This is Beepin' Awesome

Car trip dialogue overheard today:

Lady E: Well, I can't say that word, Tallulah! It's just the d-word.

Little T: But what is the d-word?

Lady E: I can't say it! Mom hasn't had The Talk with me yet, and dad hasn't had The Talk with me either, so I can't use words like that.

Me, interjecting from the front seat: What word is that, honey?

Lady E: Do I say it? Or spell it?

Me: Go ahead and spell it.

Lady E: d...a...n...um...t?

Me: Go ahead and say it.

Lady E: Dangit! I can't say that yet, because you haven't had The Talk with me yet.

* * *

Lady E: There are a lot of letter words I don't say, but the one I won't even spell is the b-word. I just won't even say that or spell it. And there's the f-word. That one is bad. But I don't actually know what it is.

pause

Mom, is the f-word the one where you're talking and then you stop talking and then you say BEEEEEEEEP and then you keep talking? Mom? What are you laughing about, Mom?

* * *

We've had many interesting conversations around here lately about language. It's been beepin' awesome.

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Little T Shows Me Some Love

My pierced earring holes are non-functional.

This distresses my daughters, who are all about the ear bling. Two have pierced ears; the other -- the Little T of my title -- will when she turns six. The age of 6 is entirely arbitrary. I had no plans for ear piercings, no magic age when it was time for piercings. But then, sometime before Lalaloopsie turned 6 (that's my oldest daughter), she and I decided to get her some holes for her birthday, and thus began the 6th birthday girl tradition in our family.

But my four ear holes, three on the left side, one on the right (it was the 80's) are mostly closed up. Every so often, I try to force earrings through them, draw blood, and give up.

Back in the day, I was an earring-wearing fool. Dangly, turquoise, beaded, homemade, looped, Telegraph Ave. purchased, the more the merrier, I loved earrings and had an extensive collection. My mom, sister and I gave earrings for most gift occasions and admired each others' baubles. It was fun and awesome.

Then motherhood hit. At that point, I lost the ability to keep, let alone wear, earrings. (I get to blame motherhood for whatever the hell I want to.) I do regret the loss of earring-wearing. One Mother's Day, maybe four years ago, I got them re-pierced, but I've fallen back into my neglectful ways, and they are once again all clogged up.

Tonight, Little T was sitting on my lap, doing her kissing me too much thing, drawing swirls on my face and generally doting on me. She took my left earlobe in her fingers, caressed it lovingly, and said: "These are your earring holes, mommy. You used to be pretty."

I think I'll look into getting them pierced one more time.

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Why Information Is Good for Kids

image credit: www.cksinfo.com

My 12 year old son has discovered the movie Stand By Me. Classic, wonderful, fantastic movie, especially for teen boys. Granted, twelve is more tween than teen, but he is straining against that particular boundary with every ounce of his hormone-ravaged puberty-bound person.

So I let him watch that movie. It has since become his favorite of all time, and we've had some great conversations, about fathers and sons, about profanity, about friendship and cruelty, about story-telling, and more. Apparently, one of the words used in this movie is also a word he asked me the meaning of years ago. At the time and at his age -- maybe 8? -- it seemed entirely inappropriate to really answer his question, so I opted for the following: "Oh, that's another word for kitty-cat!"

Those of you familiar with the movie will surely remember Vern, the chubby kid who provided so many classic moments. ("That's easy. Pez. Cherry flavored Pez. No question about it.") Well, today in the car, Sam was telling more stories from the movie and he momentarily forgot Vern's name. I offered helpfully, "Oh, his name is Vern!"

Sam, right out there in front of his little sibs: "Right. But they all call him pussy!"

And that, my friends, is why kids need accurate information: so they don't grow up to teach their younger siblings that it's perfectly acceptable to go around calling people pussy.

Can you say BACKTRACK? I can!

* * *

How's This for an Alarm Clock

Hello Blogger my old friend,

I've come to write for you again.

Because a notion softly creeping,

Came inside while I was (not) sleeping.

And the children that are sucking all my time

Still do whine...

And drown out sounds of silence.

* * *

It's 5:15am. My heart is pounding. I have just averted disaster, and I haven't even had a cup of coffee yet.

