Archive for September, 2009

Last Minute Homework

It had already been a busy day.  Dentist appt to replace my aging fillings, picking up Mark from preschool, soccer in the rain.

7:45 PM.  Finishing up dessert and hot chocolate, to warm up the wet, chilled soccer players.

Sam:  Ooooooo!

Me (alarmed!):  What?

Sam:  I just remembered…I have to do two science projects…by tomorrow.

Being Three

You insist you DO NOT need to use the potty before we leave the house, only to have a DESPERATE URGE as soon as we get to the playground.

You CAN give sweet kisses, but are just as likely to head-butt.

The word you’re learning when Mama drives are still, pretty much, incomprehensible to other people.

You sing both the Spider-man theme song and the Wheels on the Bus.

USUALLY you know now not to write on the walls.  Your own body, however, is still considered fair game.

You still plead at every bath not to have your hair washed.  But you don’t scream anymore when it is.

Your Mama thinks every day that you’re really three and a half, and it’s only a few months until you will be four.


So a few months ago, when I was feeling really depressed about my thirteen years and counting in preschooler land, I bought myself a set of Wonder Woman underwear, on the theory that I might feel more empowered.  I don’t know.  It made sense at the time.  But the deal is, my superhero obsessed three-year old LOVES them.

Only he thinks I should strip down to the panties and cami, randomly and publicly, whenever he deems it time to fight evildoers.

It makes a certain amount of sense, if you look at it from his perspective.  HE has costumes he wears in public.  What’s wrong with MINE?

Unable to explain, I just don’t wear them.  But he’s asking, and I don’t know how much longer I can put him off.

But if he’s going to insist I run around in my underwear, he could have the decency to wait until I lose ten pounds, I say.

Dad vs Mom

Kate:   (sipping soup & buttering a roll) When DAD brings me to Panera, I only get to have a drink.

Me:  Oh?

Kate:  But with DAD’s book, you have to push a button to turn the pages.

Me (thinking to myself):  Okay, so tomato soup and bread outweighs mere soda pop, but Dad’s Kindle trumps my plain old book.  You win some, you lose some.

Mark's Gloating Little Song

Where’s Paul?

Paul’s off to school.

Good-bye, Paul!

Where’s Sam?

Sam’s off to school.

Good-bye, Sam!

Where’s Kate?

Kate’s off to school.

Good-bye, Kate!

Where’s Dad?

Dad’s off to work!

Good-bye, Dad!

It’s just you and me, Mom!

The Circle Dante Forgot


If my children INTENDED for me to leave the Target reconsidering the wisdom of procreation as a concept, they succeeded.  Apparently, in their heads, we shop for my entertainment, cause it’s so darn much fun to take children to the store, and if they behave very badly, Mom will get bored with it and we’ll go home.

I may recover.  Some day.


So we’re watching NCIS this evening, and a teaser for the eleven o’ clock news comes on:  “More tonight about the first death from Swine Flu in our area!”

Paul:  “Oh, that’s bad.”

Sam:  “Why?”

Paul:  “Someone DIED.”

Sam:  “Just ONE person.”

Paul:  “But what if that one person was MOM?  Just because you didn’t know him doesn’t make him not important.  How do you think his family is feeling?”

Sam:  “Maybe he was an orphan.”

Prozac Parents?

I adore–shoot, with my body I thee worship–most of PBS’ children’s programs.

Relatedly, I despise the new HD converter boxes, which you need if you do not have an HD TV.  Those buggers turn themselves off after 3 hours.  I really, really, don’t need a machine insinuating that I’ve watched enough TV or had PBS on for the kiddos rather too long.  Either volunteer to babysit or mind your own business, Big Brother.

But I digress…

There’s something very odd about Caillou’s parents.

What are they taking?  No one has that much patience naturally.  Plus they don’t seem to actually work more than a few hours a week.

Whatever it is, I want it.


So Kate woke up two days ago–and none of her shoes fit.

For real.

Every pair of shoes she owned was too small, except a brand-new pair of tennies we bought a size big so they would fit the whole school year.  Those, she could still get on.  Everything else would have required Grimm ugly stepsisters-type drastic action.

How does a child outgrow all her shoes overnight?  What on earth did we feed her for dinner?


Kate, our only little-girl dragon–fuscia, graceful, cordial, so long as you do want she wants; otherwise she’s liable to get nineteenth-century on your heiney–started school last week.

The first three days were great.  There was excitement galore.  Clothes to pick out.  A new princess backpack  to carry.  Lunches to pack.  Walking with Sam.  The works.  She was grown-up.  It was fabulous.

Until the fourth day.

Apparently, something clicked.

She comes down in a frou-frou dress, not standard-issue school clothes.

Me:  “Go change for school.”

Kate:  “You mean I have to go every day!?”

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