Okay, let me say that this happened several weeks ago but is still hilarious to me!
My girls, ages 11 and 9, have had the "talk" and they have a working knowledge regarding the female reproductive system. My son, age 6, not so much. This will be important later.
So, sitting around one day playing on the couch, Marty starts smack talking me.
Marty: That's right, I'm your mama! I'm your grandma! (I guess this means he is better than me? 6-year old smack talk isn't always as effective as they intend it to be.)
Me: Sorry buddy, unless you have a uterus, you are none of those things.
Sarah:*snicker*
Marty: Huh?
Sarah: (doing a little dance with her hands running up and down the length of her torso)That's right baby, cause I got overalls!
Me: You mean ovaries?!
Friday, July 12, 2013
Monday, February 25, 2013
ABBA-cadabra
For those of you who are ABBA fans, this will be funnier.
I was cooking dinner last night but I was afraid it would take too long to cook and be ready for the kids to eat before bed. I knew that we had some chicken tikka (a very mild Indian dish) left over from a dinner with my brother so I figured that it would be my fall back. After a while of cooking, the natives became restless and started asking about dinner.
Mary: Mom, what are we having for dinner?
Me: Well, if I can get it done, then we will have this turkey. If not, there is some chicken left over.
Mary: I will just have the chicken.
Me: Oh, yeah? Did you like it?
Mary: (singing) Chicken Tikka tell me whats wrong…
For those of you unfamiliar with the song, the actual lyrics are ‘Chiquitita tell me whats wrong’. Now I will never be able to listen to Chiquitita without thinking of Indian food!
It is not the first time that my kids have made up their own versions of ABBA songs, however, and strangely enough it always seems to center around food. About two years ago we went out to Dairy Queen with the grandparents and kids in tow. As we walked down the sidewalk I hear from behind me:
“Cause you are the Dairy Queen, young and sweet, only seventeen”
This Dancing Queen rendition (by I believe Mary once again) was accompanied by the appropriate amount of dancing.
I was cooking dinner last night but I was afraid it would take too long to cook and be ready for the kids to eat before bed. I knew that we had some chicken tikka (a very mild Indian dish) left over from a dinner with my brother so I figured that it would be my fall back. After a while of cooking, the natives became restless and started asking about dinner.
Mary: Mom, what are we having for dinner?
Me: Well, if I can get it done, then we will have this turkey. If not, there is some chicken left over.
Mary: I will just have the chicken.
Me: Oh, yeah? Did you like it?
Mary: (singing) Chicken Tikka tell me whats wrong…
For those of you unfamiliar with the song, the actual lyrics are ‘Chiquitita tell me whats wrong’. Now I will never be able to listen to Chiquitita without thinking of Indian food!
It is not the first time that my kids have made up their own versions of ABBA songs, however, and strangely enough it always seems to center around food. About two years ago we went out to Dairy Queen with the grandparents and kids in tow. As we walked down the sidewalk I hear from behind me:
“Cause you are the Dairy Queen, young and sweet, only seventeen”
This Dancing Queen rendition (by I believe Mary once again) was accompanied by the appropriate amount of dancing.
Too young to worry about money
Paul and I were explaining to the kids that we were not going to take some of our normal trips this year due to Paul pending knee surgery and the possible effects of sequestration hanging over our heads. Later that weekend, the kids noticed that the squirrels were on the bird feeder again and started thinking about ways to keep them off. It was very cute and they were really putting some thought into their ideas then my 6 year-old son says, "yeah, but money is tight right now so I don't think we will be able to do any of those things". The solemn expression on his face and the forehead gently resting in his hand just added to my snickers.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Marty sunk the Titanic
So, either our kids have been incredibly well behaved during the last three months or I have been too busy to notice the funny stuff. I kind of doubt the former and I am showing signs of the latter.
I don't know why, but everything in our house (everything funny anyway) seems to happen at bedtime and when I have a migraine. So at bedtime last night when my head was pounding, I should have steeled myself against the inevitable.
Everyone was getting their jammies on, Marty says that he is out of clean underwear so I go into the girls room to grab some from the clean laundry basket. I pass Paul on the way out as he is giving the girls kisses and hugs. As I walk back into Marty's room, I am greeted by a sight that no mother should witness. My five year old son is lounging (the only word that can describe it appropriately)on his bed, naked as a jay-bird with one hand behind his head and the other one covering up his junk. He looks up and smiles at me. I fled the room before my head exploded. By this time Paul has finished saying goodnight to the girls and is staring at his wife who has apparently just gone insane because she is crying, leaning over the railing, trying to laugh as silently as possible, while waving a stack of clean underwear in the air. He goes into Marty's room.
"Son, get your jammies on. NOW"
Paul walks back to me, looks into my eyes and with a quiet and sincere voice says,
"I want you to paint me like one of your French girls, Jack."
I can't tell you what happened after that because my head finally exploded.
I don't know why, but everything in our house (everything funny anyway) seems to happen at bedtime and when I have a migraine. So at bedtime last night when my head was pounding, I should have steeled myself against the inevitable.
Everyone was getting their jammies on, Marty says that he is out of clean underwear so I go into the girls room to grab some from the clean laundry basket. I pass Paul on the way out as he is giving the girls kisses and hugs. As I walk back into Marty's room, I am greeted by a sight that no mother should witness. My five year old son is lounging (the only word that can describe it appropriately)on his bed, naked as a jay-bird with one hand behind his head and the other one covering up his junk. He looks up and smiles at me. I fled the room before my head exploded. By this time Paul has finished saying goodnight to the girls and is staring at his wife who has apparently just gone insane because she is crying, leaning over the railing, trying to laugh as silently as possible, while waving a stack of clean underwear in the air. He goes into Marty's room.
"Son, get your jammies on. NOW"
Paul walks back to me, looks into my eyes and with a quiet and sincere voice says,
"I want you to paint me like one of your French girls, Jack."
