A conversation between M- and D-: Don't tell my parents they said this

While we were casually discussing Walt Disney tonight, the kids asked me if he's still alive:

Me: No, he died before I was born... maybe when [my parents] were teenagers?

D- (jaw to the floor): Whooooooaaa!! He died a LOOOONG time ago! ...I can't even beLIEVE it!

M- (running in from the hall): D-, he died like a hundred YEARS ago!!

D-: I know!! I can't believe it!

Time really is a fuzzy concept for them, whether it's years, days, or minutes. It's generally baffling and/or frustrating, but luckily, I'm occasionally able to use it to my advantage.

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You may enjoy my previous (4YO daughter) M- conversations, (7YO son) D- conversations, and (wife) J- conversations.

A conversation with M-: The little things matter most

The following is a conversation I had with my 3-year-old daughter M- recently, while passing the time before preschool by reading her feather on the class turkey of things for which the kids are thankful.

Me: You're thankful for lollipops?? That's what you're most thankful for?

M-: Yes!

Me: Not your family, or something?

M-: I'm thankful for lollipops AND my family!

Me: In that order?

M-: Yes!

(Note that all of her lines purposefully end in exclamation points... that's just the way she talks.)*

In case I don't see you all before next week, happy Thanksgiving!

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* Except for when she's bossing people around in a quiet, threatening way, instead of her usual loud, outraged way.

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You may enjoy my previous M- conversations, (6YO son) D- conversations, and (wife) J- conversations.

Classic quotes, Vol. 25

While you're remembering our fallen troops this Memorial Day, lighten up the mood a bit with some recent quotes from my 3-year-old daughter M- and my 6-year-old son D-:

M- (just standing there, repeating herself over and over): I'm going to clean up after myself, without even a word. I'm gonna clean up the whole house, without even a word!

D- (absolutely incredulous, after my mom congratulated him for telling a grownup about something that happened): ...But I DIDN'T tell a grownup! I told DAD!! *

M- (while waxing poetic about the popsicle she was just given): Visions that are dancing through my head, are POPsicles!

D- (overheard from the playroom, in a very stern, controlled tone): No, I'm NOT playing school with you, I'm playing my own game. Stop trying to make me, or I'll just tell Dad. (unintelligible response) ... No, then you'll have no kids at ALL, because I'M. NOT. PLAYING. And if you try to PUSH me on it, I'll. Tell. Dad.

M- (towing a long string of paper behind her, pulling off a line many guys have vainly tried through history): Wanna pet my snake?? He's really long...

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* I would make this same distinction.

12 steps over to the CPR table, 1 step back in shock...

Sorry folks, I can't talk long, I've got a lot of numbers to juggle in my head, along with quite a bit of comically misspent grief.

You see, due to the unfortunate fact that I'm an idiot, I jumped into a swimming pool yesterday while still wearing my ever-present pedometer, which I found floating across the water a few minutes later, not unlike the tragically bloated corpse of my secret, much-more-loved child.

This means I had to spend the rest of the day trying to figure out about how much I had walked before my wife J- handed me her own identical (though only sporadically used) device, to preemptively shut me up and to stop that nervous twitch in my eye.

You know the twitch-- it's the one that scary guy on the subway platform always has before he shuffles over and asks you if you're sure you need both your kidneys, or if you know what pants taste like.

After baking it with a hair dryer almost to the point of melting yesterday, and then leaving it out in the sun all afternoon, I was able to bring the display back after it had finally disappeared (an impressively long holdout, I thought, considering the fact that I could see water inside the screen after I pulled it ashore), but it refused, possibly out of bitterness, to count any steps up until I removed the battery to let it dry more thoroughly.

My sister recommended leaving it covered in dry rice for awhile, to fully suck out any remaining moisture*, but since I don't have any on hand at the moment, I figured I might as well solicit ideas from you, proud members of The Internet. I'm coming to you first because I'd rather not get lost hunting down every possible solution in the universe, including those dreamed up as a joke by 15-year-old kids, Death Row prisoners, and shut-ins.

