Me: "I know you miss your sister. But eventually you're all going to grow up and move away and live in another house, and it will be just me and Dad."
Middle Gent: "But Mom! I want to live with you. Can I marry you? Why can't I marry you?"
Me: "Well, honey, I'm already married. Daddy might be upset if I decide to marry someone else. Besides, moms can't marry their kids."
Gent: "But I want to live with you. Do I have to grow up and marry a girl?" (As though he's thinking of marrying a toad or a slug, mind you.)
His Older Brother chimes in: (exasperated sigh) "I have to get married because I can't be a Family Man if I don't have a wife."
Seriously, little dudes, it's not going to be that hard to grow up. But I suppose the idea of adulthood is a bit daunting yet, especially the idea of a wife and no Mom.
Middle gent finally decided that it might be all right to marry a girl if he still lives next door to me. Lovely. I hope my future daughter-in-law and I get along.
Showing posts with label Conversations. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Conversations. Show all posts
Friday, March 26, 2010
Sunday, February 07, 2010
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Conversation
Out of the blue: "Mom?"
"Yes?"
"Someday I want to be a teacher."
"Okay." (Thinking, Hey, sounds good. He must enjoy learning.)
"I'm going to be a music teacher."
Me, with a smile: "Oh, good. Then you can teach something you enjoy."
"Yeah. I'm going to teach my students, then they can be in my orchestra. I'm going to be a orchestra leader, too."
I think to myself that sounds pretty ambitious and kind of cool.
"I'm going to be a composer too. I'll write the music, then I'll teach my orchestra and they can play the music I wrote. Won't that be cool, Mom?"
Yes. Yes, son, that will be cool. Very cool. I love to hear this, living out their dreams out loud. I can't wait to see it.
---------------------------------------
Adding later: Loving Husband's reaction, "Think this kid has control issues?"
Me, after I stopped laughing: "No. Not at all. And he does NOT get them from his mother." At all.
Loving Husband is such a sentimental guy, isn't he?
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Grasshoppers
The benefits of teaching history and cultural awareness:
This afternoon on the way home from an outing to the blueberry patch and the river, fine young middle gent found a grasshopper on his water bottle.
"Cool!" said his fine older brother. "Mom, it's a grasshopper! Can we roast it?"
This afternoon on the way home from an outing to the blueberry patch and the river, fine young middle gent found a grasshopper on his water bottle.
"Cool!" said his fine older brother. "Mom, it's a grasshopper! Can we roast it?"
Sunday, May 04, 2008
Serenity Now
In Which We Make the Bed
Fine Young Gent, 5, going by Young Link today: "Mom. Are you changing my bed?"
(Indeed I am. As he can plainly see.)
Me: "What am I doing, bunny?"
Young Link: "Changing the bed."
Watches for a moment.
YL: "Mom, are you putting on blue sheets?"
Me: "What color are the sheets I'm putting on?"
YL: "They look blue."
Me: "Indeed they are."
YL: "So, Mom, are you putting on blue sheets?"
------------------------------
In Which I Am Called Mom
Fine young gent, 3, also going by Young Link after much furor over the question of whether or not he can choose who he wants to be: "Mom?"
Me: "Yes?"
Young Link Too: "Mom?"
Me: "What bunny?"
YLT: "Hi Mom." Big cheesy grin.
Me: "Hi bunny."
YLT: "Mom?"
Me: "What, love?"
YLT: "Mom!"
Repeat. About 50 times.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Seriously, I keep trying to get them to call me Princess or Dude. Or Princess Dude. Or even Princess Mom. Anything. They won't do it.
If one more little person does "Mom-Mom-Mom-Mom-Mom" my ears may just jump right off my head.
They think it's funny when I say that. They think that just because I laugh when I say it, that I am joking. I'm not.
---------------------------
In Which I Sit on the Couch to Read a Book
Young Link, the five-year-old: "Mom, can I sit with you? On your lap?"
Me: "Sure!"
YL: "Mom, I love you. I just love you so much."
Young Link Too: "Mom, I want to love you too. Can I sit on your lap?"
Their brother whose pretend name I can't remember: "I want to sit on your lap too. I love you too, Mom."
Mom's reading time turned into wrestling tickling time. But it was worth it.
---------------------------------
In Which I Make Lunch
Young Link, the five-year-old: "Mom, are you making lunch?"
(Indeed, I am. I've got the lunch plates out and fixin's for sandwiches. And I announced that I was going into the kitchen to make lunch.)
Me: "Yes, bunny, I am making lunch."
YL: "Are you making sandwiches?"
Me (Patiently, though I may have sighed a little): "What do you see on the counter?"
YL: "Bread and soy butter and jam."
I nod.
YL: "So, are you making sandwiches?"
I try not to sob hysterically. I cannot wait until he stops asking me these questions. I know he will eventually because his brother stopped.
Me: "What do you think, sweetheart?"
YL: "You're making sandwiches?"
I nod.
YL: "So, what kind of sandwiches are you making?"
Man, it's a good thing they're cute. That means that they will live to see the day when I miss answering the obvious and having them underfoot.
Life is good.
Fine Young Gent, 5, going by Young Link today: "Mom. Are you changing my bed?"
(Indeed I am. As he can plainly see.)
Me: "What am I doing, bunny?"
Young Link: "Changing the bed."
Watches for a moment.
YL: "Mom, are you putting on blue sheets?"
Me: "What color are the sheets I'm putting on?"
YL: "They look blue."
Me: "Indeed they are."
YL: "So, Mom, are you putting on blue sheets?"
------------------------------
In Which I Am Called Mom
Fine young gent, 3, also going by Young Link after much furor over the question of whether or not he can choose who he wants to be: "Mom?"
