What’s In That Bag?

This morning at breakfast Jay noticed a rolled up brown bag on the kitchen table.  I knew that it contained a take-home portion of preacher cookies from Nana’s house the night before, but Jay had no idea.  I also knew that if the little people in my house discovered the bag’s contents, they would be gone before I got any.  So when he asked about it at breakfast with everyone around, I had to get a little creative….

Jay:  What’s in that bag?
Me:  Ummm….circular…..uhh……carbohydrate goodness….of the no bake variety.

You see, Chica can read now.  And when she really wants to, she can decode fairly well.  So my normal answer that has worked for the past six years, “C-O-O-K-I-E-S,” is no longer effective.  After a second or two he caught my drift, and we both had a good laugh over it.

AND they still don’t know we have cookies.  Score.

So we decided we should start preparing our responses for other common situations where the spelling strategy just won’t work.  Here’s the list we’ve got so far….

Jay:  A package came today.  What is it?
Me:  It’s a parcel to celebrate the delivery of our eldest offspring.

Jay:  Did you hear what Nana just asked?
Me:  No. What?
Jay:  She wants to know if we want to deposit our decedents in her care for the nocturnal hours.
Me:  Of course.

Jay:  What should we do for dinner tonight?
Me:  Why don’t we just patronize our favorite local establishment that specializes in the preparation of circular Italian specialties?

Me:  They’re driving me crazy.  What can they do?
Jay:  Can they retire to the subterranean chamber and make use of the cathode ray tube for an undetermined amount of time?

And my personal favorite….

Jay:  What are you doing after the kids are in bed?
Me:  Why don’t we go recline horizontally in the slumber chamber with minimal distance between us?
Jay:  Are you suggesting we do this with a lack of garments?
Me:  Affirmative.

So how about you, friends?  Have any questions that require vocabulary rich answers?  We’ll work on a reply for you if you don’t already have one.  Please share!

P.S. Jay wants to be sure you know that the rectangular prism in our subterranean chamber is so old that it does, in fact, still have a cathode ray tube.  Ok.  Whatever.

P.P.S.  I asked Jay if our last question in the list above was maybe a bit too much for my usually family-friendly blog.  His response?  “Naaaa…..they’ve got to know it’s happened at least twice.”  Man, that guy always makes me laugh.

 

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Still Your Kid

As I’ve written once before, Jay and I take great fun in pointing out traits we see in our kids that resemble each other.  “That’s YOUR kid!” we quip quite often.  This week was no exception…

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Chica has been taking swimming lessons for the past two weeks at Miller Park.  Learning to jump in and go under, sliding down the slide, and conquering the diving board were all highlights.  But just as fun for her (and me and Bubba!) were the friends we’ve made through swimming lessons.

After yesterday’s lesson, while we were sitting around drying off, Chica’s friend Levi was so excited about the treasure he had found during the lesson.  Her response was priceless.

Levi:  Look!!!  I found six cents!  (You must imagine him saying this with an excitement level 9 or 10.)
Chica:  Oh.  Well, when you get a dollar, call me.  (This with an excitement level pushing 2.)

Levi’s mom and I immediately begin to crack up, but Chica continues…

Chica:  Cause if you have a dollar, then we can go to the mall and ride the rides.

Even though Jay wasn’t there, I’m sure he would agree that’s my kid.  This is the tell-it-like-it-is kid, matter of factly figuring out a solution to her problem with little regard to the feelings of everybody else.  I want to ride the rides, but I need a dollar.  When you’ve got a dollar, let’s talk.  Love her.

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I must admit I’m getting a little nervous for this guy and the upcoming school year.  He is square in the middle of being two and a half….pushing the limits in every way imaginable.  I’m fearing end of the day conversations with his teachers about screaming when corrected or biting.  Ugh.  We’re working on it, I promise.  He is, at the same time, saying his sweet, “Thank you, Mommy,” or “I’m sorry, Sister,” without being asked.

One morning this week Bubba climbed up in Jay’s desk chair and began to open the drawer with all the fun stuff.  (Ex. The permanent markers which he recently used to color all over playing cards that he also found in the fun drawer.)

Jay:  Bubba, don’t open that drawer.
Bubba:  Why?
Jay:  You know there’s nothing in there for you.

