Haven't We All?

Me: Tomorrow, we need to get a gift for Girlfriend's birthday party.
Daughter: Oh, this is bad. This is bad, this is bad, this is bad, bad, bad.
Me: What? Why?
Daughter: I have no idea what to get her.
Me: Well... the best gifts to give are usually the ones you would like best yourself.
Daughter: Hm. Well, I've always wanted a water bed.

Don't Play a Playah

Me, to Son: See if you can sweet talk your father into putting up the Christmas lights on the house while I'm away.
Son: Okay. Dad, mom said I had to try and sweet talk you into putting up the Christmas lights.
Me: Heyyyy!
Hubby: That's right! Us men have to stick together!
Son: Yep. But for that piece of information, you're gonna have to let me stay up late tonight.

The Best Excuses

Two weeks ago we babysat three adorable wee girlies while their parents went on a (much needed) overnight vacation. Wee girly #2, a four year old, made this fab excuse, as she and I together surveyed her lap full of spaghetti: "Oh! I'm not a messy eater. I just got bad spaghetti."

I was reminded of it yesterday, when Son knocked over something on the kitchen counter, and blurted: "Wow. My elbow just got a growth spurt. No really!"

Yikes!

Daughter, at dinner: Am I dreaming? No, really. Am I?
Son: Well, if you are then maybe this won't hurt.

The Kit

1 pair of pyjamas;
2 skirts;
2 pairs of tights;
2 tee shirts
1 long sleeved shirt
2 dolls
1 small bedroll

This was the kit Daughter packed in her first ever: "I don't like you, I'm running away and moving to a different house (but you're coming with me)" bag.

On another note: my business card, designed by Christel Benson, and from which the web banner here and on my site is derived, won a gold ADDY award from the Joplin Ad Club. Thanks and congrats, Christel!

Pretty Incredible

There's a moment in the DVD extra on the Pixar disc of The Incredibles in which Jack Jack, a pre-verbal toddler, has Mozart played to him by the babysitter. His eyes go out of focus for a moment and you can see the switch in his brain go on. From this point on, Jack Jack has super powers too.

Well. Daughter had a similar experience at Family Art Night at the university late last fall. Supplied with toothpicks and styrofoam, she hasn't looked back. Son even commented at the time: "She's gone 3D on us."

A recent epiphany at home (epiphany: daughter cannot make all her structures with paper and staples) has resulted in Art Supply Extreme Home Makeover. Daughter now has megabox, with clean recyclables, duct tape, masking tape, bubble wrap, tissue paper, ribbon, egg cartons, yarn, straws, and anything else it seems safe and feasible to provide. She draws blueprints, and then attempts to build what she has drawn. It's highly architectural, and her parents are so proud.

But we're also living in an art installation. The Art Supplies are taking over the house. I've also noticed that recyclables are a lot less recyclable after they are taped with ribbons and waterproofed with bubble wrap...

Sound familiar to anyone?

Talent Show

We have been picking ourselves up this week after the Big Birthday Bash last weekend. There's frosting on the blades of the ceiling fans... Oh, the horror. (But a great time was had by all!)

This week's dilemma: the talent show. Which used to be called the school lip synch, but one of the co-organizers this year whose daughter plays the violin finally put in her vote for some actual talent, which is both a relief and a gauntlet.

My kids are undeniably cute and talented. But what talent, exactly, translates to 3 minutes of stage time? "I could skate, and juggle," suggested Son, which would solve the problem beautifully if he could do either of those things already let alone at the same time and in front of an audience.

Lately, if I hush him he quotes somone from Jimmy Neutron: "You have silenced a great talent!" which is funny, but (wince) untrue.

Meanwhile, Son has been anxious about auditioning for the fall show. I pointed out that his father could teach him how to audition: it wasn't something he had to just know how to do. So we settled on a twofer: learn a short audition piece, and perform it for the talent show. His little sister has gamely agreed to be a sidekick, with just one question: "Who will be bossing us?" "Your father. And it's directing."

It's no violin solo, but it'll do.

Fuggedaboudit...

I arrived home late last night, after an on campus event, to find a folded note on my pillow. "To mom" it said, from my daughter.

Inside I found a lovely drawing of two fish swimming toward two hooks which were dangling temptingly in front of them. I was in raptures.

My husband's translation: "Mommy sleeps with the fishes."

No Fooling Her

Daughter (5): Can I be excused?
Me, to daughter: Eat a bite of your omelette first.
Daughter: Well, I'm making it into shapes.
Me: Yeah, well eat a shape.
Daughter: Okay. But I'll only eat the trapezoid.

***

Son (8) swinging a Christmas ornament in front of his sister: You are getting sleepy. When I click my fingers, you will do whatever I tell you to, for the rest of the day. Got it? [click] Okay, hang this ornament.
Daughter, ignores him.
Son: I said you have to hang this ornament.
Daughter, ignores him.
Son: You are getting sleepy. When I click my fingers, you will do whatever I tell you to, for the next HOUR. Got it?
Daughter, ignores him.

The Marriage of Two Minds, Admitting Impediment

I feel a dolt when I've "corrected" Son's 2d grade homework (and usually I think I've gone over it rather well) and it comes back from school the next day with one of his answers wrong, and circled by the teacher. I guess a few get by me. Which gives extra pleasure when one comes home from school unnoticed by either teacher. It doesn't happen often, but today's is great fun.
Q: What is the meaning of "gal"?
A: Wife.
Which is lovely, but when the question is posed by a Math Facts sheet, I suspect Son meant "gallon," instead?

You Can't See Me

Me, to artistic daughter: What a great drawing! What animal is it?
Daughter, gleefully: I'm not telling you until it's all done. How do you spell sheep?

Not the Hans Christian Andersen Kind

Daughter, pointing to my stockinged feet, screams (literally), and then shrieks:
"You're a mermaid!"
Less concerned with having terrified her, I feel magical.

Desdemona Could Have Used Some!

Daughter, with ratty hair, asking yesterday for the "de-strangler"... (that's detangler). Loved it.
We also hit the limits of rational discussion when trying to get her to stop picking up the kitty fifty times a day. Talking... hasn't worked. Time outs... she doesn't care. So yesterday I sat her on my lap and said: Pretend you're a mommy. You have a little girl, who picks up a cat too many times every day. You have to keep the kitty safe, so what can you do? "I don't know," says daughter. You have to come up with a solution, says I, because you're a mommy. "Hmm. Talk to the girl? Tell her not to?" Good idea. Unfortunately, you tried that, and it doesn't work. "I'm out of ideas," she says. Well, as the mommy you can't just give up. You have to find a solution to the problem. "Put her in time out?" Yes, another good idea. But you've tried that too, and it hasn't fixed the problem. "Kill the girl?" she asks. (Argh!) Actually, at some point she forgot it was not hypothetical, because she finally thought deducting pocket money was a terrific solution, and when I said OK, that's what we'll do then, she was horrified.