Me: "Yes?"
Young Link Too: "Mom?"
Me: "What bunny?"
YLT: "Hi Mom." Big cheesy grin.
Me: "Hi bunny."
YLT: "Mom?"
Me: "What, love?"
YLT: "Mom!"
Repeat. About 50 times.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Seriously, I keep trying to get them to call me Princess or Dude. Or Princess Dude. Or even Princess Mom. Anything. They won't do it.
If one more little person does "Mom-Mom-Mom-Mom-Mom" my ears may just jump right off my head.
They think it's funny when I say that. They think that just because I laugh when I say it, that I am joking. I'm not.
---------------------------
In Which I Sit on the Couch to Read a Book
Young Link, the five-year-old: "Mom, can I sit with you? On your lap?"
Me: "Sure!"
YL: "Mom, I love you. I just love you so much."
Young Link Too: "Mom, I want to love you too. Can I sit on your lap?"
Their brother whose pretend name I can't remember: "I want to sit on your lap too. I love you too, Mom."
Mom's reading time turned into wrestling tickling time. But it was worth it.
---------------------------------
In Which I Make Lunch
Young Link, the five-year-old: "Mom, are you making lunch?"
(Indeed, I am. I've got the lunch plates out and fixin's for sandwiches. And I announced that I was going into the kitchen to make lunch.)
Me: "Yes, bunny, I am making lunch."
YL: "Are you making sandwiches?"
Me (Patiently, though I may have sighed a little): "What do you see on the counter?"
YL: "Bread and soy butter and jam."
I nod.
YL: "So, are you making sandwiches?"
I try not to sob hysterically. I cannot wait until he stops asking me these questions. I know he will eventually because his brother stopped.
Me: "What do you think, sweetheart?"
YL: "You're making sandwiches?"
I nod.
YL: "So, what kind of sandwiches are you making?"
Man, it's a good thing they're cute. That means that they will live to see the day when I miss answering the obvious and having them underfoot.
Life is good.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Yes, Sir!
Fine young gent, 5, the middle one. He's a quirky little guy. A still-waters-run-deep kid. Smart.Today I was barking out orders, hustling everyone out the door. I pointed at him. "Shoes!" I said.
He stopped. Looked right at me. "Yes, sir!" he rapped out. Wicked little grin.
Did I ignore the attitude? Bawl him out for disrespect? Sweetly tell him that's not necessary?
"You'd darn well better salute me, young man, if you're going to call me 'Sir.' "
He saluted me for the rest of the day.
I could get used to this "Sir" thing.
Sunday, February 03, 2008
Snippet
"Mom. What would you get if you did googol times black?"
Fine young gent, seven. He asks me questions like this all the time.
Sometimes he even answers them himself. "I know. You'd get the most blackest black." (Pause, thinking.) "Which would be the same as the blackest black there is today."
Me, thinking to expand on his thoughts in an educational sort of way: "Right. Because if black is no color, then it's like zero, and even a googol times zero is still zero."
Fine young gent, in a patient voice: "Right, Mom. That's what I meant."
He's way ahead of me.
Fine young gent, seven. He asks me questions like this all the time.
Sometimes he even answers them himself. "I know. You'd get the most blackest black." (Pause, thinking.) "Which would be the same as the blackest black there is today."
Me, thinking to expand on his thoughts in an educational sort of way: "Right. Because if black is no color, then it's like zero, and even a googol times zero is still zero."
Fine young gent, in a patient voice: "Right, Mom. That's what I meant."
He's way ahead of me.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Conversations
Last night, lovely lady (12) had a good friend over. Good friend is a delightful young lady, charming and sparkly. She and lovely lady are kindred spirits. They like to sing and dance, and play video games together, and talk about clothes and hair and makeup. Good friend is not the least bit shy about letting me know that she thinks lovely lady should be allowed to do things like watch television whenever she'd like, wear a bikini, wear eye shadow and so forth. Tonight, it was the mall.
Good friend: Can we go to the mall by ourselves sometime? I think Hannah should get to go to the mall and shop without a parent watching her all the time.
Me, with a smile because we've been down this road before and I know she already knows what I'm going to say: Not yet. Maybe when you're older.
Good friend, deviating from the script a bit: Is the reason that you won't let us go to the mall by ourselves because we have autism? Because we don't.
Lovely lady, not exactly indignantly but in a speak-for-yourself voice: I do.
I don't quite remember what good friend said in response, something like "We don't have autism." I was watching lovely lady, a little floored. As she spoke she glanced at me a little questioningly. I nodded, Yes, that's so.
Lovely lady, interrupting good friend and a little more confidently than the first time: I have been diagnosed with autism.
Good friend, stopping the "Can we go to the mall" mid-thought: You do?
Lovely lady: I have autism, right, Mom?
Good friend: Really?
Me, to lovely lady: Well, I like the way you put it, you've been diagnosed with autism.
Even six months ago the idea of autism just didn't sink in to my lovely lady's awareness. It's come up from time to time, a little like the topics of sex or death or the other big conversations parents know we must have with our children, and so we try to work them in to matter-of-fact conversations as the topics arise. But she hasn't ever identified autism as a part of her own identity, or even shown much interest in the idea.
I see this as a milestone, a milestone with which many families don't have to cope...or dread. I've always wondered, at what point will my lovely lady understand that she has a disability that really does create additional challenges in her life? What will that be like for her to come to that realization? Will my daughter be crushed at the idea that she's different? And, as so often happens, she's astonished me with her matter-of-fact acceptance of what is. She doesn't see herself as "different." She sees herself as a regular kid who has autism. She hasn't been crushed, or even all that concerned. I forget, I think, that for her having autism is like having "impossible" (her words) wavy hair, or a long second toe. It's always been a part of the fabric of her life. We've not made a big deal out of autism any more than we've made a big deal out of combing snarls out of her hair. And she has friends with autism, a whole group of good friends with whom she swims and plays and talks. She sees these lovely friends as girls first, autism is just a part of what has brought them together, and I think that helps too.