I can't tell you what happened after that because my head finally exploded.
Friday, September 2, 2011
Sorry, not funny..
Yesterday was not a good day. As a parent, there are those days that make you question whether or not all of your efforts to raise your children with the values that deem important were in vain. Yesterday was one of those days for me.
Short story:
I found out that my nine-year-old daughter had been a part of a group of girls who teased a boy, two years her senior, to the extent that all the other school age kids laughed at him and he ended up crying. (NOT HAPPY)
Long story:
I had stayed home to work so that I could take all three kids to the open house at their school. They would be able to meet their teacher, see their classroom, etc. I thought it would be a good idea, especially for Marty as he is going into Kindergarten and has not attended this school before. As I am picking up the kids, the director to the center tells me that we need to talk when I get back. Uh-oh. She tells me which of the kids it regards but didn’t want to go into details. I give Mary (the subject of my future conversation with the director) the chance to tell me what happened before we get back. She told me some of it, but not what I would consider to be the most important parts.
Apparently one girl made a comment about the boy in question. Insulting; yes. Inflammatory; no. Then it was decided that they should write it down (because apparently they thought it was just too funny). Then it was decided that they should take this piece of paper and tape it to the boy’s back so that all the other kids could see how funny they were. It did not end well. I do, however, commend the center for their response. The entire group of girls was held responsible and from the conversation I had with the director, the lessons she tried to impress up on them were exactly the ones I included with my conversations with Mary. They try to be really careful, especially during summer when so many older kids are there all day, to break up any activities that become exclusionary to other children.
Many of you did not know me in 6th grade but some of you may know the story. My entire school year was made hell by a pack of rabid twelve-year-old girls who, for reasons outside my understanding, decided to make me the sole target of all their negative attention. I lost friends due to lies they spread. I received hate mail in my desk signed by almost everyone in my class. I was alienated at lunch and other activities because they were popular and others did as they wanted. I was saved only by my parents, my teacher, and the few good friends I had at the time who refused to follow along. I still remember now, almost twenty eight years later, going home almost every day in tears and sometimes I still cry with the heart of a twelve-year-old girl. I did not realize until adulthood that my parents were just as heartbroken and frustrated as me. They met over and over with my teacher and principal to try and figure how to stop it. That summer we moved away because my father was re-assigned to a base overseas. It was probably the happiest move of my father’s Naval career for me.
My children know this story. I have told it to them before when they themselves were the target of teasing and negative attention. Mary is particularly sensitive to teasing but I had always comforted myself with the idea that, as hard as it was for her, at least she was not on the other side of it. Mary is a beautiful girl (though I am biased as her mother) and I have always worried that she would become the stereotypical blond bombshell that we all feared and/or idolized as we walked down the halls between class. The easy popularity that seems to come with being attractive has always made me more adamant in teaching about inner-beauty and not judging others. Mary is going into 4th grade this year, only two years away from being classmates with my past tormentors.
The disappointment I felt when hearing the whole story from the center director was only over powered by my empathy for the boy. My conversations with Mary ranged from angry to tearful and still I am unsure if my words left any impression at all. Yes, she expressed regret and yes, she understands how they made the boy feel and yes, she knows it was wrong. Yet when punishment was meted out, she insisted that she “didn’t do anything”. Now, while Mary’s part in all of this was smaller than others, she was still a part of it and I cannot excuse even her partial involvement. Just as the director did, I held her just as responsible as anyone else in the group. I cringed at the repeated, “I don’t know” response. Why did you do it? I don’t know. Didn’t you know it was wrong? Yes. Then why did you go along with it? I don’t know…
The time for I don’t know is over. The time for teaching right and wrong has past. If my children know what is right and wrong but still cannot make the correct choices based on that knowledge then something else has to be done. I want children who will stand up and speak out against the wrong or stand up and support the right. I want children who realize that their inactions can effect others just as much as their actions. I just don’t know how to do it. I can say it over and over but I cannot be sure that the concept is taken to heart. I realize that all of our experiences through life shape who we are and despite of or maybe because of the childhood hardships and adolescent fumblings I have come to a place where I like who I am. I think I am a good person. I want to raise good people. I just don’t know how much of this I can chalk up to being a learning experience and how much I have to consider the start of a problem.
You may now return to your regularly scheduled programming.
Short story:
I found out that my nine-year-old daughter had been a part of a group of girls who teased a boy, two years her senior, to the extent that all the other school age kids laughed at him and he ended up crying. (NOT HAPPY)
Long story:
I had stayed home to work so that I could take all three kids to the open house at their school. They would be able to meet their teacher, see their classroom, etc. I thought it would be a good idea, especially for Marty as he is going into Kindergarten and has not attended this school before. As I am picking up the kids, the director to the center tells me that we need to talk when I get back. Uh-oh. She tells me which of the kids it regards but didn’t want to go into details. I give Mary (the subject of my future conversation with the director) the chance to tell me what happened before we get back. She told me some of it, but not what I would consider to be the most important parts.
Apparently one girl made a comment about the boy in question. Insulting; yes. Inflammatory; no. Then it was decided that they should write it down (because apparently they thought it was just too funny). Then it was decided that they should take this piece of paper and tape it to the boy’s back so that all the other kids could see how funny they were. It did not end well. I do, however, commend the center for their response. The entire group of girls was held responsible and from the conversation I had with the director, the lessons she tried to impress up on them were exactly the ones I included with my conversations with Mary. They try to be really careful, especially during summer when so many older kids are there all day, to break up any activities that become exclusionary to other children.
