or “Have. GAS!” followed by a lot of giggling. And preceded by having gas. Charming. The other is, “I dun-no!” said in such a sweet, cheerful voice and usually in response to the question, “What are you doing?” or “Where is it [whatever you’re looking for]?” He somehow employs an impressive level of comedic timing for someone who claims not to know what he’s doing.
• We put up a bunch more ornaments on the tree today during N.Lo’s Afternoon Break, and though mostly unbreakable, still managed to have a few casualties. It happens every year, regardless, but it’s nice now to be able to blame employees for excessive klutziness, rather than oneself.
• K.Lo continues to push buttons. When receiving a talking-to from Management, she occasionally dials up the drama another notch and professes to, for instance, not want presents for Christmas and not care if Santa is sad because she did not behave. Also, just before the Night Shift yesterday, she said in a tiny voice, “Mommy, I don’t like yelling sometimes.” Meaning, she does not like to hear me yell. Which immediately broke my heart into a million tiny, guilty pieces as I reassured her that while I may get frustrated sometimes, I love her tons regardless. The next day, however, she brought up the issue of yelling a lot, saying things like, “Don’t yell at me!” and “You yelled at N.Lo!” when, in fact, I came nowhere close to yelling at all. Her definition of yelling is apparently much more liberal than originally thought. Apparently, the employee does not like hearing the rules told to her in a stern voice, to which I say, hmm, who does?
• N.Lo’s collection of crib friends has grown, and by crib friends, I mean the stuffed animals he insists on carrying each morning in addition to his two blankies. Several more stay in the crib. The Carry List now includes the turtle, the kitty cat, Cookie Monster (who is referred to as Oscar), Christmas Elf Elmo and a stuffed dog with a Santa hat.
• Picture Day at the Outsourcer was ultimately a success. Last year, both employees were photographed together on a non-school day. This year, K.Lo went it alone, and the picture was a head-and-shoulders shot rather then head-to-toe (sitting on the block). So, K.Lo’s secondhand Christmas shirt actually looked great on camera, and the rest of her outfit didn’t matter. (Now, can anyone scan them for me, so I don’t have to pay exorbitant prices to keep them? Just wondering.)
• When putting up the ornaments today, K.Lo pointed out Harry Potter’s “boo-boo” on his forehead. Hee. I told her it was called a scar, and she said, “No no, that’s a boo-boo. And he doesn’t have a band-aid.” N.Lo, too, is quite concerned with boo-boos these days and requires kisses for apparently invisible injuries. 
• N.Lo’s current favorite game is to climb the chair in the Conference Room, sit on the arm and say, “Push me!” Which you must. He slides down onto his own little couch below. Weee!
• In spite of earlier claims regarding Santa, K.Lo says to N.Lo each night before bed, “Sleep tight, N.Lo, before Santa comes!” Aw.

This Manager is about to be OUT OF THE OFFICE for a few days! I have been busy packing up our company and have been left with little space in my mind to do a proper update on my employees. Such posts are coming soon, but in the meantime, you might enjoy a brief story (beginning?) I wrote recently about K.Lo and the Night-Shift Cows.

*****

This week, K.Lo thinks there are cows in her room at night. The first night, she rocketed out of her room, running and screaming down the hall, jumping when I came up the stairs to meet her and ask what was wrong. Her whole body shook with plain fear, cold sweat soaked her pajamas. There’s a cow, she said.

A cow?

J.Lo’s movie, a man-film of the action-packed, violent variety, thumped deeply from the living room and perhaps, from down the hall, out of an exploding car or gun sequence, K.Lo had heard a moo.

She wailed some more as I picked her up and carried her down the hall, reassuring her, as per the drill, that everything was just fine, she was safe in her room and in her bed, and Mommy and Daddy were nearby if she needed us. Both common sense and a vapid pair of moms on the Pajanimals show told me these were the right words to say.

I could tell from K.Lo’s raving and shaking, however, that this would be one of the nights where she just wasn’t going to relinquish the fight. Several hours and attempts-to-calm later, I give up, and pull her into our bed. She sleeps.

On night two, she doesn’t shake, simply appears in the living room, wailing for what seems like effect. I am now a little more skeptical of the mystical cow, and ask her, “Where is this cow. Show me.”

“Right there,” she said, pointing vaguely toward her bedroom window.

“Outside?”

“Yes,” she said, because at first it always seems like the right thing to say. She climbs down from my arms and pulls back the window shade, peering out into the night with great concern. “Right there,” she says, pointing at the lawn.

Uh-huh. I put her back to bed, once, twice, and more, each time explaining that there is no cow, and even if there was, it wouldn’t bother her. The soothing tone of my voice frays a little more each visit, and soon we are no longer talking about cows, but about the simple fact of sleep, which is necessary for all human beings to function well throughout the day. She either doesn’t see my logic, or is too beside herself to hear my words.

The third night, J.Lo takes over cow combat-duty and emerges slightly more battle-scarred on the patience front, but with a possible victory on his hands: K.Lo’s rocking horse might be the cow. The handmade purple rocking horse that has lived in her room for over two years now, sparkly but placid, and keeping to itself? It seems it might have mooed and stared the child down with bovine eyes.

For these offenses, it is removed from the bedroom, banished to another far corner of the house.

And K.Lo sleeps.

Sort of.