I'm curious to see where this will lead. How will she fold this new idea into her own perception of who she is? Where will our challenges lie?
And I am so proud of her.
Good friend: Can we go to the mall by ourselves sometime? I think Hannah should get to go to the mall and shop without a parent watching her all the time.
Me, with a smile because we've been down this road before and I know she already knows what I'm going to say: Not yet. Maybe when you're older.
Good friend, deviating from the script a bit: Is the reason that you won't let us go to the mall by ourselves because we have autism? Because we don't.
Lovely lady, not exactly indignantly but in a speak-for-yourself voice: I do.
I don't quite remember what good friend said in response, something like "We don't have autism." I was watching lovely lady, a little floored. As she spoke she glanced at me a little questioningly. I nodded, Yes, that's so.
Lovely lady, interrupting good friend and a little more confidently than the first time: I have been diagnosed with autism.
Good friend, stopping the "Can we go to the mall" mid-thought: You do?
Lovely lady: I have autism, right, Mom?
Good friend: Really?
Me, to lovely lady: Well, I like the way you put it, you've been diagnosed with autism.
Even six months ago the idea of autism just didn't sink in to my lovely lady's awareness. It's come up from time to time, a little like the topics of sex or death or the other big conversations parents know we must have with our children, and so we try to work them in to matter-of-fact conversations as the topics arise. But she hasn't ever identified autism as a part of her own identity, or even shown much interest in the idea.
I see this as a milestone, a milestone with which many families don't have to cope...or dread. I've always wondered, at what point will my lovely lady understand that she has a disability that really does create additional challenges in her life? What will that be like for her to come to that realization? Will my daughter be crushed at the idea that she's different? And, as so often happens, she's astonished me with her matter-of-fact acceptance of what is. She doesn't see herself as "different." She sees herself as a regular kid who has autism. She hasn't been crushed, or even all that concerned. I forget, I think, that for her having autism is like having "impossible" (her words) wavy hair, or a long second toe. It's always been a part of the fabric of her life. We've not made a big deal out of autism any more than we've made a big deal out of combing snarls out of her hair. And she has friends with autism, a whole group of good friends with whom she swims and plays and talks. She sees these lovely friends as girls first, autism is just a part of what has brought them together, and I think that helps too.
I'm curious to see where this will lead. How will she fold this new idea into her own perception of who she is? Where will our challenges lie?
And I am so proud of her.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
And my heart stopped....
Tonight, one of my fine young gents was up out of bed. I was in the kitchen cleaning, and I heard him padding down the hallway. "I hear someone out of bed," I called.
He appeared in the doorway. A little unsure of his reception, maybe, because after all he was supposed to be in bed. "I have only one bad dream," he said. "I have lots of good dreams, though," he whispered, a little half-smile on his face.
"Do you want to tell me the bad dream?" I asked.
"No. I only have one."
"Would you like me to blow the bad dream out?"
His smile got a little wider, he nodded.
I knelt down and blew in his ear. "Go away bad dreams," I whispered.
He turned his head. I blew in the other ear. "Here are some good dreams," I said, "How about sunshine, lollipops and rainbows tonight?" Sometimes it's puppies or ice cream or birthdays or balloons. Tonight, a corny line from a sappy-sweet song.
Another nod, an even bigger smile. He started to turn back down the hallway.
"Heeey," I said, mock stern. "You're forgetting something."
He giggled and gave me a kiss on my turned cheek. I gave him one back. Still kneeling on the floor I watched him walk back down the hallway. Halfway down, he turned, and with his very own special grin like no other grin in the world, he blew me a kiss.
And my heart just stopped.
At his sweetness, at his innocence, at that precious moment that was passing even as it happened.
I caught his kiss and tucked it in my heart like always. Oh. My babies. I wish I could tuck them in my heart too.
He appeared in the doorway. A little unsure of his reception, maybe, because after all he was supposed to be in bed. "I have only one bad dream," he said. "I have lots of good dreams, though," he whispered, a little half-smile on his face.
"Do you want to tell me the bad dream?" I asked.
"No. I only have one."
"Would you like me to blow the bad dream out?"
His smile got a little wider, he nodded.
I knelt down and blew in his ear. "Go away bad dreams," I whispered.
He turned his head. I blew in the other ear. "Here are some good dreams," I said, "How about sunshine, lollipops and rainbows tonight?" Sometimes it's puppies or ice cream or birthdays or balloons. Tonight, a corny line from a sappy-sweet song.
Another nod, an even bigger smile. He started to turn back down the hallway.
"Heeey," I said, mock stern. "You're forgetting something."
He giggled and gave me a kiss on my turned cheek. I gave him one back. Still kneeling on the floor I watched him walk back down the hallway. Halfway down, he turned, and with his very own special grin like no other grin in the world, he blew me a kiss.
And my heart just stopped.
At his sweetness, at his innocence, at that precious moment that was passing even as it happened.
I caught his kiss and tucked it in my heart like always. Oh. My babies. I wish I could tuck them in my heart too.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Tuesday Ten: Conversations
Tuesday Ten: Ten Things My Children Have Said to Me This Week
1. "Where is my ______?" Math book, shoe, Lego car, iPod, pencil, milk, golf ball. Almost always followed by.....