Many of you did not know me in 6th grade but some of you may know the story. My entire school year was made hell by a pack of rabid twelve-year-old girls who, for reasons outside my understanding, decided to make me the sole target of all their negative attention. I lost friends due to lies they spread. I received hate mail in my desk signed by almost everyone in my class. I was alienated at lunch and other activities because they were popular and others did as they wanted. I was saved only by my parents, my teacher, and the few good friends I had at the time who refused to follow along. I still remember now, almost twenty eight years later, going home almost every day in tears and sometimes I still cry with the heart of a twelve-year-old girl. I did not realize until adulthood that my parents were just as heartbroken and frustrated as me. They met over and over with my teacher and principal to try and figure how to stop it. That summer we moved away because my father was re-assigned to a base overseas. It was probably the happiest move of my father’s Naval career for me.
My children know this story. I have told it to them before when they themselves were the target of teasing and negative attention. Mary is particularly sensitive to teasing but I had always comforted myself with the idea that, as hard as it was for her, at least she was not on the other side of it. Mary is a beautiful girl (though I am biased as her mother) and I have always worried that she would become the stereotypical blond bombshell that we all feared and/or idolized as we walked down the halls between class. The easy popularity that seems to come with being attractive has always made me more adamant in teaching about inner-beauty and not judging others. Mary is going into 4th grade this year, only two years away from being classmates with my past tormentors.
The disappointment I felt when hearing the whole story from the center director was only over powered by my empathy for the boy. My conversations with Mary ranged from angry to tearful and still I am unsure if my words left any impression at all. Yes, she expressed regret and yes, she understands how they made the boy feel and yes, she knows it was wrong. Yet when punishment was meted out, she insisted that she “didn’t do anything”. Now, while Mary’s part in all of this was smaller than others, she was still a part of it and I cannot excuse even her partial involvement. Just as the director did, I held her just as responsible as anyone else in the group. I cringed at the repeated, “I don’t know” response. Why did you do it? I don’t know. Didn’t you know it was wrong? Yes. Then why did you go along with it? I don’t know…
The time for I don’t know is over. The time for teaching right and wrong has past. If my children know what is right and wrong but still cannot make the correct choices based on that knowledge then something else has to be done. I want children who will stand up and speak out against the wrong or stand up and support the right. I want children who realize that their inactions can effect others just as much as their actions. I just don’t know how to do it. I can say it over and over but I cannot be sure that the concept is taken to heart. I realize that all of our experiences through life shape who we are and despite of or maybe because of the childhood hardships and adolescent fumblings I have come to a place where I like who I am. I think I am a good person. I want to raise good people. I just don’t know how much of this I can chalk up to being a learning experience and how much I have to consider the start of a problem.
You may now return to your regularly scheduled programming.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Documentary, my dear Watson!
It was an easy night at home with no homework (yet), showers done and nothing else on the schedule. The kids were allowed to watch a little bit of their shows and then Paul wanted to pick something slightly more educational, just so their accomplishment for summer was not listed as “watched the entire series of ‘H2O, Just Add Water’ on Netflix”. We looked around and came across a documentary on Lewis and Clark. Mary started getting excited since she had learned about Lewis and Clark in school. Then Mary tried to tell Sarah all about it so that Sarah could get excited too. Sarah started slicing her arms through the air like a MBL umpire calling a runner safe at home.
“Mary!” she exclaimed. “I am on summer vacation! I am not supposed to learn anything new!”
Yeah, Paul and I lost it…
“Mary!” she exclaimed. “I am on summer vacation! I am not supposed to learn anything new!”
Yeah, Paul and I lost it…
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Crack is Whack!
We were playing with the kids last night before dinner and one of them had brought into our room an old stuffed bunny that had been mine as a child. Mr. Bunny is well worn but still has most of his stuffing. Marty was moving his ears at different angles like old TV antennae and talking to himself in sing-song.
Marty: Crap, Crap, Crappy head.
I looked at my husband to see if he heard the same thing I did.
Marty: Crap, Crap, Crappy head.
Me: Marty, what did you say?
Marty: Crap!
Me: Do you remember that we talked about that word and why we don’t use it? It is a nasty word for ‘poop’. Please don’t say it.
Marty: Well then what is the word for like something broken?
Me: You mean ‘cracked’?
Marty: Yeah! Crack, Crack, Crackhead. He is a Crackhead.
Maybe I should just leave well enough alone!
Marty: Crap, Crap, Crappy head.
I looked at my husband to see if he heard the same thing I did.
Marty: Crap, Crap, Crappy head.
Me: Marty, what did you say?
Marty: Crap!
Me: Do you remember that we talked about that word and why we don’t use it? It is a nasty word for ‘poop’. Please don’t say it.
Marty: Well then what is the word for like something broken?
Me: You mean ‘cracked’?
Marty: Yeah! Crack, Crack, Crackhead. He is a Crackhead.
Maybe I should just leave well enough alone!
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Lost in Translation
Marty and the girls were playing around in the living room while I cooked dinner the other night (yummy Chicken Marsala!) when everything erupted into giggles. Honing my sense of hearing as only mothers can, I hear the girls teasing Marty because he had put his pants on backwards getting dressed in the morning and had been wearing them backwards all day. Now, this was not mean “ha-ha” teasing but rather the girls pointing at Marty’s pants, Marty wagging his behind at them and then everyone falling down laughing. Then repeat as necessary. I heard the girls exclaim over and over, “the fly is on your dupa!” (dupa = butt).
Dinner proceeded without any other events and then later at bedtime, I reminded Marty to make sure his pants were on the right way in the morning. As he undressed he kept looking over his shorts turning them over and over.
Me: Whets the matter?
Marty: I am looking for the bug.
Me: What bug?
Marty: MarySarah (always stated as a unit) said that there was a bug on my pants.
Me: (realization dawning) No, sweetie, your zipper was on your dupa because your pants were backwards. Your zipper is also called a "fly".
Marty: Oh, I thought they meant for real.