You see, I may or may not have a tendency to be easily distracted by flashing lights, useless trivia, nostalgic references, and bits of string, so if I was, in fact, this way, it might take me hours to find my way back out to actually resuscitate my little comatose loved one.

Wait a minute, is that a list of factual errors and continuity mistakes in the 1988 treasure Short Circuit 2 on the IMDb? I'll be right back...

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* She did this, to great effect, for the laptop on which she spilled a drink, after finding the suggestion online. She's not just some strange person whose solution to every problem involves wasting odd foods, as some kind of vegetarian sacrifice.

Classic quotes, Vol. 18

I've been a bit overloaded with quotes lately, hence I'm here again less than two weeks later with a few more quotes from my wife J-, my 5-year-old son D-, my 2-year-old daughter M-, and me:

J- (yet again underappreciating my hilarity one night): You're evil! I'm going to bed without you. (remembering) ...Except there's a spider over the bed and I need you to come kill it.

M- (grinning from ear to ear in enthusiastic disbelief about something, several times a day): "Cheese Ma-wheeze!"*

Me (to J-, who was questioning my attention to detail in wrapping a child's birthday present): Well, why make the bed if you're just going to mess it up and have to do it again all over tomorrow?? ...That little nugget of wisdom would probably carry a lot more weight if we actually made the bed every day.

M- (freestyling to a heartwarmed J-, now far outclassed in her impromptu "I love you" contest): I love you, and I buhv you, and I picked you out from the Momma's Day store!**

My sister (recent college graduate, with an elementary education degree, no less): How do you spell "college"?***

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*Actually, both kids have been saying this one for awhile (trying to say, "Geez Louise!", of course), but M- seems to say it more often, and now it's already morphed into "Cheese My-wheeze!" I guess though, when you think about it, it's an equally valid substitute for exclaiming, "Jesus!" outright.

** For those of you who just threw up, I only included this for posterity, as well as for the sizable portion of my readership who enjoys those sappy Anne Geddes babies-in-costumes kinds of things. And who overappreciate kittens.

*** I'd probably be in big trouble if I didn't point out that she was very tired, and merely second-guessing herself as she stared at the computer screen, deep into the spacey depths of Decompression Summer.

Classic quotes, Vol. 16

Here are a few choice quotes just from the past two weeks of our vacation alone, this time all from my 5-year-old son D- and 2-year-old daughter M-:

M- (slapping my legs while she sat on the toilet): I'm cwapping your pants!*

D- (after winking at our now-fawning waitress, while smiling coyly): What's your name?

M- (asked of Grandma absolutely out of the blue, then restated by D- after she understandably questioned what M- had asked): Why does Santa have helpers?

M- (a moment of clarity during a minor tantrum in a restaurant): I'm fwustwaited!!

M- (on another occasion, reaching up and pushing on my chin while I was telling her how naughty she was acting): I am cwosing your mouth, to stop your talking to me!**

And to close this very M--heavy quote list, a bonus from before we left for vacation:

M- (generously offering some of her "Mystery" flavored lollipop): You want a wick of my Mystery?

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* The next day she said she was, "Cwapping on [my] head," which honestly isn't as far-fetched as it should be, given some of the barely contained bodily-function mishaps we've come to know so well.

** Rest assured, she earned herself a good yellin'-to for this typically self-narrated mutinous behavior.

A robotic family portrait

Since I know that pictures have been few and far between for a long while, I thought I'd share with you all this intimate family portrait, with members represented according to my 2-year-old daughter M-'s remarkably consistent series of dramatic scenarios over the past several weeks:

Spoiling his long-held secret identity, I'll admit that the fellow on your left up there is my dad, whom the kids call Dado (DAH-doh) in the Irish custom. On the right, in an uncanny representation right down to the giant titanium claw hand, is my mom, whom the kids call Grammair, similar to the French title.

Now, the two in the middle are harder to pin down. The lady on the left was originally employed as my 5-year-old son D-, with the smallest (grown male) figure representing M- herself, but, I believe over D-'s one-time objection, at a certain point she began identifying herself instead as the (bipedal, clothed rat-) woman, with D- then played by that man a fraction of "M-'s" size.