1- 1/2. "No," in response to the question, "Did you look for it before you asked?" And, my favorite, kindergarten gent, when gently encouraged (yeah, that's it, gently encouraged, uh huh) to go look, "But I don't know where it is." Thump-thump-thump....that's me, banging my head on the table.
I'm sorry sweet darlings, but I am not your personal keep-tracker-of-things.
2. "Mom, when I was playing piano, the girls loved me." Kindergarten gent, after playing a few pieces on the choir piano before choir practice. Yeah, babe, that piano, it's a real chick magnet.
3. "Some farting just went here instead of over here." Four-year-old gent, walking to the dinner table, a little puzzled. He was even more puzzled when we all burst into laughter. Poor guy. It really struck our funny bones. A little later, in the kitchen, he quietly whispered to me, "Mom, are farts big brown bubbles that explode?" When I assured him that they were not, he looked around the corner and shouted, "They are not!" Silence then giggles from the older bunch. Sigh.....
4. "I five. I not two, I five." Two-year-old gent is insistent that he is NOT two. Two weeks ago I told him he could not have a hard candy until he's five. Problem solved. He's pretty mad that I won't give him the candy even though I promised. He also insists that he can drive the car. "I five. I drive now." Oh boy.
5. "You're the worst mom ever!" Lovely lady, 11, having a really rough time this week. Apparently expecting one to brush one's teeth is tantamount to child abuse. I sent her into the shower with instructions to come down and talk to me once she was washed, brushed, and ready for headgear. She screamed about her rotten miserable life and her terrible mother for the entire fifteen minutes she showered, then came down and snuggled with me on the couch. Fortunately two nights later while my lovely lady went to a gymnastics evening with a good friend, good friend's mom and I went to the movies. Good friend has similar issues, and apparently her mom hears the same thing. Actually, the "worst mom" thing doesn't phase me much any more. Good friend's mom and I agreed that it's much easier than this one....
6. "You hate me!" Now that's hard to hear. Skin like a rhino, that's me.
7. "But...." Thump-thump-thump. I'm not sure our table will survive until they're all grown.
8. "May I please...." Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah. Music to a mother's ears. We've been working hard on this one.
9. "Mom, look at the...." Butterflies, this rock, Poppy, the sky. I love that they want to share the world with me. They're all marvelous people.
10. "I love you." Aw, now. Darn they're sweet. And they have to go and throw in hugs and kisses and all that mushy stuff. All right, I forgive the rotten little stinkers for not being able to find their stuff and talking about farts and saying "Yeah-but" and even for screaming at me.
1. "Where is my ______?" Math book, shoe, Lego car, iPod, pencil, milk, golf ball. Almost always followed by.....
1- 1/2. "No," in response to the question, "Did you look for it before you asked?" And, my favorite, kindergarten gent, when gently encouraged (yeah, that's it, gently encouraged, uh huh) to go look, "But I don't know where it is." Thump-thump-thump....that's me, banging my head on the table.
I'm sorry sweet darlings, but I am not your personal keep-tracker-of-things.
2. "Mom, when I was playing piano, the girls loved me." Kindergarten gent, after playing a few pieces on the choir piano before choir practice. Yeah, babe, that piano, it's a real chick magnet.
3. "Some farting just went here instead of over here." Four-year-old gent, walking to the dinner table, a little puzzled. He was even more puzzled when we all burst into laughter. Poor guy. It really struck our funny bones. A little later, in the kitchen, he quietly whispered to me, "Mom, are farts big brown bubbles that explode?" When I assured him that they were not, he looked around the corner and shouted, "They are not!" Silence then giggles from the older bunch. Sigh.....
4. "I five. I not two, I five." Two-year-old gent is insistent that he is NOT two. Two weeks ago I told him he could not have a hard candy until he's five. Problem solved. He's pretty mad that I won't give him the candy even though I promised. He also insists that he can drive the car. "I five. I drive now." Oh boy.
5. "You're the worst mom ever!" Lovely lady, 11, having a really rough time this week. Apparently expecting one to brush one's teeth is tantamount to child abuse. I sent her into the shower with instructions to come down and talk to me once she was washed, brushed, and ready for headgear. She screamed about her rotten miserable life and her terrible mother for the entire fifteen minutes she showered, then came down and snuggled with me on the couch. Fortunately two nights later while my lovely lady went to a gymnastics evening with a good friend, good friend's mom and I went to the movies. Good friend has similar issues, and apparently her mom hears the same thing. Actually, the "worst mom" thing doesn't phase me much any more. Good friend's mom and I agreed that it's much easier than this one....
6. "You hate me!" Now that's hard to hear. Skin like a rhino, that's me.
7. "But...." Thump-thump-thump. I'm not sure our table will survive until they're all grown.
8. "May I please...." Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah. Music to a mother's ears. We've been working hard on this one.
9. "Mom, look at the...." Butterflies, this rock, Poppy, the sky. I love that they want to share the world with me. They're all marvelous people.
10. "I love you." Aw, now. Darn they're sweet. And they have to go and throw in hugs and kisses and all that mushy stuff. All right, I forgive the rotten little stinkers for not being able to find their stuff and talking about farts and saying "Yeah-but" and even for screaming at me.
Next Week: Ten Things I Love About ____________. You choose. Love your neighbors? Pie? Your closet? Choose something you love, or at least really really like, and tell us why.
To link your own Tuesday Ten, or to read more Tuesday Ten lists, click on Mr. Linky!
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
Tuesday Ten: Conversations
Ten Things the Ladies and Gents Said in the Past Week (or so)
1. Fine young gent (almost 4) on Christmas Eve, holding his eyes shut with his fingers: Mom, I am trying to go to sleep but my eyes aren't staying shut theirselves!