I can’t help but think of the other idioms he may have issues with until he gets older:
On the fly
Fly ball
Cost an arm and a leg
Break a leg
Drive me up the wall
Hit the Books (or the sack)
Hold your Horses
Kick the Bucket
No room to swing a cat
On the fence
Pick up your ears
Put a sock in it
Raining cats and dogs
Smell a rat
Spitting image
Smell something fishy
Till the cows come home
Wag the dog
When pigs fly
You are what you eat
Dinner proceeded without any other events and then later at bedtime, I reminded Marty to make sure his pants were on the right way in the morning. As he undressed he kept looking over his shorts turning them over and over.
Me: Whets the matter?
Marty: I am looking for the bug.
Me: What bug?
Marty: MarySarah (always stated as a unit) said that there was a bug on my pants.
Me: (realization dawning) No, sweetie, your zipper was on your dupa because your pants were backwards. Your zipper is also called a "fly".
Marty: Oh, I thought they meant for real.
I can’t help but think of the other idioms he may have issues with until he gets older:
On the fly
Fly ball
Cost an arm and a leg
Break a leg
Drive me up the wall
Hit the Books (or the sack)
Hold your Horses
Kick the Bucket
No room to swing a cat
On the fence
Pick up your ears
Put a sock in it
Raining cats and dogs
Smell a rat
Spitting image
Smell something fishy
Till the cows come home
Wag the dog
When pigs fly
You are what you eat
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Geometry & Genetics
Okay, so these stories don’t really have too much to do with higher learner but it was a catchy title and the stories are definitely worth reading.
Geometry: Marty was riding around with me this past weekend and showing off all the new shape names that he learned in Spanish. He already knows how to count to ten and most of his colors in Spanish but this is new so he was very excited. I hope you can use your imagination when picturing this little boy announcing each shape as if he is a game show host or late night talk show side-kick. I have put my mental reactions in for your enjoyment.
Marty: Oval (alright, here we go)
Oooovaaalooo (snicker)
Marty: Cone
Cooonnnoo!! (okay, now you are just adding an “o” to everything)
Marty: Square
Cuadrado! (okay, maybe he does know them)
Marty: Half Moon (really?)
Media Luna!! (wow, I’m impressed!)
Marty: Parallelogram (does he even know what that is?)
-slight pause-
Parallelograma!!!!!!! (snort)
David, this one was for you!
Genetics: Sarah was getting ready for bed and instead of sitting on her bed to put on her pajama pants, she decided to stand on the bed and had her pants trapped under her feet. Her solution? Just jump up high enough in the air to pull up your pants and then land back down on the bed! Paul looks at her and then me and shakes his head.
“That’s your half” he says then he walks out of the room to check on Marty.
“What did he mean 'your half’, mommy?” asked Mary. I tried to explain that every baby is made up with half of mommy and half of daddy. She looks quite disturbed.
“I am half daddy?! That must be why I burp and fart so much!”
Geometry: Marty was riding around with me this past weekend and showing off all the new shape names that he learned in Spanish. He already knows how to count to ten and most of his colors in Spanish but this is new so he was very excited. I hope you can use your imagination when picturing this little boy announcing each shape as if he is a game show host or late night talk show side-kick. I have put my mental reactions in for your enjoyment.
Marty: Oval (alright, here we go)
Oooovaaalooo (snicker)
Marty: Cone
Cooonnnoo!! (okay, now you are just adding an “o” to everything)
Marty: Square
Cuadrado! (okay, maybe he does know them)
Marty: Half Moon (really?)
Media Luna!! (wow, I’m impressed!)
Marty: Parallelogram (does he even know what that is?)
Parallelograma!!!!!!! (snort)
David, this one was for you!
Genetics: Sarah was getting ready for bed and instead of sitting on her bed to put on her pajama pants, she decided to stand on the bed and had her pants trapped under her feet. Her solution? Just jump up high enough in the air to pull up your pants and then land back down on the bed! Paul looks at her and then me and shakes his head.
“That’s your half” he says then he walks out of the room to check on Marty.
“What did he mean 'your half’, mommy?” asked Mary. I tried to explain that every baby is made up with half of mommy and half of daddy. She looks quite disturbed.
“I am half daddy?! That must be why I burp and fart so much!”
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Leprechauns & Lesbians
I have been saving this one…
Sarah comes in while I am getting ready for work and says that one of the boys at the daycare was calling her names the day before. The boy in question is a little older than the girls, maybe twelve, and the source of many reports of teasing.
“Well, what did he call you?”
“He called me a lesbian.” (Now, Sarah does not sound upset or offended at this.)
“I’m sorry, what?”
“He called me a lesbian.” Slight pause…
“Mommy, are lesbians real?”
At this point Sarah is looking at me as if she is asking about a magical creature only imaginable in fairy tales and I swear to you that I was so close to saying:
“No sweetie, they come from the magical land of Unicorns and Leprechauns”
So now at my office, we just shout “Leprechauns and Lesbians” as an exclamation.
For those of you concerned at the sexual overtones of the teasing, I did speak with the teachers and director of the daycare regarding the use of such terms. I did not feel up to actually discussing with Sarah the true meaning of the word, not that she asked me. Phew!
Sarah comes in while I am getting ready for work and says that one of the boys at the daycare was calling her names the day before. The boy in question is a little older than the girls, maybe twelve, and the source of many reports of teasing.
“Well, what did he call you?”
“He called me a lesbian.” (Now, Sarah does not sound upset or offended at this.)
“I’m sorry, what?”
“He called me a lesbian.” Slight pause…
“Mommy, are lesbians real?”
At this point Sarah is looking at me as if she is asking about a magical creature only imaginable in fairy tales and I swear to you that I was so close to saying:
“No sweetie, they come from the magical land of Unicorns and Leprechauns”
So now at my office, we just shout “Leprechauns and Lesbians” as an exclamation.