I'm thinking that the size/power upgrade was a big reason why she didn't mind abruptly changing the conventions of her personal game to suit the whims of her bystander brother, who's as prone to ranting power-trips these days as she has always been to squeezing someone's face with her fingernails until they stop saying whatever it is she objects to, such as, "what [she] should do."

To explain the likely disappointing, for you, lack of my wife and I in this portrait, I get the sense M- herself is the Momma in her games, and I imagine I'm not usually given any inanimate representation because I represent myself so well in that state throughout her waking hours. I am omnipresent and omnisomnolent.*

But it's our (virtual) loss, I assure you. Because oh, what fun this crew has, day in, day out... almost as much fun as my wife J- had before she was formally introduced, trying to figure out one night after bedtime what in the world M- was talking about when she was crying for her to "go find M- and D-... I want you to bring me M- and D-!"

The answer J- would have given, had she been up to speed on the fast-changing world of Imagination Games that is our afternoons around here, is that M- and D- were not available that night because they were still unconscious inside a shoe under the coffee table after Dado shot them in the face with a giant web-missile while attempting to pass the sugar cubes at teatime.

You know, the usual disfunctional family hijinks. Plus robots.

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* Don't feel bad if you don't recognize that word, because I'm pretty sure I just built it right this moment, and I love it.

A conversation between M- & J-: We're not talking to him anymore

Head on over to Hot Dads to read my latest post there, a little conversation between my wife J- and 2-year-old daughter M-.

Maybe now I'll finally get some of that hate mail I've always wanted!

Sharing only the best

The best line by far from an action-packed Christmas came from my 4-year-old son D-, holding up a few very nice shirts my parents got him (along with a hearty portion of his mountain of new Stuff) and matter-of-factly stating:

"... I already have some shirts at home, so we can just give these ones to poor kids."

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Editor's Note: It seems no one has told him that technically, living in a household of four supported solely by the salary of a new teacher at a school in the very worst part of town definitely qualifies you as a Poor Kid.

Classic quotes, Vol. 9

Here are some of the latest quotes from around our house (M- is my 22-month-old daughter and D- is my 4-year-old son):

M- (pointedly, almost any time we ask her if she can do something): No, I'm too busy right now.*

D- (after being reminded about how M- will be 4 some day): And then we can have a FIGHT!!

M- (whenever she sees D- or I getting dressed): Bye, penis!

Me (with predictable disbelief and disgust): M-, do not eat food off the toilet seat.

M- (to my mom, uncharacteristically not doing whatever M- wanted her to at the moment): No! You make me saaad!!

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* As I had to swear to my sister, neither J- nor I have ever in our lives said this to either of our kids, though of course many times we've thought it.

What are turkeys thankful for?

As my American readers know, today is Thanksgiving.* On this day, we are expected to give thanks for the plenty of food and family/friends we are lucky enough to have, and we are meant to celebrate this by ridiculously overindulging in both.

Because of this extreme ritual, we can manage as easily to last an entire year at a time without eating corn-syrup-soaked cranberries jellied into the shape of a can and as we can go that same year without again speaking to or otherwise acknowledging those most distant relatives whose branch of the family tree you can't easily trace.

This holiday is our central teaching tool for that noble tradition our ancestors set in place so long ago: When blessed with plenty, burn through your stores like the freezer's broken; when tested by famine, may you begin to understand why.**

Amen. Now pass me some of those candied corporate profits-- I'm starving!

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* Canadian readers: You may not be aware of it, but what you celebrated last month is rightly called "Canadian Thanksgiving". Please see that you correct your calendars.

** It's believed there was a followup proverb, lost to history, saying essentially that one can always guilt a bunch of Indians into sharing all their stuff whenever you need some.

It's hip to be timely

I know I haven't had too much to say about my wife on this blog, but it's not for lack of amusing stories or anything else. I just tend to procrastinate when it comes to writing about important things, and on many occasions I've let opportunities pass by where J- would be revealed as the amazing and funny person she is.

After a month or two of procrastinating, things start to feel stale and tedious and they pile up in my Drafts folder.