2. Fine young gent (2), at 6 a.m. Christmas morning, whispering: Momma, sing Happy 'Day. (So I whispered "Happy Birthday" to my Christmas baby at 6 in the morning.)
3. Gent (6), discovering Lucky Charms in his stocking: Yippee!!!! (stops, folds hands) Dear God, Santa brought me LUCKY CHARMS!!!! Amen.
4. Sweet young gent (6): Happy Birthday, Levi! You're two!! Mom, don't forget it's Levi's birthday on Christmas! And Jesus' too!
5. Lovely Lady (13): Wii!! Wii!! Wii!!
6. Fine young gent (almost 4), of a peppermint candy cane: Dad, I do like it, I just don't like the taste.
7. Lovely Lady (11), cleaning her room with my help...until she started talking: Why do I have to do this? I wish I was a princess. You would be my servant and you would have to do all of the work.
8. Lovely Lady (11): Mom, I'm sorry. Will you help me clean my room?
9. Fine Young Gent (2), jumping around the room: Momma, dook! Momma, dook me! Momma, watch me now! Dook, Momma, dook!
10. Lovely lady (11), calling at midnight from her dad's house: Happy New Year, Mom! Mom, sometimes I get worried that something bad will happen, like someone related to me will die or I'll get killed by an electric shock.
Me: Well, we all worry that bad things will happen. But worrying doesn't stop the bad things, so we should spend our time trying to be safe and enjoying the life we have.
Lovely Lady: Ok. Thanks, Mom! You're always so good at advice.
Read about Cristy's Ten Least Favorite Christmas Ornaments.
Adding: My Irie sis wrote ten reasons why knitting socks is better than knitting sweaters.
1. Fine young gent (almost 4) on Christmas Eve, holding his eyes shut with his fingers: Mom, I am trying to go to sleep but my eyes aren't staying shut theirselves!
2. Fine young gent (2), at 6 a.m. Christmas morning, whispering: Momma, sing Happy 'Day. (So I whispered "Happy Birthday" to my Christmas baby at 6 in the morning.)
3. Gent (6), discovering Lucky Charms in his stocking: Yippee!!!! (stops, folds hands) Dear God, Santa brought me LUCKY CHARMS!!!! Amen.
4. Sweet young gent (6): Happy Birthday, Levi! You're two!! Mom, don't forget it's Levi's birthday on Christmas! And Jesus' too!
5. Lovely Lady (13): Wii!! Wii!! Wii!!
6. Fine young gent (almost 4), of a peppermint candy cane: Dad, I do like it, I just don't like the taste.
7. Lovely Lady (11), cleaning her room with my help...until she started talking: Why do I have to do this? I wish I was a princess. You would be my servant and you would have to do all of the work.
8. Lovely Lady (11): Mom, I'm sorry. Will you help me clean my room?
9. Fine Young Gent (2), jumping around the room: Momma, dook! Momma, dook me! Momma, watch me now! Dook, Momma, dook!
10. Lovely lady (11), calling at midnight from her dad's house: Happy New Year, Mom! Mom, sometimes I get worried that something bad will happen, like someone related to me will die or I'll get killed by an electric shock.
Me: Well, we all worry that bad things will happen. But worrying doesn't stop the bad things, so we should spend our time trying to be safe and enjoying the life we have.
Lovely Lady: Ok. Thanks, Mom! You're always so good at advice.
Read about Cristy's Ten Least Favorite Christmas Ornaments.
Adding: My Irie sis wrote ten reasons why knitting socks is better than knitting sweaters.
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Conversations
Fine Young Gent (3): Look, Mom! Look!
Me: What?
Gent: Look what's on my finger!
Me: Do I have to? What is it?
(Can you see what's coming?)
Gent: Moooom! Look! It's a booger!
(My kids are so gross.)
(Overheard)
Lovely young lady: Mom, my ear hurts.
Young gents, squealing in harmony: Listen Mom! We can go really high! (Squeeeaaaaal!)
Fine young gent (6 because he had a birthday): Happy Birthday, Mom!
Loving Husband: Are you going to tell the kids how old you are? Or is it a secret?
Fine, fine young gent: Mom, you were 17 yesterday, right?
Me, to gent: Oooo, does that mean that I'm 18 today?
Very very fine young gent: Yup! You're 18 today!
Me: Man, you're my new favorite kid!
(Which begs the question: Who was my favorite kid before? Fortunately no one asked.)
Me: How's the math going?
Lovely lady, the elder (moping): I don't get it.
Me: That's ok. I'll explain it again.
(I explain it again. Lovely lady says something along the lines of "Oh. I think I get it.")
Me, a few minutes later: Looks like you're struggling. How's it going?
LL, the E: I don't know.
Me: Well, try this. (I offer some directions. I wait for the "Aha")
LL, the E, sounding sulky (but apparently not feeling that way, as I discover after I fly off the handle): There's no point.
Me, flying off the handle: No point? Are you kidding me? Are you listening to what I am saying when I explain? The explanation I'm giving is the point of this whole concept. That is the point. If you don't listen to my explanation then....(I look at the graph she's working with.) Oh.......oh.....wait....(slowly, and a bit sheepishly) Um, do you mean that there's no point on the graph?
We both burst out laughing. Then I explain the piece she was missing. She got it and sailed through the rest of her algebra.
In my defense it was Mopy What's-the-Point Teen Week at my house. LL the E did say that she understood why I assumed she meant "pointless." Whew. But still. Sheesh, I need to get a grip.
Me: What?
Gent: Look what's on my finger!
Me: Do I have to? What is it?
(Can you see what's coming?)