For those of you concerned at the sexual overtones of the teasing, I did speak with the teachers and director of the daycare regarding the use of such terms. I did not feel up to actually discussing with Sarah the true meaning of the word, not that she asked me. Phew!
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Slammin' Hot Nuts!
Sorry it has been awhile but I saved up a couple of good ones…
Slammin: I put Scrabble Slam on the kids’ Christmas wish list. I thought it would be a great game, right? Work on the kids spelling? Have fun? Right? So here is how the first round went...
TOOL
POOL
POOP
POOT
TOOT
Yeah, I think my kids new how to spell POOP without anyone shelling out $19.99.
Hot: I had just gotten out of bed when Marty came in and gave me a hug. The boy has a seriously distorted perception of temperature; he only takes cold showers because he doesn’t like the “hot” water. Anyway, he gives me a hug and says, “you’re hot”. I tickled him and then he says: “Get away from me, you hotter!”
Me: “No honey, that hottie, not hotter”
Marty: “You… are a real Hottie!”
Nuts: During a Saturday lunch, Marty wants to know what the ingredients are in the Honey Mustard dip for his chicken. Figuring it was pretty self explanatory I read the label out loud. As soon as I am done, Sarah cuts in with:
S: Phew! I was worried that there were nuts in there!
Me: Why?
S: My friend Robbie is allergic to nuts, he can’t have any.
I already knew this and considering that Robbie was not having lunch with us, I wasn’t sure why she was suddenly so concerned. I must have looked confused or worried because she suddenly has a very sincere look on her face and she tries to assure me:
S: Not the private parts (pointing down to her lap), the eatable kind…
I swear if she had even the slightest hint of sarcasm in her voice, I would have taken her to task but she was absolutely serious.
Slammin: I put Scrabble Slam on the kids’ Christmas wish list. I thought it would be a great game, right? Work on the kids spelling? Have fun? Right? So here is how the first round went...
TOOL
POOL
POOP
POOT
TOOT
Yeah, I think my kids new how to spell POOP without anyone shelling out $19.99.
Hot: I had just gotten out of bed when Marty came in and gave me a hug. The boy has a seriously distorted perception of temperature; he only takes cold showers because he doesn’t like the “hot” water. Anyway, he gives me a hug and says, “you’re hot”. I tickled him and then he says: “Get away from me, you hotter!”
Me: “No honey, that hottie, not hotter”
Marty: “You… are a real Hottie!”
Nuts: During a Saturday lunch, Marty wants to know what the ingredients are in the Honey Mustard dip for his chicken. Figuring it was pretty self explanatory I read the label out loud. As soon as I am done, Sarah cuts in with:
S: Phew! I was worried that there were nuts in there!
Me: Why?
S: My friend Robbie is allergic to nuts, he can’t have any.
I already knew this and considering that Robbie was not having lunch with us, I wasn’t sure why she was suddenly so concerned. I must have looked confused or worried because she suddenly has a very sincere look on her face and she tries to assure me:
S: Not the private parts (pointing down to her lap), the eatable kind…
I swear if she had even the slightest hint of sarcasm in her voice, I would have taken her to task but she was absolutely serious.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Thanksgiving Holiday Highlights
Well, there were many adventures during our Thanksgiving Holiday. For the sake of all our sanity let’s skip the details of the drive from Virginia to St. Louis, MO via Indianapolis to see family. Paul’s tolerance for the “mommy, mommy, mommy” from the backseat always seem to wear out about two minutes before mine did but he was doing all the driving so that’s ok.
We had a wonderful visit with family in Indianapolis and St. Louis and we actually did some new stuff in St. Louis even though I have been visiting there since childhood. We went to the City Museum for the first time and it was totally cool! It is a huge building (an old warehouse or factory) that has been completely redone on the inside with recycled materials from other factories that have been shut down. Apparently the builder/designer was collecting this stuff for decades! The stair spindles are old conveyor belt rollers and some of the newel posts are old acetylene welding tanks. There is a mass of rebar, tiled mosaic floors with dragons and turtles, tunnels and slides. The ceiling in one room is a wire mesh upon which shredded silk material has been sewn. There is a bank vault door, a human sized hamster wheel, and an indoor skate park. We did not even go into the aquarium or on the roof, there was too much to see in one day! Oh, and did I mention the indoor 10 story slide made from old chutes in a shoe factory? Awesome! I have added a new flicker bar on the right side of the blog and have included some of the better pictures.
One of the other highlights was a family gathering on Friday night before we left. One in which my husband and Chris, my cousin-in-law, spent the evening trying to get Chris’ four year old daughter to say, “Fork & Spoon”. Of course, since I have promised to spell things phonetically, it comes out “fokin spoon”, “fawkin spoon”, or even “fuckin spoon”. So every now and then you would hear one of the guys say, “hey Claire, what’s this?” while holding up the aforementioned cutlery. My friend Lisa and I have decided to name our first bar, “The Fork & Spoon” which would be right next door to our bakery, “That Place With the Stuff”.
We had a wonderful visit with family in Indianapolis and St. Louis and we actually did some new stuff in St. Louis even though I have been visiting there since childhood. We went to the City Museum for the first time and it was totally cool! It is a huge building (an old warehouse or factory) that has been completely redone on the inside with recycled materials from other factories that have been shut down. Apparently the builder/designer was collecting this stuff for decades! The stair spindles are old conveyor belt rollers and some of the newel posts are old acetylene welding tanks. There is a mass of rebar, tiled mosaic floors with dragons and turtles, tunnels and slides. The ceiling in one room is a wire mesh upon which shredded silk material has been sewn. There is a bank vault door, a human sized hamster wheel, and an indoor skate park. We did not even go into the aquarium or on the roof, there was too much to see in one day! Oh, and did I mention the indoor 10 story slide made from old chutes in a shoe factory? Awesome! I have added a new flicker bar on the right side of the blog and have included some of the better pictures.
