Wow-ful Women Wednesday -- Blue Grass Edition

Come on, now. This *must* put a smile on your face. I like this for many reasons. Not the least of which is my 3 year old coming over and trying to sing along thinking that the girls were singing "Raisin" in all the transitions between verses. Listen closely. He may be right. :-) I am really enjoying this this morning. Hope you do too!

Heard at My House

Setting: 3 year old son setting the table for breakfast. Grabs a handful of spoons. Puts them on the table. Comes back for a second handful.

"Momma. We need more spoons. We have LOTS of kids!!"

Thank you, Captain Obvious.

Heard at My House -- Insect Edition

3 year old: "Momma! There a bug in the downstairs!"

Me: "Cool. Who wants to kill it?"

7 year old boy: "Not me. It's totally creepy. It's like a mosquito crossed with a spider."

9 year old girl: "More like a spider crossed with a scorpion."

3 year old: "Momma! There a bug in the downstairs!"

Me: "Yes, well, I'm busy. I bet one of you could kill it."

7 year old boy: "Hey, A, spray it with the dusting stuff."

9 year old A: "Okay. Look, it just fell off the baseboard into a ball on the floor. Now you can pick it up."

7 year old boy: "No way! It's creepy."

9 year old A: "Ya. Well, I killed it. And anyway, I'm not all that lovey-dovey about picking up dead bugs."

3 year old boy: "MOMMA! I said there a really big 'pider down in the basement and it weally, weally fweaky! It's a big, giant 'pider like this." (insert adorable 3 year old hand motions)

Mental note to self: the chances of any of my children going to Africa to be missionaries is really, really slim.

Heard at My House

Setting: Dear, sweet, lovely little 3 year old man, being tucked in for his nap.


With big, brown, trusting, compassionate eyes, he looks up at his dear mother and says:

"Momma. If the bad guy stabbed me *right here* (pointing to his chest) I would be died, but then I'd be in heaven, right?"

Me: "um. yes."

Wee Boy: "Okay. That's good."

Me: "Sweet dreams?"

Mental note: have a little glance over the Sunday School materials when they come home tomorrow to find out what examples they are using in the nursery....:-)

Heard at My House

Setting: 3 year old son, squinting his eyes really, really tightly.

Son: "Mo-omm (said in a sing-songy way). Can you see me?"

Me: "Yes, dear boy. I can see you."

Son: "No you can't."

Me: "Actually, yes I can."

Son: "No. My eyes are closed so you can't."

Me: "Right. I forgot."

Mental note to self: It might be time to take a course on "Playing Along with an Imaginative Child" and "How not to Crush your child's enthusiasm for Play".

Decision Time

Dear Shirt,

You were the perfect price on that clearance rack. You were just the right shade of green. You were the right tunic length with the cute three-quarter sleeves, and the tiny buttons up the front that just set you off so nicely.

Then, there was the delicate little draw-string belt. So thin. So discreet. So very current. You know, I had a moment when I bought you when I thought, "Hm. I sure hope that this is at the right spot that accents the fact that I do, actually, have a waist, rather than making me look pregnant."

But, no. How could you, perfect little light-weight spring shirt that would look so cute with my black capris, ever do anything so vile as make me look pregnant when I'm not (really, really not).

However, today, just now, the door bell rang, with me being held in your embrace, and there stood my neighbour with a few questions and a bit of small talk. We laughed, we discussed, and we decided. All the while, there was a look. A downward, glancing look. A suspiciously questioning look. An unspoken wondering look.

You, my dear shirt, are outta here. You need to know that the next time that the charity clothing people have a pickup in our area, and you hear the doorbell ring, I assure you, you will not need to ask for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.

Sincerely,
Me.

Whether or not you like the Weather

It is April 18th. That sounds like spring, yes? Well, here in our neck of the woods the vast majority of us have taken off our snow tires, washed and stored our snow suits, pulled out the sundresses and sandals, and even worn capris at least once this month.

And today it is snowing.

I mean, snowing. A fair bit. Not a blizzard. Just like someone is going a little overboard on the icing sugar on their olie bollen. (shout out to the Dutch among my readers! Woot!)

Without sounding like a total Pollyanna, I really, really still think it is pretty. This is a change in my heart. I've not always been a happy weather girl. Historically, I have only been content when the skies are clear, the sun is tempered, and the temperature is between 16 and 24 degrees (for my American readers I'm speaking Celsius, not Fahrenheit. I know that to convert that for you I need to do something with the fraction 5/9ths, but I don't remember what. Let's just say I like the mercury to hover around 60--70F...close enough).