Take our fifth anniversary over a month ago-- wouldn't you expect some sappy post with a scrapbook of pictures and such? Or, knowing me, some sarcastic post with one picture, two at most, and a handful of tangential footnotes? I actually have more than a few pictures and a ridiculous story to tell about that day, but there it sits, and probably will for a while longer yet.

But that's not what this post is about.

Since I haven't said all that much about her, you won't mind me completely mischaracterizing her in your minds by way of introducing the subject of this post: almost six years ago now, she violently ripped the lining of her right hip socket while kickboxing.

She has limped along ever since on her remaining hip, which wasn't so great to begin with, trying and failing for various reasons (including lovely insurance debacles and poorly timed pregnancies) to have the problem surgically corrected. As you can imagine, the pregnancies made that hip sing like a finely tuned machine.

She's sleeping as I write this, as I should be, but today at noon she will fall asleep again. While she's sleeping, she'll be sliced open and have her femur yanked out of the socket, to allow the doctors to scrape out the remaining shreds of labrum and grind into oblivion the pesky bone spur on the end of her femur that started all this mess.

Then, assuming all goes well, they'll stitch her back up and send her hobbling on her merry way, to slowly recover over the next month and a half as she avoids putting any pressure on that leg so the bone doesn't shatter before it's completely healed.

Such is the fun she's bravely facing this holiday season, starting with a Thanksgiving spent as the immobile centerpiece for my extended family's celebration at my parents' house.*

Why is this happening now, you ask? Because she wanted to be sure she'd miss as few school days as possible, while not passing up another chance to get this done once and for all by waiting till next summer. She fills me with faith that this world is not completely lost, as she slogs through everything life throws at her without wasting too much time regretting paths she might have taken.

In the last few weeks, she moved from Drone to Zombie mode in continuing to get up at 5AM while staying late into the evening planning* and preparing everyone around her for her absence at this crucial stage of the year, making plans and more, all to be sure that her extremely underprivileged, forgotten students don't stop the unprecedented (and thankfully, quantifiable in enough areas to buy her some leeway) progress they've made since she took this school by storm last year.

All this leads up to her, a person about as averse to even the idea of surgery as you're likely to find, getting carved up with only the hope of feeling better at some point next year, even without that last little bit of handy buffer between the bones of her hip joint.

We may be back here some day down the road for the other hip, but hopefully it will hear enough horror stories from this one to shape up all by itself.

As for the kickboxing, no matter how successful her recovery is, I don't think she'll be dropping into any Thai cage matches or ill-advised college P.E. classes any time soon.

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* Thanks to my parents, she has a place to stay that isn't up three flights of stairs, and thanks to them (and my sister), I'll have a little help managing the kids during J-'s recovery.

** Fifteen special-needs teenagers in one classroom equals 15 separate daily plans.

I'll take my baby puree Rare

Even though my oldest child is only 4, I already know that for all the events and characteristics that seem to be hints at the kind of person a baby will become, most are just false flags and turn out to be nothing.*

Hindsight makes clear to me, though, that heavily repeated habits and happenings can indeed serve as a reliable forecast method, as can certain distinct moments.

This is all a way of leading up to telling you of a clear indicator that my 18-month-old daughter M- will not follow in her Aunt** Katie's footsteps by becoming a vegetarian.

As we flipped through a Baby Animal book before bedtime last night, I asked M- what cows said, and after correctly responding, "Moooo," she paused for a moment with her finger on the picture. She then raised it and firmly pointed at the cute lil' fella a couple more times as she added, "Eeeeat-it!!"


* See the famous 10 reasons my 3-year-old son may be homosexual post for Exhibit A.
** Side note to my wife J-: that's pronounced "ant", not "ahhnt", you lousy Yankee. Nice try.

Classic quotes, Vol. 5

I almost didn't make it to post today for the first time since mid-February, since I've been putting in some long hours working for my dad this week, but I'm here during a break with a quickie post as a declaration of victory* over my procrastination demons.

So without further ado, here are some more lines uttered by our family in recent days, extra heavy on the M-, just like you ordered:

M- (anytime someone sneezes): Bwessss youuu!

M- (anytime anyone expresses pain): Sorr-ree.