Gent: Moooom! Look! It's a booger!
(My kids are so gross.)
(Overheard)
Older gent (5): Thanks for being my brother.
Middle gent (3): You're welcome.
Lovely young lady: Mom, my ear hurts.
Me: Oooh. That looks really red. Which earrings have you been wearing? Hmm, let's get out the gold earrings and I'll clean your ears for you. You can wear the gold ones for a while until this heals.
(Cleaning and trying to put the earring through the hole.)
Me: I'm having a really hard time getting this earring through the front, but I can get it to go through if I start at the back. Let's just put it in backward for a bit.
LL (shrieks): Mooooooooom! We can't put the earring in backward!!!
Me, misunderstanding the problem because I have an ounce of common sense: Sure we can. Look, it goes just fine.
LL: Oh no!! I look hideous!!
Me: Oh for heaven's sake. You look lovely. Besides no one will see you.
LL: But MOM! I'm going to do the yoga video! I can't do yoga looking like this!
(Can you hear me rolling my eyes? No, Mom, they didn't get stuck that way, sheesh!)
Young gents, squealing in harmony: Listen Mom! We can go really high! (Squeeeaaaaal!)
Me: (groan) Uh, yeah...not liking that so much. Look guys, I have an earache. When you squeal like that, my ears want to jump off of my head and hop away down the street.
Simultaneously.....
Gent (3): Nooooooooooooo! Moooom, ears can't jump off our head!
Gent(5): You mean like this? Squeeaaaaall!
Fine young gent (6 because he had a birthday): Happy Birthday, Mom!
Loving Husband: Are you going to tell the kids how old you are? Or is it a secret?
Fine, fine young gent: Mom, you were 17 yesterday, right?
Me, to gent: Oooo, does that mean that I'm 18 today?
Very very fine young gent: Yup! You're 18 today!
Me: Man, you're my new favorite kid!
(Which begs the question: Who was my favorite kid before? Fortunately no one asked.)
Me: How's the math going?
Lovely lady, the elder (moping): I don't get it.
Me: That's ok. I'll explain it again.
(I explain it again. Lovely lady says something along the lines of "Oh. I think I get it.")
Me, a few minutes later: Looks like you're struggling. How's it going?
LL, the E: I don't know.
Me: Well, try this. (I offer some directions. I wait for the "Aha")
LL, the E, sounding sulky (but apparently not feeling that way, as I discover after I fly off the handle): There's no point.
Me, flying off the handle: No point? Are you kidding me? Are you listening to what I am saying when I explain? The explanation I'm giving is the point of this whole concept. That is the point. If you don't listen to my explanation then....(I look at the graph she's working with.) Oh.......oh.....wait....(slowly, and a bit sheepishly) Um, do you mean that there's no point on the graph?
We both burst out laughing. Then I explain the piece she was missing. She got it and sailed through the rest of her algebra.
In my defense it was Mopy What's-the-Point Teen Week at my house. LL the E did say that she understood why I assumed she meant "pointless." Whew. But still. Sheesh, I need to get a grip.
Saturday, November 11, 2006
More conversations about Peter Pan
Fine young gent (almost 6), at bedtime: Mom, is Peter Pan real?
Me: What do you think, hon?
Fyg: I don't know. Maybe. Is Neverland a real place?
Me: Well, that depends on what you mean. I think Neverland is a pretend place because it's made up of all of your pretends. What do you think?
Fyg: I think it's real. In my Neverland is all the same stuff as Peter Pan. There's even pirates. And swords! (pause) Maybe he's real. I think I hear him crowing outside the window when I'm asleep.
Me: You do? (laugh) Maybe we should get a dog and let the dog sleep in your room so that he can't take you away.
Fyg: No, I want to let him in. He'll teach me and Speedy how to fly! I want to fly to Neverland and fight with pirates!
Me: What do you think, hon?
Fyg: I don't know. Maybe. Is Neverland a real place?
Me: Well, that depends on what you mean. I think Neverland is a pretend place because it's made up of all of your pretends. What do you think?
Fyg: I think it's real. In my Neverland is all the same stuff as Peter Pan. There's even pirates. And swords! (pause) Maybe he's real. I think I hear him crowing outside the window when I'm asleep.
Me: You do? (laugh) Maybe we should get a dog and let the dog sleep in your room so that he can't take you away.
Fyg: No, I want to let him in. He'll teach me and Speedy how to fly! I want to fly to Neverland and fight with pirates!
Oh, heartless children. Barrie didn't quite sentimentalize childhood in the same way that other children's writers have. (Think A. A. Milne's easy-going serene Christopher Robin and his faithful Pooh, or Carrol's sweet fuddled Alice.) He wrote of the disarming selfishness and power of a child's imagination, the time when things were almost real simply because we believed them to be. Barrie reminds us of the time before children outgrow their charming solipsism (charming because they are completely unaware of it), when they take it for granted that our world revolves around theirs. The time when they can fly because they are still "gay and innocent and heartless." My children didn't seem so affected by faithful mother Darling waiting in the nursery with the window open, and weeping at the piano but oh, I was. It's a whole new experience to read Peter Pan now, at the time in my life when I identify more readily with the mother than with Peter or Wendy. I think the elder of the lovely ladies knew that I was near tears when Mrs. Darling finally welcomed her darling Darlings home, in through the window.
But I won't be waiting near the window. In my darling's Neverland everyone is invited.
Fyg: Nooooooo, Mom. Mom!! I know! We'll come wake you up, and the baby, and sisters too. We'll all go to Neverland!
Me: But how will we get there? I thought only children could fly. Remember when Wendy grew up and she couldn't fly any more?