A few short moments ago, I was sleeping like a baby, a baby who shares her bed with too many other babies and is forced to make due with a small sliver of space so close to the edge of the bed the right side of her body actually gets a work out while sleeping, such is the effort to prevent falling onto the cold, hard-wood floor.

So it wasn't that restful to begin with, but at this point in my parenting, I take any sleep that knocks on my door with a "yes please and thank you for coming" and I don't complain. I sleep.

I came slightly awake when I heard another child come into the room. Two were already sprawled behind me on the bed, peacefully placing elbows and feet into awkward positions for me and their dad, and before opening my eyes, I contemplated how I was going to fit this one in as well. I opened an eye, expecting to see another daughter. Instead, without lifting my head, I had a level view of my son's waist.

His thumbs were hooked around his camo pajama bottoms. His legs were in "the stance." He was getting ready to relieve himself. His waistband was inches from my face.

This one has a short but colorful history of peeing in interesting places while he is half asleep. In a flash, I realized that I was this close to being his next interesting place, as it was clear to me that he thought he was standing in the bathroom and not in the bedroom of the woman who brought him into the world. At least I hope so. Otherwise, he may have been making a statement regarding my parenting skills. Let's go with mistaken bathroom location.

I woke up right quick. Before those thumbs had moved too far downward in their hooking motion, I barked: "To the bathroom! To the bathroom! Not here!"

Sleepily, he looked at me with hurt eyes: Why on earth is this lady yelling at me?

Seconds went by. Was he actually awake? Did he hear and comprehend me? I barked again. And Lord have mercy, he stopped mid-draw and stumbled over to the bathroom, mere steps from my bedroom door, and did his business. (Boys peeing is such a noisy business, isn't it?) Next, he turned to the bathroom door, closed it, locked it, and tried for several seconds to open it again. Finally, he got it unlocked, came out into the hallway and stood there for awhile, disoriented and confused.

"Back to bed, sweetheart. Go!" I commanded, a bit forcefully, because I was still stunned by what had almost just happened.

He looked hurt again, said something in a whiny voice indicating that I was being entirely unjust to him, and walked heavily into his room. I heard the thud of his body falling back into bed. I don't think he once fully woke up.

I, on the other hand, am wide awake. Having narrowly escaped a distinctly unpleasant wake up call, I'm pretty sure I can handle whatever comes my way today.

I'm glad it ended this way; this family does not need anymore stories like this one.

* * *

Help Me Get My Techno Geek On

Got an iphone. Learning to use it. Kind of have a love-hate thing going on with it.

Do any of you bloggers out there mobile blog? Have you tried different blogging apps? What are my options? You know, cuz I jet set a lot, and have my most brilliant ideas when I am carpooling to exotic destinations like soccer practice.

If you blog from your phone, do you like having this ability? Has it proven useful, or just so-so? What do these apps reasonably cost?

An inquiring blogger wants to know.

* * *

Ask Me Anything. Except That.

I finally had to have the talk, the one I’ve been dreading, with my daughters. I know, I know, there comes a time in every child’s life when she asks big questions. I had just hoped to have a few more years before dealing with certain issues, a few more precious years of preserving their ignorance and avoiding delicate topics.

As a parent, I consider myself fairly well prepared for most of life’s tough questions. But this one? Not so much. I just didn’t want to have this talk. Didn’t want to justify my own behavior. Didn’t want to talk about how old is old enough for certain behaviors and habits. Didn’t want to answer any detailed questions. Didn’t want to give away too many of my secrets.

But today, a day that seemed ordinary in every way, the question came my way:

Is coffee good for you?

There is no right answer to that question.

Poor Widdle Neglected Blog

Between working on my annual design project, managing eighty-bazillion soccer try-outs, and trying to learn how to use my stupid fancy new iPhone, my poor widdle blog has been sorely neglected.

If anyone is still reading this:

Your visit is important to me! All of my energy is currently busy responding to other demands. Please stand by. Hopefully, there will be something interesting to read in this space soon. Your visit will not be monitored or recorded for quality assurance, but let's hope I write something of quality again someday.

The management thanks you.

* * *

Always Be Polite

When my 6 year old daughter is out in public and needs to throw out some trash, she first looks to see if the public trash can has a THANK YOU printed on it.

If it does, after she tosses her garbage, she says "You're welcome" and does this goofy little curtsey thing.

And I am just enough of a mushy-head to think that's the cutest thing ever.

* * *