Somehow his tiny little brain could compute that there was just enough sarcasm in Daddy’s answer to tell him that he could get away with being funny.  This is what Bubba shot back:

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Bubba computation was right, and Jay and I both laughed.  (Yes, I know, not the best parenting strategy.  Working on that too.)  But then this happened:

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I know I’ve seen Jay make that face and that point a hundred times, usually in all seriousness and not just mocking Bubba.  But until I saw them do it one right after the other, I hadn’t put it together that Bubba learned it from him.  “That’s YOUR kid!  I know where he gets that face now!!!!”  More hilarious laughing.  Never a dull moment around here.

How about you?  Leave me a comment about your latest, “That’s YOUR kid!” moment.

Bubba’s Dictionary, Second Edition

It’s been 6 months since the latest version of Bubba’s Dictionary was published.  Time for an update:

want not want  verb  negative form of the verb to want:  I want not want buckled. 

anglo mushin  noun  small, round, flat type of yeast-leavened bread which is commonly requested split horizontally, toasted, and spread with peanut butter

brits  noun ground-corn food of Native American origin, that is commonly served for dinner when grilled cheese or mac & cheese are denied

yogrit  noun  1. a fermented milk product produced by bacterial fermentation of milk  2.  one of only a few (relatively healthy) food items that everyone in our house will willingly consume

monsur game  noun  1. a mind-numbingly dumb iPad game in which you feed monsters various food items and observe their reaction   2.  a break for Mommy

akshulee  adverb  1.  as an actual or existing fact; really  2.  a modifier used to express just how wrong an acquaintance may be:  Akshulee, it’s brits.  I want not want brits.  I want yogrit.

 

Gift #37: Fist Pumps

He must have known.

He must have seen that I was really dragging, less than one mile into my four mile jog.  I’m sure he saw the sweat already pouring from my pink, scowling face.  Maybe he noticed that I was trying to suck my belly away from the shirt that is probably too small anyway.  Perhaps he spotted my dejected look as the group of perky, neon running ladies passed me from behind, chatting it up about pilates as they pranced along.

Yeah, I think he knew.  He knew I doubted that I could really do this.  That I was lamenting the fact that five years and two babies later, it’s just not as easy as it once was.  Maybe I’m not still a runner after all.

Most runners you pass at 7 a.m. offer a, “Morning,” at best.  Sometimes it’s a wave, or a head nod, and occasionally, nothing at all.

But not this guy.  Not this 60-some (70, maybe?), chartreuse tank-top wearing, sweatband sporting, big belly guy.  Nope.  He gave me a full-on, arm all the way raised fist pump.  Awesome.

As if to say to me, “You got this!  We got this!  We’re out here, and it’s hellahot, and we’re doing it.  Forget the prancing ladies and the ripped dudes without their shirts.  I see you, and we’re both trudging along with our bellies that used to be much flatter.  Go us.”

So I mostly got over myself at the urging of his enthusiastic fist pump.  And I slid into my now comfortable mile pace that would have before made me cringe.  I got this.

Two miles later, after I had turned around to head home, I saw him coming towards me again, still trudging in all his neon glory.  I knew what I had to do.  So as we passed that second time, I offered first my wave, but then my best, full-on fist pump too.  And I’m not sure whose smile was bigger, mine or his.

Day officially made.

As I ran that last mile, I thought about the power of a fist pump for a worn out soul, the kind stuck comparing herself to those running past.

So today I offer up my best fist pump for the worn out mommies:

The mommies letting their kids watch the third straight hour of movies before lunch time.
The mommies feeding their kids PB&J for the 97th day in a row.
The mommies letting their kids eat the dropped cereal off the floor because it’s easier than sweeping.
The mommies (and daddies!) comforting crying toddlers at 2 a.m. for the 7th consecutive night.
The mommies falling asleep during story time.
The mommies eating crazy things for breakfast like guacamole and brownies.
The mommies (and daddies, again) who find themselves saying things like, “Don’t suck on your socks…you won’t have any friends,” or, “Please don’t use your fork to scratch your armpit.”

I see you.  I’m right there with you.  We got this.

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Pit stains and all.

Happy Pig

So Bubba hit a new phase last week.  I think we’ll call it the Repeat Two Words Over and Over Until Mommy Loses Her Mind phase.