Fyg: (solemnly) In my Neverland even the grown-ups can fly. Peter will teach you too. And we can see the trees underground! And go on a pirate ship! That's what I'm going to do when I go to Neverland!
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Conversations
Me: Let's look at these pictures of coats and you can tell me which ones you like so that I know what to look for when I go shopping.
Lovely Lady: Yes...yes...yes...yes...yes...no...yes.
Me: Good, now which one do you like best?
LL: Mmmm.....I can't choose a favorite. I like them all.
Me: Ok, well, maybe we could figure out which ones are your least favorites? I don't care for this one as much, what do you think?
LL (about that very coat): That's my favorite. I want that one.
Youngest gent: Momma!
Me: What, love?
Gent: Momma!
Me: What?
Gent: Momma!
Me: What?
.
.
.
.
.
(And so on....)
Three-year-old gent, aka "Speedy": Mom, my feet smell like pickles.
Fine young gent(5),aka "Zipper," looking at toy magazine at bedtime: Dear God, I really want the golf toy. Amen. Oh wait, Dear God, I wasn't done. And I want the marble run. Amen. Mom, I asked God for ten toys.
Me: Well, honey, I am so glad you're sharing what you want with God. But just so you know, praying to God isn't like making a wish list. God is kind of like Mom and Dad, sometimes we say yes, but we don't always give you everything you ask for.
Zipper: Oh. (pause) Dear God, I really only want two things. I want the car carrier and the golf game. Amen.
Me (knowing that a car carrier is wrapped and in the cupboard, but the golf game isn't): Well, sweetie, why don't you put those things on your wish list. And remember, you get some things off your wish list, but not everything.
Zipper, in that "Obviously I am not being clear" voice: Mooooom. I am telling God and he's going to tell Santa.
(Gotta hand it to this kid, he's not afraid to go up the ladder.)
Lovely Lady: Yes...yes...yes...yes...yes...no...yes.
Me: Good, now which one do you like best?
LL: Mmmm.....I can't choose a favorite. I like them all.
Me: Ok, well, maybe we could figure out which ones are your least favorites? I don't care for this one as much, what do you think?
LL (about that very coat): That's my favorite. I want that one.
Youngest gent: Momma!
Me: What, love?
Gent: Momma!
Me: What?
Gent: Momma!
Me: What?
.
.
.
.
.
(And so on....)
Three-year-old gent, aka "Speedy": Mom, my feet smell like pickles.
Me: They do?
Speedy: No...(smells toes)...no, I think they smell like toast. Want to smell them?
Me: Um, no thanks, sweetie. Really really I don't.
Speedy: C'mon Mom. Smell my feet. Pleeeaaase?
Me: Whew! Aw maaan, you're taking a bath tomorrow, kid.
Fine young gent(5),aka "Zipper," looking at toy magazine at bedtime: Dear God, I really want the golf toy. Amen. Oh wait, Dear God, I wasn't done. And I want the marble run. Amen. Mom, I asked God for ten toys.
Me: Well, honey, I am so glad you're sharing what you want with God. But just so you know, praying to God isn't like making a wish list. God is kind of like Mom and Dad, sometimes we say yes, but we don't always give you everything you ask for.
Zipper: Oh. (pause) Dear God, I really only want two things. I want the car carrier and the golf game. Amen.
Me (knowing that a car carrier is wrapped and in the cupboard, but the golf game isn't): Well, sweetie, why don't you put those things on your wish list. And remember, you get some things off your wish list, but not everything.
Zipper, in that "Obviously I am not being clear" voice: Mooooom. I am telling God and he's going to tell Santa.
(Gotta hand it to this kid, he's not afraid to go up the ladder.)
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Conversations
Loving husband: Hello?
Me: The boys have a dentist appointment this morning and I am running late and when I turned on the dining room light the breaker tripped, so instead of making breakfast, I am peering at the #$%^*%$ box with a $^%#% flashlight.
LH: Oh yeah, I've done that before. It happens to me all the time.
Me: Um, not helpful. I was hoping perhaps that you could give me a little more direction than that.
LH: Oh. Well, did you look to see if any of the circuits were flipped?
Me: Did I just mention that I am in the %^#&$# garage with the $^#*%^%$# flashlight?
LH: Oh, yeah. Well, did you see any?
Me, trying not to scream: <deep breath> I did not realize that we had so many of these stupid little buttons that we're apparently not using because they're already off. I have no idea which ones are off on purpose. I was calling because I already knew you've been through this before. I was hoping you'd remember which one it might be.
LH: Oh. Nope. Did you try the big box and the little one?
Me: Yes.
LH: What about the one by the attic stairs?
Me: Yes, twice.
LH: It might be that one.
Me, trying not to scream again: It's not. See, I am flipping them AGAIN, and....oh, there they go. Why couldn't they have done that the first time??...Wait a minute...they went off again....nope, that was the kids. Ok, they're on now. Thanks honey. I love you, bye.
Me: All right guys, let's go!
Gent: Moooom, do we haaave to?
Me: Yes.
Gent: Whhhyyyyyy?
Me: Because I am the meanest mom in the world, and I say so, that's why.
Gent: I love you, Mom.
Youngest gent: Momma!
Me: What, love?
Gent: Momma!
Me: What?
Gent: Momma!
Me: What?
.
.
.
.
.
(And so on....)
Me: Did you remember to lock the garage door behind you?
Older lovely lady: Umm....yes?
Me: The garage door really needs to be locked, are you sure you locked it? Oh, it looks like the door's still open, will you please close and lock it?
LL: Just a minute. (Gets out of the car, goes inside the garage. We all wait. And wait. Finally I get out and go into the garage.)