My operating system seems to overheat pretty easily, so a crisp fall day or a cool spring morning, either of which require jeans and a light sweater, make me very, very happy.

In my vocabulary, there are a couple of 'bad words' that I tend to avoid. One starts with a "sh" and the other starts with a "b"...(shorts and bathing suits). Not only do I tend to avoid the words, I actually tend to avoid those articles of clothing. Truthfully, I do not own a pair of shorts and haven't for about 10 years. And I only have a bathing suit on account of the water polo game I've promised to play at our church's women's retreat in June. Seriously. There have been many, many years when I 'forgot to pack it' and had to sit out of the game entirely. Shucks.

Why am I rambling about the weather? Well, it is all reminding me of one year in university in particular: possibly 1994. It was April. We were in exams. And we all came in tanks and shorts and flip flops. And we all sweat like so many pigs stuck in a barnful of desks and stacks of paper, with no ventilation, for 3 hours. I remember thinking it was so demotivating to put forth a good effort on that exam because I was so.stinking.hot that I couldn't care any less about finishing well: I just wanted to finish and get back to an air conditioned mall. What? It's unreasonable to only take 45 minutes to do a 3 hour exam? Whatevs.

However, the very next year, to the very day, was Easter. And as our church held their Sunrise Easter Sunday service in beautiful Victoria park, I stood there, in my Easter sundress, my pretty Easter sandals, and my parka. With an inch of snow at my feet.

Fickle though she may be, Fair April is always good for a test of our contentment. And our sense of humour. Maybe April feels that the Fool's Day needed a full month this year.

Now excuse me: I'm considering going out and building a snowman. And putting an Easter bonnet on him.

Heard at My House

So, how do you argue with this kind of logic?

Setting: Mom in the kitchen making breakfast. Three year old son playing with 4 year old sister in the living room. Lots of "light sabre being whacked on the floor sounds" being heard.

Me: Honey, let's not bang the light sabre so hard on the floor. Let's be more gentle, please

Son: But Mom, I'm getting the crocodiles on the floor that are eating my sister.

Me: Right, then. Carry on.

Heard at My House

Setting: 3 year old boy. Gorgeous. Sitting beside me on the couch while I read a story to him and his sister.

Did I mention he is sucking his toes?

Me: "Buddy. Don't suck on your toes. That's kind of yucky."

Him: "No, Momma. They not yucky. They yummy. And delicious."


(mental note to self: Maybe I should stop telling him that he looks good enough to eat.)

Heard At My House

Setting: Mommy in bed 'sleeping in' until 7:00am (ahem). The bedroom door creeps open as her 7 year old and 2 year old sons peek to see if the clock says 7:00 yet (indicating 'get out of bed' time.)

2 year old son: "Mommy is still in there. Shhhhhh."

7 year old son: (after climbing back into bed, begins to sing) "Ding dong the Witch is dead. Which old Witch? The wicked Witch. Ding Dong the wicked Witch is dead."


Boy, I sure hope for his sake that that song choice was just a really, really unfortunately timed earworm.

Heard at My House -- The Existentialist Edition

A: I just don't know what I'd feel like if I wasn't a person.

Me: Sorry. What?

A: I mean, if I wasn't me, and I wasn't someone else, and I wasn't a thing. I just don't know what that would feel like.

Me: Okay. You need to explain that a little more. Do you mean, like if you were some other person?

A: No. Like, I just think there is a person for everybody.

Me: Do you mean, "a soul for every body"?

A: No. I guess...well, I don't know...I mean...

Me: Do you mean, if your dad and I didn't have you would you still be somewhere else?

A: I don't know. I just mean if, I just...Well, I don't know how I'd feel.... Oh, I don't understand what I mean either.


(mental note: I'm not sure which of my university studies would have been more helpful in this conversation: Psych 020 or a reading of Waiting for Godot.)

Heard At My House - The C.S. Lewis Edition

Setting: Two beautiful girls washing my lunch dishes and using their best British accents to communicate with one another. And this nugget of observation:

9 year old Daughter: "*sigh* I just LOVE speaking Narnian."

Heard At My House

"Hey Mom! I actually just ate ALL my Brussels sprouts...with*out* gagging!"


