Archive for June, 2010

Table for One, Please

What’s on the table for dinner last night:  raw carrots and broccoli with ranch dressing for dip; sugar snap peas; leftover spaghetti; leftover hotdogs; leftover peas; leftover rice; and fresh-cut watermelon.

Kate and Mark load their plates with carrots, broccoli, dip, sugar snap peas, spaghetti, hotdogs, rice, and watermelon.  The 1/2 cup of leftover peas is cruelly ignored.

Me:  “Does anyone want any peas?”

No answer.

I take the container and start spooning peas onto my plate.

Kate:  “Please pass the peas!

Mark:  “Please pass the peas!”

This is why I normally eat alone, after they’ve gone to bed…

The Competition

So Kate and I are walking to the grocery store to pick out a cake mix because she wants to make cupcakes…

Kate:  “I am going to give one to Amanda.  She likes cupcakes.  And she likes me.”

Me:  “I think she likes me, too.  I’m her aunt.  She was the flower girl at my wedding.”

Kate:  “Okay.  She likes me AND you.  But not the boys.”

She’s quiet for a moment.  Then:  “Amanda’s not married.”

I can guess what’s coming.  I can see the gears turning in her head as if her ears were windows.

Kate:  “When Amanda gets married, I can be her flower girl.”

Me:  “But she has other little girl cousins.  Fiona.  Zoe.  She might pick one of them instead.”

A dreadful look crosses her face.  They’re not cousins anymore.  They’re the COMPETITION.

She starts spluttering reasons why she would make a much better flower girl than either of them.  “I’m big.  They’re too little.  None one wants a little bitty flower girl.”  There are not, apparently, words sufficient to express their unsuitability for the post.  She is reduced to vile glances and brusque gestures.

Me (unable to resist):  “Actually, Fiona is the same age Amanda was when she was my flower girl.”

She sniffs disdainfully.

Mark Uproots the Lilies of the Field

I bought Mark two new shirts the day I went birthday shopping with Kate and Grandma.  After one wearing, both look as ratty as the ones he inherited from Paul and Sam, the collars chewed on, the necks stretched out, something dark and sticky down the fronts.

If I were a better person, the moral of this story would be, ‘Don’t get hung up on material things.  If doesn’t really matter what he’s wearing.  The Lilies of the Field and all that.  So long as he’s not naked.  Goodness knows, some days, that by itself is an accomplishment.’

But the real me says, ‘Why bother getting him new clothes?’

The Soulless Unite

Maaarrrrkkkk!  Our people gathered — for who knows what nefarious purposes — and we missed it!

But I’m watering it!

All of my boys have gone through a peeing-on-trees obsession, but only Mark has gone public with it.

We visited my parents over Easter break.  They have a farm.  Peeing on trees is an accepted country tradition, one that Mark embraced enthusiastically during our week there.

Which is all well and good until we get home.

The first day back to preschool, I get a call from Mark’s teacher.  Between the giggles, she explains that she had to have a conversation with Mark about NOT peeing on the trees in the daycare’s playground, and would I mind reenforcing that when he got home?

Location, son, location.

I’d forgotten about this: Sam WIN

I was glancing through old Facebook notes.  I’d forgotten about this gem from April 1, 2009, which was before I had the blog…

So I had a faux school schedule all set up for Paul for today:

Religion (30 min)
Prove the existence of God, or lack thereof
Math (1 hr)
What is zero divided by two?
Spelling (15 min)
Why does i come before e unless after c?
Grammar (30 min)
Diagram the sentences of your literature assignment

Literature (1 hr)
Read the complete works of Shakespeare

Writing (1 hr)
Write your name in stars across a moonless night

History (1 hr)
Summarize human history in 25 words or less.

Latin (30-60 min)
Ixnay atinlay hodatay

Logic (30-60 min)
Argue the opposite of whatever you did for Religion

PE (30 min)
Point your finger and do the twist

1 Hour Free Reading
Bike to Wendy’s. Decipher the graffiti in the bathroom

7:34 AM. Frantic knocking on my bedroom door.
Paul: Dad, Dad! Did Mom remember April Fool’s Day?

Note he was hollering for his father, just in case Mom had not, in fact, constructed the schedule as a joke and they were dealing with a crazy woman.

We explain, laugh at him, and give him his real schedule for the day. I come downstairs. On the door to the basement (where Paul does his schoolwork) is the following:

“Furting in progress! And anyone can come downstairs. I don’t care. You can check my spelling. Do not look on other side. PS I’m fat. Paul wrote this.”

Me: Furting?

Sam (poker-faced): I think he meant ‘farting’.

On the forbidden side of the paper was Paul’s REAL note:

sulking in proggress [sic]
do not desterb [sic]
and don’t check my spelling either.

Me: Sam, did you spell a word wrong so it would seem more like Paul?

Sam: heeheehee

Still holds the record for the Best April Fools’ Day Prank in our house.

Fine Dining

So today is Kate’s birthday, and we’re going shopping and out to lunch with her Grandma.

Usually Kate is fond of Panera, particularly the towering pyramid of whipped cream on the hot chocolate during the winter.

So I ask, “Would you like to go to Panera for lunch?”

“No,” she says.  “Someplace fancier.”

Uh-oh.  I wasn’t really planning on a sit-down lunch today.

But she continues:   “That sells pizza.”

Whew!  The food court it is!

At least I get a minivan

Kate Kent

So Kate got glasses.  She looks lovely.  “Beautiful AND smart,” I said.  She agreed.

She was particularly looking forward to going to school with them.  “All the kids will think there’s a new girl!”

Hey, it works for Superman.

A Triad of Sunday Silliness: Three

Once of the not-insignificant challenges of yesterday’s neighborhood festival and the older children’s participation therein was trying to get to the end of the day still in possession of the youngest.  Mark decided that with all the goings-on, it was obviously a free-for-all day.

For instance:

I’m helping Kate set up her table.  Mark joins us, watching for a bit, then casually remarks:  “I think I’ll go for a walk.”

Me:  “No you’re not.”

Mark:  “PAUL goes on walks by himself.”

Me:  “Paul is 13.  You are 4.  Sam does not go on walks by himself.  Kate does not go on walks by herself.  When you are 13, you can go on walks by yourself.”

He nodded, as if he had heard and understood.  But exactly how little impression I made can be gathered from the fact that he tried the same strategy 45 minutes later.

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