Nana has a pig.  A singing, tutu wearing pig.  The pig was a birthday gift from an equally eccentric family member.  At first Bubba was terrified of the pig, probably because it’s almost as tall has he is, and he accidentally met her eye to eye right outside the bedroom door while in a post-nap stupor.  Creepy pig.  Poor kid.

The pig eventually won Bubba over when he realized that she does, in fact, sing his most favorite song, Happy BirthdaySo now he will sing/dance along with the pig as many times in a row as Mommy can stand.  But always from a distance.  Someone else must push her “butt”…that’s Bubba for “button,” of course.

When I got home from the Grand Canyon, it didn’t take him a but short while to start talking about the “Happy Pig”.  But when Happy Pig comes to mind, it’s somehow not enough to mention her just once or twice.  I think in Bubba’s mind you must repeat a phrase at least twenty times in a row for your audience to know the passion that is felt for a certain subject.

The only tiny problem with this particular current object of his affection is that it’s very hard to distinguish whether he’s talking about the pig or showing off his other latest trick: learning to spell his real name.  Context clues are key here.  So far he’s only got the last three letters down, but either way, they both sound like this:

“I-P-P, I-P-P, I-P-P, I-P-P, I-P-P, I-P-P, I-P-P, I-P-P, I-P-P, I-P-P…”

No less than 20 times in a row.  Every time.

Again, poor kid.

 

Did That Really Just Happen?

Did I really just bribe my five year old with the following statement, “If you guys are seen and not heard while Mommy is having her meeting, we’ll go get some ice cream afterwards.  OK?” 

Yep, that really did happen today.  Now that’s some quality parenting right there.  Granted, I did relate it to a classic work of children’s literature in the process, but I’m not truly sure that makes it any better.  Several times in the Little House books Laura reluctantly remembers that children are to be seen and not heard.  Chica totally fell for my reference and agreed to give it her best shot.  Actually, who am I kidding?  It was the ice cream, not Laura.  Either way, she was mostly good during the meeting, and I decided I would forgive her short-lived and not-too-distracting barking and crawling because 1) it kept Bubba entertained and 2) I really wanted ice cream.  Daddy even met us there.  Bonus.

Count RaggiDid Chica really just tell me, “The Count Reggi is the national bird of Guinea,” while riding home from said meeting?

Yes, that happened today too.  By now I probably shouldn’t be surprised by the things she remembers from Wild Kratts and just trust that she knows what she’s talking about.  But tonight I decided to follow her rabbit trail and double check the truly random info that spills out of her little head.  Turns out she’s right.  The Raggiana Bird-of-Paradise, also known as Count Raggi’s Bird-of-Paradise, is Papua New Guinea’s national bird.  It seems this bird is best known for the male’s red plumes and elaborate courtship dance.  There.  You’ve learned your one new thing for the day.  You’re welcome.

P.S.  Does the educational value of Wild Kratts somehow make up for the lack of parenting finesse demonstrated in my ice cream bribe?  I’d say it’s likely.

Did Chica really just strip down naked in the middle of playgroup?

Oh, did that ever happen today.  The same girl who can rattle off animal facts quicker than I can google them, still doesn’t know that the backyard of a stranger’s house is not the place to change into your swimsuit when you’re five.  So here I am at playgroup for the second time ever, trying really hard to appear that I have it all together in front of these moms who do this for a living.  (I feel like I just pretend during the summer.)  So the experienced moms apparently know that you dress your kids appropriately ahead of time when there’s going to be water to avoid a situation just like this one.  Yep…got that one for next time.  So I’m digging around in my bag to find Bubba’s bathing suit when I look up and am blinded by a mysterious white light.  J/K….it’s just Chica in all her sun-deprived glory standing by the baby pool, waiting.   I couldn’t find that bathing suit fast enough.  Let’s just hope all my new mama friends were thinking more of, “Oh, poor teacher mom who’s still figuring this out,” and less of, “Wonder what kind of crazy stuff goes on at their house?”   Let’s hope.

In celebration of ChicaAndBubba’s 100th post, will you consider leaving me your best “Did that really just happen?” moment from the week?  I’d love to hear it!

Image:  Bird-of-Paradise (Paradisaea raggiana) © cliff1066  | Flickr Creative Commons