Me: What are you doing, honey?
LL: Locking the door.
Me: This door? The garage door right here?
LL: Oh. Yeah. (Locks and closes door. We get back in the car.)
Me, dawning realization: Oh nooooooo. You didn't lock the door that goes from the garage into the house, did you?
LL: No.
Me, sinking feeling: Then what were you doing in there?
LL: Locking the door.
Me: The door that leads into the house from the garage?
LL: No.
Me: So you were locking that garage door that I can see from here, the one I'm pointing at, right?
LL: Ummm.....(pause)......no?
Me: Listen carefully. Did you lock the inside door that we use to go into the house from the garage? The one I don't have a key for?
LL: Umm, I might have.
Me, leaning my head on the steering wheel trying not to cry: Oooooooooooooooooooooooooohhhhhh.
(Fortunately this story has a happy ending. I'd left the back door unlocked, so I was able to unlock the other door. Otherwise we might have ended up sleeping in the mailbox, because that's the only other key I've got on my spare set of keys.)
Lovely lady, the younger, at bedtime: Look what I made!
Me: What is it?
LL: A list. A list of things to do to be nice.
Me: Wonderful. (Hug her.) What a great idea!
LL: Yeah, I decided to make the list because I don't want to go to hell when I die.
Me: Oh sweetie, you have such a good heart...
LL, interrupting: But Mom, my sister said that if I'm not nice I'll go to hell.
Me, hugging her: You've got a good heart. I'm pretty sure that you're not going to go to hell for stomping up the stairs.
LL: But she said. If I don't start being good, I'll go to hell.
Me, making a mental note to talk to her sister first thing tomorrow morning: Sweetheart, you try so hard to be such a good girl. I really don't want you to worry about hell tonight, ok. Let's really have a heart-to-heart all together tomorrow. For now....
LL, interrupting: Mom, what's heaven like?
Me: The boys have a dentist appointment this morning and I am running late and when I turned on the dining room light the breaker tripped, so instead of making breakfast, I am peering at the #$%^*%$ box with a $^%#% flashlight.
LH: Oh yeah, I've done that before. It happens to me all the time.
Me: Um, not helpful. I was hoping perhaps that you could give me a little more direction than that.
LH: Oh. Well, did you look to see if any of the circuits were flipped?
Me: Did I just mention that I am in the %^#&$# garage with the $^#*%^%$# flashlight?
LH: Oh, yeah. Well, did you see any?
Me, trying not to scream: <deep breath> I did not realize that we had so many of these stupid little buttons that we're apparently not using because they're already off. I have no idea which ones are off on purpose. I was calling because I already knew you've been through this before. I was hoping you'd remember which one it might be.
LH: Oh. Nope. Did you try the big box and the little one?
Me: Yes.
LH: What about the one by the attic stairs?
Me: Yes, twice.
LH: It might be that one.
Me, trying not to scream again: It's not. See, I am flipping them AGAIN, and....oh, there they go. Why couldn't they have done that the first time??...Wait a minute...they went off again....nope, that was the kids. Ok, they're on now. Thanks honey. I love you, bye.
Me: All right guys, let's go!
Gent: Moooom, do we haaave to?
Me: Yes.
Gent: Whhhyyyyyy?
Me: Because I am the meanest mom in the world, and I say so, that's why.
Gent: I love you, Mom.
Youngest gent: Momma!
Me: What, love?
Gent: Momma!
Me: What?
Gent: Momma!
Me: What?
.
.
.
.
.
(And so on....)
Me: Did you remember to lock the garage door behind you?
Older lovely lady: Umm....yes?
Me: The garage door really needs to be locked, are you sure you locked it? Oh, it looks like the door's still open, will you please close and lock it?
LL: Just a minute. (Gets out of the car, goes inside the garage. We all wait. And wait. Finally I get out and go into the garage.)
Me: What are you doing, honey?
LL: Locking the door.
Me: This door? The garage door right here?
LL: Oh. Yeah. (Locks and closes door. We get back in the car.)
Me, dawning realization: Oh nooooooo. You didn't lock the door that goes from the garage into the house, did you?
LL: No.
Me, sinking feeling: Then what were you doing in there?
LL: Locking the door.
Me: The door that leads into the house from the garage?
LL: No.
Me: So you were locking that garage door that I can see from here, the one I'm pointing at, right?
LL: Ummm.....(pause)......no?
Me: Listen carefully. Did you lock the inside door that we use to go into the house from the garage? The one I don't have a key for?
LL: Umm, I might have.
Me, leaning my head on the steering wheel trying not to cry: Oooooooooooooooooooooooooohhhhhh.
(Fortunately this story has a happy ending. I'd left the back door unlocked, so I was able to unlock the other door. Otherwise we might have ended up sleeping in the mailbox, because that's the only other key I've got on my spare set of keys.)
Lovely lady, the younger, at bedtime: Look what I made!
Me: What is it?
LL: A list. A list of things to do to be nice.
Me: Wonderful. (Hug her.) What a great idea!
LL: Yeah, I decided to make the list because I don't want to go to hell when I die.
Me: Oh sweetie, you have such a good heart...
LL, interrupting: But Mom, my sister said that if I'm not nice I'll go to hell.
Me, hugging her: You've got a good heart. I'm pretty sure that you're not going to go to hell for stomping up the stairs.
LL: But she said. If I don't start being good, I'll go to hell.
Me, making a mental note to talk to her sister first thing tomorrow morning: Sweetheart, you try so hard to be such a good girl. I really don't want you to worry about hell tonight, ok. Let's really have a heart-to-heart all together tomorrow. For now....
LL, interrupting: Mom, what's heaven like?
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