One of the other highlights was a family gathering on Friday night before we left. One in which my husband and Chris, my cousin-in-law, spent the evening trying to get Chris’ four year old daughter to say, “Fork & Spoon”. Of course, since I have promised to spell things phonetically, it comes out “fokin spoon”, “fawkin spoon”, or even “fuckin spoon”. So every now and then you would hear one of the guys say, “hey Claire, what’s this?” while holding up the aforementioned cutlery. My friend Lisa and I have decided to name our first bar, “The Fork & Spoon” which would be right next door to our bakery, “That Place With the Stuff”.
Friday, November 12, 2010
Stupid Criminal File
I have discovered that if nothing else, my son is a really bad liar and no where near a criminal mastermind.
After dinner last night, some of the kids were doing their reading homework while others were coloring at the table. I was in the laundry room right next to the table when I hear Sarah, “Awh, you’re gonna get in trouble, you got it on the tablecloth.”
Marty immediately denied with, “No I didn’t”. I turned slightly to see what was going on and there is my son; four years old, holding on to an orange marker and I see some orange on the tablecloth (vinyl, of course) between the two kids. Sighing heavily, I finished grabbing the clothes out of the dryer and come out to see what is going on.
Marty, still holding on to the orange marker, assures me that he “didn’t do it”. As I approach the table I can see that it is not just a line gone astray but something written on the tablecloth. I have to stare at it a moment and flatten out the tablecloth to read it. It read “martin dilick”.
Mr. 'I didn’t do it' wrote his own name and denies it with the marker still clutched in his hand. My son is either the worst criminal ever, or a future politician!
After dinner last night, some of the kids were doing their reading homework while others were coloring at the table. I was in the laundry room right next to the table when I hear Sarah, “Awh, you’re gonna get in trouble, you got it on the tablecloth.”
Marty immediately denied with, “No I didn’t”. I turned slightly to see what was going on and there is my son; four years old, holding on to an orange marker and I see some orange on the tablecloth (vinyl, of course) between the two kids. Sighing heavily, I finished grabbing the clothes out of the dryer and come out to see what is going on.
Marty, still holding on to the orange marker, assures me that he “didn’t do it”. As I approach the table I can see that it is not just a line gone astray but something written on the tablecloth. I have to stare at it a moment and flatten out the tablecloth to read it. It read “martin dilick”.
Mr. 'I didn’t do it' wrote his own name and denies it with the marker still clutched in his hand. My son is either the worst criminal ever, or a future politician!
Monday, October 11, 2010
Atta girl!
I am not sure how we got to this point in our dinner conversation on Saturday but Paul interjected a comment on how someone we were talking about was "hot". Sarah rolled her eyes and I believe may have even 'tsk'ed when she responded:
"Daddy, how could you possibly think another woman is hot when you are married to my mother!"
I may be paraphrasing slightly because I don't remember the exact words but you get the gist of it don't you?
I love my kids!
"Daddy, how could you possibly think another woman is hot when you are married to my mother!"
I may be paraphrasing slightly because I don't remember the exact words but you get the gist of it don't you?
I love my kids!
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Aaawww....
This is one for the tender hearted.
Mary woke up early on Monday and came into our room complaining of not feeling well. I knew that she was still getting over a cold so I told her to go back to bed for little bit and I would check her out when it was time to get up for school. She complained about a headache and a stomach ache but had no fever. I am really not one to keep the kids home for every sniffle, especially since both Paul and I work full time but I could tell that she really did not feel good. I tried to determine exactly how bad it was;
Me: Now Mary I need you to be honest with me because I cannot feel what is in your body, I can only see what it’s on the outside. You don’t have a temperature and you are not throwing up. How bad do you really feel?
Mary: Yeah, you can’t see what is going on inside because you are not in my body. Well, you are in my heart because I love you but that is different.
She said it totally honestly and was not just trying to sweet talk me which made it that much dearer to me.
Needless to say, she stayed home that day…
Mary woke up early on Monday and came into our room complaining of not feeling well. I knew that she was still getting over a cold so I told her to go back to bed for little bit and I would check her out when it was time to get up for school. She complained about a headache and a stomach ache but had no fever. I am really not one to keep the kids home for every sniffle, especially since both Paul and I work full time but I could tell that she really did not feel good. I tried to determine exactly how bad it was;
Me: Now Mary I need you to be honest with me because I cannot feel what is in your body, I can only see what it’s on the outside. You don’t have a temperature and you are not throwing up. How bad do you really feel?
Mary: Yeah, you can’t see what is going on inside because you are not in my body. Well, you are in my heart because I love you but that is different.
She said it totally honestly and was not just trying to sweet talk me which made it that much dearer to me.
Needless to say, she stayed home that day…
Monday, September 20, 2010
Here's the wind up...and the pitch
There are so many stories that simply take too long to set up for what ends up being a one-liner. Unless you set up the situation, it is just not as funny. In order to make this worth while, I am putting in a collection of one liners here...
1) This past weekend was my son’s fourth birthday. We were on our way to his party site when an impatient driver decided to take a short cut in the parking lot which put them in our lane and cut us off. My husband, being the full-on-red-blooded-American-male that he is could not resist commenting.
Paul: (Sarcastically) Oh, yeah sure, just come on over in my lane! Thanks a lot Jackass!
Marty: (Delightedly Surprised) You know his name Daddy!?
Paul: (Sheepishly) Yes, yes I do.
2) Just like every other kid in America, my children have started “hating” everything. It has become a pet peeve of mine and I keep explaining to them that hate is a very strong word and that they shouldn’t use it unless they REALLY mean it. After Paul played a prank on her, Sarah looked at her father and started to say, “I hate...” She was cut off with a look then after the slightest delay she continued with a raised eye brow and squinted eyes. She bore her eyes into her father and enunciated very carefully, “I strongly dislike you!”