M- (anytime she or anyone else burps or causes a sound even remotely resembling flatulence): Scuse mee!!

M- (anytime anyone has food, while approaching with an open mouth): Biiiiite-it.

D-: Well... it's not doin' what I want it to do, so I hit it. (simple explanation for his Hulk-like rage and subsequent violence against his belt... while wearing it)

Me (whilst discussing each other's favorite clothes we hate-- my holey old shirt vs. a hideous pair of J-'s shoes): There's not that much difference between a nipple and a stupid glued-on plastic spangle [as clothing decoration].

M- (upon seeing a surfing penguin emerge from a potentially lethal wave during an otherwise quiet moment in the movie theater**): Haa-ha-HAA!!


* Only in this mere, minor skirmish, of course. The war will rage on till the day I die... if I get around to that.

** No, this isn't a really old quote-- we just went to a free kids' show of it this morning. Isn't free stuff wonderful? Especially when your kids can shout stuff at the screen and at times not even be heard over all the other .

A rhetorical what??

CAUTION: If "Kids Say the Darndest Things" stories make you nauseous, I don't necessarily blame you, but you definitely need to go read some old posts instead, or just come back tomorrow.

For any of you who may think I'm the most literal person in the word, it does get worse.

We were having dinner at my parents' house on my sister's birthday last night, and when I was slicing myself another piece of bread, I of course made sure to ask if anyone else wanted some. Each person answered that they did not.

All of two minutes later, my dad asked my mom if she could slice him a piece of bread, so naturally she turned to him and asked, though only slightly incredulously, "where were you when he was slicing the bread??!"

D- looked at both of them for a second, confused, and then declared, as the only sane person in the room, "right there, where he is sitting..."

I think you can imagine the look he was giving everyone as he said this, before he forgot all about it and focused instead on the much more important fact that he had somehow made everyone laugh a lot.

Declaration of Independence from posting

In honor of the love of vacationing that I share with all Americans*, I'm going to be lame today and do the blog equivalent of a clip show. So while I run off to the parade and ready myself for those most delicious of all meats, free hot dogs, please jump over to this old American-flag-related post you may have missed. Comment freely, as if it's new, and help complete the charade!

Also, let's all wish a Happy Birthday to the little lady who shares this day with Lady Liberty-- my sister Katie. Didn't anyone ever tell you all those fireworks are for her? Today, she's officially an adult, although, fortunately or unfortunately for her, she'll always be my baby sister. Nice try with all that growing up, sucker!


* Though studies show we don't actually tend to take them, for the legitimate fear of being found expendable and fired. We seem to instead make up the time by "wasting" lots of it while at work, such as by reading blogs. Vive la résistance!

An anniversary card

This post is just a note to say Happy Anniversary to my parents, who have been married now for 36 years, but who both look as if they must have logically gotten married shortly after birth, instead of in their 20s. I think that's a common benefit of a good marriage defined by mutual respect and a resilient sense of humor.

I figured a candid shot was best to capture them in their essence. Here they are at my Dad's retirement party a couple years ago, before he went into business for himself (and just after he had taken a big drink, it would seem):


I can only hope J- and I are headed towards a similar fate so many years from now.* I like to think we're well on our way, but we'll see if we can escape The Teenage Years without having to spend ourselves into debt on duct tape, ear plugs, heavy-duty-vault-grade door locks, chastity belts, and legal fees.


* Of course, my brothers and sister and I were angels as teenagers, as you might have guessed from my obvious class and grace, so we made it look easy for them, but knowing J-'s wild streak, we may be in for a bumpy ride that is completely the fault of her genes alone.**

** I also blame the "Terrible Twos" and the "What the F--- is YOUR Problem? Fours" on her genes alone.***

*** The term "her genes alone" in the previous two instances may include, but not be limited to, anything else I later declare as an additional cause that even more certainly absolves me of any and all blame or responsibility. Please sign here.