[Mental Note: We've come a long way from the days when the kids called them "Special Sprouts".}

Heard At My House - The Birds and the Bees Edition

The sticky subject of when to have "the talk" with our kids has always plagued my mind like a, well, like a plague. Every so often a question will come up and I'll think, "Here we go: Today is the day." Except Chris and my philosophy is only answer the question actually asked, and only give as much information as is necessary to satisfy their momentary curiousity. Thus, the following dialogue between my 4 year old daughter and myself.


Miss T: "Mommy, are we made out of potatoes?"

Me: "Sorry. What?"

Miss T: "Are we made from potatoes?"

Me: "Uh. No."

Miss T: "Are we made from dirt?"

Me: "Well, God made Adam from the dust of the ground, so he was made from dirt and then Eve was made from his rib and was fashioned around it. Remember us talking about that?"

Miss T: "Yes. So are we made from ribs?"

Me: "No. Once there was Adam and Eve, God made all the rest of the people from a Mommy and a Daddy." (*insert nervous breathing wondering how much farther I'll need to go.*) "Then a baby grows in the Mommy's belly and it comes out a cute little baby."

Miss T: "And then it learns to walk and get big, right?"

Me: "Right"

Miss T: "Okay. So we aren't from potatoes."

Me: "Right."

Miss T: "Thanks, Mommy. Good night."

And thus ends another painless conversation. Who can understand the workings of a 4 year old mind?

Telemarketing Fun

My friend, Kristina, just posted a recent encounter with a telemarketer over at her blog and so I felt compelled to share with you my latest experience. Mine is a moral tale: a fable of sorts. Read, and learn.

Me: Hello, this is Barbara.

Telemarketer: [toilet flushing] Hello, my name is...

Me: Not interested. [Hang up, and disinfect ear]

And the moral of this tale:

If a sale you want to make,
And a pee break, need to take,
Please do the last well before the first,
So I don't know, and you don't burst.

Heard At My House

Daughter A, age 9: "I'm glad I'm me. I mean, I probably wouldn't be sad if I was somebody else either, but I'm glad I'm me. I just like it. And this house is the coziest house ever. And I love walking through the house and smelling all of Mom's yummy cooking smells. [extended, contented sigh] I think I'm just pretty happy."

Yes, dear Sunshine. You are just pretty happy. And we are so glad you are you, too. I couldn't imagine life with you!

Heard At My House: Two for One Edition

Part One:

Chatting with my 7 year old daughter, who is reading the email I'm typing over my shoulder:

E: Wow, Mom. That's a long email.

Me: Yup.

E: And you used lots of smiley faces.

Me: Yup. Guess I'm weird that way.

E: You aren't weird. You're a mom. And you're pretty.

(mental note to self: Buy that kid a pony for Christmas)

Part Two, in which I walk into a conversation between my two oldest girls as they wash the dishes:

J (10 years old): I'm definitely going to get one when I grow up.

Me: What? A husband? (insert laugh track here)

J: Nope. A dog. But I'll get a husband too. Then I won't have to afford the big expense of getting the dog. I'll just ask my husband nicely.

(mental note to self: have a little chit chat with the girls about expectations for marriage...yikes!) :-)

Heard At My House

This is just mini, but really cute to me.

Our oldest did a ribbon/flag dance at our homeschool co-op to "Indescribable". Great song. My youngest girl (3) has been trying to do it at home. And she just now was playing with the ribbon and singing the song:

"Mommy, I was doing the song, 'All-containable, All-complainable'. You know that one?"

Ya. I know *something* like that one. :-)

Heard At My House

The Moment of Enlightment:

6 year old boy: "Hey! I know how parents can know when to do their kids' birthdays: By the day they were born!"


*sigh*

Yes, my little scholar. That would be a good way. As the table is erupting in laughter at his naivety, I comfort him with a story about myself when I was in Kindergarten.

The teacher asked me when my birthday was that year. I said "November 21st". We go around the circle asking all the kids. When it gets back to me, she says, "And when will your birthday be next year?" (Trick question!) I say, "I don't know. We haven't planned that far ahead yet."

Apparently, tragically, the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree.

Heard At My House

Conversation with my 3 year old daughter:

She says: "Mom, my dolly has brown eyes, just like I have brown eyes".

I say: "That's right honey, and just like I have brown eyes. What about Daddy? What colour eyes does he have?"

She says: "Brown"

I say: "Right! What about your sister?"

She says: "Brown"

I say: "Right! (and then trying to be funny) What colour is your belly button?"

She says (without batting an eye): "Silver. Do you have a silver belly button too, Mommy?"


Umm......Hmmmm.... :-)