3) During a recent road trip it was Marty’s turn to select the movie for the DVD system. I offered the suggestion of Pixar’s Cars because he hadn’t watched it in a long time. I was then informed that, “Mommy (sigh), when Daddy watches the races every weekend, I watch with him so don’t tell ME (complete with head bobble) that I don’t watch cars”.
4) This is an oldie but still one of my favorites. When Mary was only three or four years old we were driving to Pennsylvania and we passed by what I believe is a salt mine. There were various machines about as well as piles of rubble and sand. Mary looked over and asked, “What’s that Daddy?” Paul looked over and simply stated, “That’s a mine.” Mary then exclaimed excitedly, “That’s all yours Daddy?!”
To this day, when ever pass by that same mine on the way to visit family Paul and I still look at it and say, “Yep, datsa mine!” To make it even funnier on the way home from PA just a few weeks ago Marty looked out his window, saw the mine and asked, “What’s that Daddy?” Paul was very careful to answer in the same tone he had over four years before, “That’s a mine”. Then we held our breath…but no such luck.
1) This past weekend was my son’s fourth birthday. We were on our way to his party site when an impatient driver decided to take a short cut in the parking lot which put them in our lane and cut us off. My husband, being the full-on-red-blooded-American-male that he is could not resist commenting.
Paul: (Sarcastically) Oh, yeah sure, just come on over in my lane! Thanks a lot Jackass!
Marty: (Delightedly Surprised) You know his name Daddy!?
Paul: (Sheepishly) Yes, yes I do.
2) Just like every other kid in America, my children have started “hating” everything. It has become a pet peeve of mine and I keep explaining to them that hate is a very strong word and that they shouldn’t use it unless they REALLY mean it. After Paul played a prank on her, Sarah looked at her father and started to say, “I hate...” She was cut off with a look then after the slightest delay she continued with a raised eye brow and squinted eyes. She bore her eyes into her father and enunciated very carefully, “I strongly dislike you!”
3) During a recent road trip it was Marty’s turn to select the movie for the DVD system. I offered the suggestion of Pixar’s Cars because he hadn’t watched it in a long time. I was then informed that, “Mommy (sigh), when Daddy watches the races every weekend, I watch with him so don’t tell ME (complete with head bobble) that I don’t watch cars”.
4) This is an oldie but still one of my favorites. When Mary was only three or four years old we were driving to Pennsylvania and we passed by what I believe is a salt mine. There were various machines about as well as piles of rubble and sand. Mary looked over and asked, “What’s that Daddy?” Paul looked over and simply stated, “That’s a mine.” Mary then exclaimed excitedly, “That’s all yours Daddy?!”
To this day, when ever pass by that same mine on the way to visit family Paul and I still look at it and say, “Yep, datsa mine!” To make it even funnier on the way home from PA just a few weeks ago Marty looked out his window, saw the mine and asked, “What’s that Daddy?” Paul was very careful to answer in the same tone he had over four years before, “That’s a mine”. Then we held our breath…but no such luck.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
It's not what you say; it's how you say it
Kids bicker, kids fight. Anyone who grew up with brothers and sisters know this. Now as a parent it is hard to have patience for the constant whining over what is mine or who touched what. I have always tried to teach my kids manners and a big part of this is how they talk to other people, so tone plays a big role. I constantly remind them that a snarky “fine” or “thanks” will not get them far.
Now my words have come back to me.
After work and school we had some time to play outside. Scooters, bikes and toys were brought out, helmets and pads were donned. Marty, who has no bike of his own, borrowed his sisters. Granted the image of my son riding down the sidewalk on a pink and purple bike with sparkly tassels was funny but the following conversation between Marty and Sarah was even better.
S: Marty! You didn't ask me to ride my bike!
M: Yeah, but you weren’t on it.
S: You still have to ask! (Can you tell by the exclamation points that she is yelling?)
M: Can I ride it since you are not it?
S: FINE!!!
A few moments later….
S: Moooommm tell Marty to give me the bike back, he didn’t ask!
Me: Yes he did, he asked when you yelled at him the first time and you said ‘fine’.
S: Yeah but I said it in a MEAN way which means I didn’t really want him to ride my bike!
The conversation ended with a six year old; eyes wide, mouth agape and the silent “Duh” look on her face. I may have been told that I ‘should have known’ this to which I would have responded if my powers of speech weren’t hampered by the stifling of laughter.
Now my words have come back to me.
After work and school we had some time to play outside. Scooters, bikes and toys were brought out, helmets and pads were donned. Marty, who has no bike of his own, borrowed his sisters. Granted the image of my son riding down the sidewalk on a pink and purple bike with sparkly tassels was funny but the following conversation between Marty and Sarah was even better.
S: Marty! You didn't ask me to ride my bike!
M: Yeah, but you weren’t on it.
S: You still have to ask! (Can you tell by the exclamation points that she is yelling?)
M: Can I ride it since you are not it?
S: FINE!!!
A few moments later….
S: Moooommm tell Marty to give me the bike back, he didn’t ask!
Me: Yes he did, he asked when you yelled at him the first time and you said ‘fine’.
S: Yeah but I said it in a MEAN way which means I didn’t really want him to ride my bike!
The conversation ended with a six year old; eyes wide, mouth agape and the silent “Duh” look on her face. I may have been told that I ‘should have known’ this to which I would have responded if my powers of speech weren’t hampered by the stifling of laughter.
Friday, August 13, 2010
The Ladies Man
I am a mother, I am biased and I know this, but my son is just about the cutest thing alive and one of the coolest dudes I know. Granted, he is not even four years old but I am betting he is going be loved by the ladies. How do I know this? There are the eyes, beautiful swirled green with dark lashes about a foot long. An easy laugh and great sense of humor and apparently he is already working on his pickup lines. The only thing that bothers me is that some of the stuff that comes out of his mouth just isn't appropriate (but funny) to say to one's mother.
