Archive for June, 2011

Citation Needed

In the car on the way to Mark’s last day of preschool:

Mark:  “I am the king of cats!  Catwoman and Catman bow down to ME.”

Me (remembering Romeo and Juliet):  “Then your name is Tybalt?”

Mark:  “What?”

Me:  “The king of cats is named Tybalt.”

Mark (skeptically):  “The King of Cats is named Tybalt?  How do you know this?  Is it a story?”

Me (because really I know about this is the play’s reference to Tybalt as the king of cats):  “Um…yeah.”

Mark (sensing weakness):  “Who wrote it?  Who’s the publisher?”

 

Warrior Princess Worries

Over waffles this morning…

Kate:  “Can a girl be bold, brave, and daring?”

Me (all hip for a girl-power talk):  “You bet!  In fact–”

Kate:  “But how?”

Me (choking now that the moment I’ve been waiting for years now has finally arrived):  “Well…”

Kate (interrupting again):  “I mean, I like my hair.”

Me:  “Huh?”

Kate:  “Doesn’t ‘bold’ mean having no hair?”

Shoulda known.  I’ve known my daughter long enough to realize this wouldn’t be a question of capability–OF COURSE she can do anything she wants.  It’s merely the style in which these things happen that has yet to be determined.  Pack the girl-power speech in mothballs.  She doesn’t need it.

Old as the Hills. No, older.

Kate:  “Did you know that Earth used to be just like Mars?”

Me:  “Oh, really?”

Kate:  “Yes!  Long, long ago, before the dinosaurs, before the plants, before ANYTHING.  It was hot.  There was lava.  And the lava heated up the water, and THINGS started growing in the water.  Little things.  And they evolved into bigger things.  And became plants.  And dinosaurs.  And US.

Me:  “Oh?”  I am thrilled with Kate’s fascination with science.  Unlike poor Sam, whose literary bent is an apple I would like to pitch, for his own good, a heckuva lot further from the tree.

A pause.  I think she’s considering the awesome mystery of it all.

But perhaps not.

Kate:  “So…when were YOU born?”

Catch and Release

So Mark comes up to me with a stinkbug in his hand.  A dead stinkbug.  Very dead.  Upside down, legs curled up.

Mark:  “I caught this tinkbug.  I’m going to take him outside and rewease him into da wild.”

Me:  “Okay.”

On the porch, Mark waves his hand, clearly attempting to help launch the bug into freedom’s first flight.  The stinkbug falls to the floor.

Me (because I’m basically not a nice person, even to my own children):  “Did he fly away yet?”

Mark (neither daunted nor perturbed):  “He’s taking a rest first.”

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