Tuesday, January 17, 2017

not funny

Babs looked at me seriously last night and asked, "Have you ever laughed since you were a grown-up?"

Really? You can't ever remember me laughing?

I'm not sure whether to laugh or cry.

we are in the or-nge?

For Christmas, the boy got a world map. He actually got many things along with the map, but this map of the continents is really one of his favorites, and we pull it out to look at it often. They colored north america orange on the map, and so now he asks all the time "we are in the or-nge?" so he can locate us on the map. We are always on the orange. At first he wanted us to be all sorts of colors, but we don't have the money or time to be world travelers like that. He especially wanted us to be in Africa at the beginning. He is now resigned to the orange.

Two weeks ago, we were at the pharmacy dropping off a prescription. He was done with our activities, and was lying on the floor, talking to me.

"I was born here?" he asked.

"well, not here, at CVS, but you were born here in this area" (which he knows, because every time we pass the hospital he was born in he wants it to be identified for him).

"No." he replies, "I was born in Africa."

At this point, we have the full attention of the pharmacist, who was, in fact, born in Africa.

"What did you say?" the pharmacist asks the boy.

The boy is reluctant to talk to him, but the boy insisted again he was born in Africa.

The pharmacist then said something about what sort of TV shows is this boy watching to pick up something like that. Knowing what TV he watches, I know that is not the culprit. (Mighty Machines is not based in Africa.)

"I don't think it's TV," I say.

"Well, you have to pick up that idea somewhere," the pharmacist insists

"He has a map," I offered. He thought that was funny. But I think it's true. My boy loves his map.

Saturday, December 17, 2016

what shape are you?

The boy and I were discussing what sort of cake to make for Kiddo's birthday. The question was whether she would prefer a heart cake or circle.

Me: "I think maybe Kiddo's a circle kind of girl."
Boy: "She is not a circle!"
Me: "You're right. She's not a circle. What shape is she?"
He pondered this question a moment, the announced, "Kiddo is a line." I laughed at his accurate perception, then he continued, "a big, fat line!"

Although the words big and fat are not good descriptors for Kiddo, if she were a line, they would be. I love three year old understandings.

Saturday, November 26, 2016

apology not accepted

In the car last night, Babs said something fairly rude to the Boy. While the parents and Babs tried to settle whether she knew how rude she was, why she should have not said that and the like, he continued to babble and sing happily in his seat, obviously not bothered at all.

But we were bothered (and Babs was too, I don't think she realized how much we would not approve), so I told her to at least apologize. She got an "I'm sorry" out through her tears.

Despite his own conversation, the boy was obviously paying attention, because the minute she choked out her apology he yelled "BIG GIRL VOICE!" repeating a common refrain around the house, "stop talking like a baby and use your big girl/big boy voice."

Luckily it was dark, and the children couldn't see the parents almost cracking up in the front seat from his reply. We explained that she had used her big girl voice and tried to move on.

Friday, November 18, 2016

to care, or not to care

Tuesday morning was rough. I was trying to volunteer at a before-school reading program (chessie), which meant we needed to leave the house 10 minutes earlier than usual. I moved the routine up 10 minutes, but somehow, that was not enough.

One child in particular had her own agenda, and we did not leave on time. After I had dropped off the boy, we were driving to school. I told the girls this was "not okay." That if they wanted me to help sometimes in the morning (which they do), they needed to help us leave on time. They needed to get dressed quickly. They needed to do what I asked, and not continually say "let me do this first."

"But I'll forget," Babs pointed out. "I have a terrible memory."

"That's not true," I countered. "You have an amazing memory for things you care about."

"Yeah, and I don't care about this," she replied.

Yeah, I know.

Monday, November 14, 2016

Ah Tuesdays...

Babs takes martial arts classes. She loves them. My husband takes martial arts classes. He loves them (and they are oh so good for him). Kiddo attends activity day events (in the evening). She loves it. And Tuesdays (luckily only twice a month) these all collide.

It's a complicated schedule. Dinner is precisely at 5, so Babs can eat and be settled and ready to go by 6. She and Daddy then leave. Around 6:15 I take Kiddo to a friend's house who will then take her to their activity a little later. Babs gets home just before 7, and we hang out until Daddy leaves for his class. Then we hang out a little more until just before 8 when we head off to pick up Kiddo, and her friend (and her brother), from their activity so everyone can come home.

It sounds benign, but here is the secret. The boy cannot stay up late. He gets tired, then oh so wired and hyper, and uncooperative. It is fairly miserable. But we all take turns sacrificing for each other in a family. So every other Tuesday, he sacrifices his bedtime.

Two activities ago, it was a week or two before Halloween, and as we drove home the older kids decided to entertain themselves by telling (not very) spooky stories. (But plenty spooky for them.) Ever observant, the boy felt the need to participate. And so he kept trying to tell a story after the other two kids were dropped off, and he could finally get a word in edgewise.

Babs decided it was too spooky, and kept asking him to stop telling it. He wouldn't stop. She asked, begged, pleaded, cried, and he kept doggedly starting again. Finally I snapped at him, "Stop scaring [Babs]! Don't tell the story!"

"I not scaring Babs!" he replied, "I scaring Kiddo!"

(Here is his story, or at least all that we heard, "This is a spooky story!")

Sunday, November 6, 2016

in his nose

The boy has had a runny nose for days, which means sometimes we spend of a lot of time cleaning it out. After a particularly long session the other day, I finally announced that his nose way clean, and all his boogers were out!

"Now I can have grown-up boogers!" he announced with joy. Just like grown-up teeth, except not...