For example: On a recent family trip we were at a relatives house and during a conversation, Marty started playing this game with me. He would lay on the floor in front of my chair and slide his hand up the leg of my pants. Not high, just at the ankle. I would pretend that something scary had just crawled on me and bat at his hand. Endless laughter and repetition ensued. After a few minutes, I was done with the game and told him so. He then looked at me, held up his legs and uttered: "Now you try to get in my pants!"
These become even funnier when you consider the history that Marty and I share with such things. I believe the first one was the most infamous.
Marty had been getting in trouble with his father for coming into our bed on weekend mornings and had been warned to stay in his own bed. Paul usually gets up before I do on the weekends so one morning, after he got up, I felt a small shift in the bed and opened my eyes. I was greeted by my son's darling face only inches from mine and he says: "I wait for him to leave so I could sleep wich you".
To make things worse, I believe it was winter time and I had been huddled under our down comforter all night. When his little hand touched my arm he looks at me and says: "You're hot!"
Like I said, somewhat unsettling, but FUNNY!
I know that I have not been posting much but I will try to make sure I get this stuff out there. If there is ever a lull, I can pull out some of the classics such as:
Ders poop onda florah
The Sean Connery incident
For example: On a recent family trip we were at a relatives house and during a conversation, Marty started playing this game with me. He would lay on the floor in front of my chair and slide his hand up the leg of my pants. Not high, just at the ankle. I would pretend that something scary had just crawled on me and bat at his hand. Endless laughter and repetition ensued. After a few minutes, I was done with the game and told him so. He then looked at me, held up his legs and uttered: "Now you try to get in my pants!"
These become even funnier when you consider the history that Marty and I share with such things. I believe the first one was the most infamous.
Marty had been getting in trouble with his father for coming into our bed on weekend mornings and had been warned to stay in his own bed. Paul usually gets up before I do on the weekends so one morning, after he got up, I felt a small shift in the bed and opened my eyes. I was greeted by my son's darling face only inches from mine and he says: "I wait for him to leave so I could sleep wich you".
To make things worse, I believe it was winter time and I had been huddled under our down comforter all night. When his little hand touched my arm he looks at me and says: "You're hot!"
Like I said, somewhat unsettling, but FUNNY!
I know that I have not been posting much but I will try to make sure I get this stuff out there. If there is ever a lull, I can pull out some of the classics such as:
Ders poop onda florah
The Sean Connery incident
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
The gas powered family
I knew even before having kids that kids think gas is funny. I remember thinking gas was funny. My husband still thinks gas is funny but I never thought it could be used as a parenting tool. I hope all of you reading this have already read my personal note and know that I realize this is not parenting at its best.
Trying to get the kids up in the morning can be a challenge especially when it is prior to 6 AM. One morning Sarah would simply not wake up. Paul crawled into her bunk and tried waking her but wiggles and "no"s were all we got. Paul sat silently for one moment and the said "wait for it", he repeated again "wait for it" and then passed gas. Sarah bolted out of bed with an exclamation regarding the smell after only a few seconds. Now when we need to get them moving, Dad just walks in and says "wait for it".
Works every time
In a related story, I was packing for a trip when Marty came in. I happen to be taking a break and was lying on the floor. He promptly plopped down on my stomach and leaned over to give me a kiss. The he started playing some odd game where he tries to keep his face directly in front of yours so you can't see anything else. Then all of a sudden he starts laughing and announced that he had tooted. Before I could ask for the proper response to such an action he started wiggling and squirming on my stomach.
"What are you doing?"
"I rub my toot on you!"
Yeah - thanks.
Trying to get the kids up in the morning can be a challenge especially when it is prior to 6 AM. One morning Sarah would simply not wake up. Paul crawled into her bunk and tried waking her but wiggles and "no"s were all we got. Paul sat silently for one moment and the said "wait for it", he repeated again "wait for it" and then passed gas. Sarah bolted out of bed with an exclamation regarding the smell after only a few seconds. Now when we need to get them moving, Dad just walks in and says "wait for it".
Works every time
In a related story, I was packing for a trip when Marty came in. I happen to be taking a break and was lying on the floor. He promptly plopped down on my stomach and leaned over to give me a kiss. The he started playing some odd game where he tries to keep his face directly in front of yours so you can't see anything else. Then all of a sudden he starts laughing and announced that he had tooted. Before I could ask for the proper response to such an action he started wiggling and squirming on my stomach.
"What are you doing?"
"I rub my toot on you!"
Yeah - thanks.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Now that I have a blog, nothing funny happens...
This is my first blog, my inaugural post. How sad is it that as soon as I decided to start publishing these stories that my kids decided to start behaving.
I just wanted to write down a few quick ones from this past week.
All the kids spent five days at Grandma and Grandpa's house last week. While driving back home they were informing us of all the "field trips" they went on and what they did. Mary said the one thing she saw at a museum reminded her of her science lesson in school where they learned about "asses and bases". Um, sweetie, do you mean "acids and bases"?
Looking through one of my favorite catalogs recently where they sell very odd gifts, they were listing a set of pint glasses and I stopped to read the description. It was the Seven Deadly Sins pint glasses, sold in sets of eight.
If you don't get that, stop reading.
I just wanted to write down a few quick ones from this past week.
All the kids spent five days at Grandma and Grandpa's house last week. While driving back home they were informing us of all the "field trips" they went on and what they did. Mary said the one thing she saw at a museum reminded her of her science lesson in school where they learned about "asses and bases". Um, sweetie, do you mean "acids and bases"?
Looking through one of my favorite catalogs recently where they sell very odd gifts, they were listing a set of pint glasses and I stopped to read the description. It was the Seven Deadly Sins pint glasses, sold in sets of eight.
If you don't get that, stop reading.
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