Developments at our house, Vol. 8

Here, at long last, are some more developments at our house in recent weeks:

1. M- decided one day to wake up at 6:30 in the morning because she had dropped her pacifier and leaked through her diaper. She wasn't at all bothered by waking up so early, but she did show signs of willingness to go back to sleep, so like a fool, I took her back into my room and laid her next to me in bed. She looked like she was drifting off, but then she made sure I knew it was NOT sleeping time by pointing to my closed right eye and saying, "Eye!" in an apparently loving memory. She then played it off as a coincidence by running through nose, mouth, ear, and hair, oblivious to the fact that I was pretending to be asleep.

2. My mom discovered that of course D- knows the word "touchous", because J- has long aspired to be an old Jewish lady. She was oddly proud after an awkward conversation at work revealed that a whole bunch of people thought she was Jewish for the entire first half of the year.

3. I discovered a new level of 4-year-old giggles by describing to D- why his breath smells like "poo-poo" in the morning. I'll give you a hint-- it involved personifying and demonstrating the consumption and excretory practices of a typical bacterium.

4. M- decided it's great fun to head-butt piles of Multi-Grain Cheerios, because that hint of brown sugar reacts with supple baby skin to make at least several of them stick to her forehead until they are picked off. Making D- laugh is, as always, just icing on the cake.

5. M- has decided that kissing your food before eating it makes it taste better. Also, all food headed for your mouth on a spoon should be blown upon as hard as possible, preferably at the last possible second, so all that scaldingly cold cereal/vegetables will safely spray all over the room and away from your tender mouth.

6. I found out that my spaghetti is apparently so terrible that a 4-year-old will feign tiredness and beg for a nap to avoid having to eat it for lunch.

7. M- has found, like D- before her, that it's okay to hit people as long as you say "Five!" before you do so.

Not exactly a glass slipper, but it'll do

Let this post serve as a fitting tribute this Memorial Day to all those comical, non-threatening pirates who have fallen over the years in service to our amusement.

To continue my service to those lucky folks who will become new parents in the future, I forewarn you of yet another type of event you may surprisingly come to know as pretty normal.

Just as your daughter will undoubtedly one day attempt to blind you in one eye just to see you wear an eyepatch (she fails), she will continue her apparent obsession with pirate accoutrement by fashioning herself a peg leg out of whatever material is handy, up to and including your cup.*

To be fair to your future children, in their defense, you did leave that cup out. Why wouldn't you expect to get a little foot in it? Come on-- you're better than that.

Furthermore, should you go on to create a blog publicly mocking your children, even if you think you can't come up with a post on a day when you get to sleep in past noon, just relax, and inspiration will come... inspiration will come.


* To J-, who is currently working out over at my parents' house: in case you're enjoying a refreshing beverage later until you realize your cup smells like feet, here's proof it was the baby's fault, not mine. This time.

Parenting 101: I am a wonderful parent

You know what the best part of being a parent is? Knowing that one day, you'll be able to take your lovely, perfect grandchildren to your house for a sleepover.

Okay... have my parents stopped reading yet? Is the coast clear?

Actually, the best part of being a parent is being able to have a day here and there when your parents take your children away and you don't have to deal with them and all their high maintenance for one whole day and night. They don't really tell you this when they discharge you from the hospital, but babies are a lot of work. For like 20 years.

The nurses and such at the hospital are all "Ohh, what a special little miracle! He/she/it is so darling... (choking up) so special!" ...yadda, yadda, yadda. What they're thinking is, "Good god, babies may be cute (given a few days to unsmash their faces and everything), but am I glad my kids are old enough to be yelled at to leave me alone while I go take a nap. I'm gonna sleep good tonight! These poor bastards obviously have no idea what they're in for, or they wouldn't be smiling like that. That woman is pretty lucky, though, cause the dad sure looks like an exceptionally intelligent, handsome, and unbelievably witty individual."*

I assure you, though, if you don't already know, there's absolutely no sarcasm or even realism employed out loud in the baby-having section of the hospital. It's all sunshine and rainbows and (shudder) straightforward positivity.

So anyway, here's a disclaimer: I love my kids, they crack me up, they're so special and smart and amazing and stuff, and like all parents, I can't wait to see them grow up to appreciate and worship me... That being said, man did I sleep good last night. Heck, I may even go back to sleep right now. This is the life.


* Your experience may or may not match this, which was undoubtedly my personal experience.