Small Fry just came into the den (early dismissal day here) with two formerly-glow sticks that used to be attached to stars at the ends, so that they could be magic wands.
The stars have long since broken off, about the same time the sticks lost their glow-ability.
"Mommy, can you watch me?" Small says.
Sure.
"Okay, watch me play!"
Okay.
"Don't look at me!"
Um...
"You can't watch!"
If you say so. I clamped a hand over my eyes, spreading my fingers so I could at least see the computer screen.
"You hafta only look at youwr computewr."
Well. I feel less bad about cheating.
"You hafta do what I do, as I do it."
What?
She taps out a rhythm on the sticks.
"Did you heawr dat?"
Yes.
"You have to guess again."
Okay.
"Don't watch me!"
Um...
She holds the one stick up to her mouth, like a flute.
"You can't see!"
*sigh*
She "plays" a tune. "What was dat?"
London Bridge. I may not get all their homework, but I know that tune.
"Yes! Now listen to dis."
She plays the same tune, only slightly lower-pitched.
"What was dat?"
London Bridge again.
"Was it da same?"
Same tune, yes. Different keys.
"Now dis."
She taps out the rhythm for "London Bridge" again.
"Was dat da same?"
Yes.
And she ran off to play.
Glad audience participation wasn't a huge requirement, 'cause I have no idea what I was supposed to be doing.
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Saturday, September 22, 2012
Overheard at Red Robin
Hubby's birthday was yesterday, and due to last night's home football game at the high school, we weren't able to meet up with Gramma and Boppa to celebrate then. So, tonight, we met at the Red Robin in Lisle, to have dinner and servers singing and presents.
And balloons.
Oh, the balloons.
Every now and then, Dad would hiss back when we'd hear the telltale ksssshh of helium being released into a balloon.
Medium really wanted a balloon.
Really.
Medium: Daddy, can I haf a balloon?
Hubby: We'll see.
Medium: I don't wanna "we'll see." I wanna "yes!"
Interesting postscript...all three kids ended up with balloons, and so did Hubby (it was on his sundae). Large popped her balloon on the sidewalk as we sat and talked with Mom and Dad, and Hubby gave her his. Once we got home, I discovered that Small Fry had untied the ribbon from her balloon, and then lost it to the skies when she let go (I felt horrible, because she let go to prove she hadn't untied it, and I feel like I should've stopped her from letting go). Being overtired meant that her grief over her lost balloon was exacerbated, and she couldn't stop crying.
I found myself praying and asking Jesus to watch out for Small's balloon. It's green, and says Red Robin on it. And, if he could catch it, maybe Jesus could give the balloon to Popoki and Keiki and let them play with it. They'd like that.
Small had stopped crying at this point, and was mostly sniffling. Medium was talking to Hubby about why Small was crying, why I was crying, and then I heard this:
"I'll give my balloon to Small. I don't mind. I don't really want a balloon."
Yeah.
What a great kid. She didn't even complain when Small wailed that she doesn't like white (Medium's balloon is white).
And balloons.
Oh, the balloons.
Every now and then, Dad would hiss back when we'd hear the telltale ksssshh of helium being released into a balloon.
Medium really wanted a balloon.
Really.
Medium: Daddy, can I haf a balloon?
Hubby: We'll see.
Medium: I don't wanna "we'll see." I wanna "yes!"
Interesting postscript...all three kids ended up with balloons, and so did Hubby (it was on his sundae). Large popped her balloon on the sidewalk as we sat and talked with Mom and Dad, and Hubby gave her his. Once we got home, I discovered that Small Fry had untied the ribbon from her balloon, and then lost it to the skies when she let go (I felt horrible, because she let go to prove she hadn't untied it, and I feel like I should've stopped her from letting go). Being overtired meant that her grief over her lost balloon was exacerbated, and she couldn't stop crying.
I found myself praying and asking Jesus to watch out for Small's balloon. It's green, and says Red Robin on it. And, if he could catch it, maybe Jesus could give the balloon to Popoki and Keiki and let them play with it. They'd like that.
Small had stopped crying at this point, and was mostly sniffling. Medium was talking to Hubby about why Small was crying, why I was crying, and then I heard this:
"I'll give my balloon to Small. I don't mind. I don't really want a balloon."
Yeah.
What a great kid. She didn't even complain when Small wailed that she doesn't like white (Medium's balloon is white).
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
Theory of Relativity
Age is relative to kids. I get that. The Fries can only loosely grasp the difference between "yesterday," "today," and "tomorrow." Anything beyond those timeframes is "last year" or "next year." So trying to understand how old people are, in relation to their own ages (which is still kinda fuzzy, even if they can tell you they're 7 and almost 6), is...interesting. To say the least.
Hubby is brushing Large Fry's hair when Small Fry pops into the den.
Small Fry: Mommy, how old are you?
Me [not wanting to admit the truth]: Well, on my birthday, you said I was eight. Eight!
I touched my nose to hers, and she giggled.
I went upstairs to get my ankle brace—yesterday's rain has left an lingering ache—and then sat down on the stairs by the kitchen to wrap it around my ankle. Small Fry was now getting her hair brushed, and was using me as a focal point. Medium had come up to sit next to me.
Small: Daddy, how old awre you?
Hubby: 40.
(He only has that number two more days, and he's clinging to it with all his might.)
Medium: Mommy, are you oldewr than Daddy?
Me: No, Daddy's older. Small says I was 8 on my birthday back in July.
Medium gives me a goofy look.
Me [deciding to bite the bullet]: I'm 37. Daddy's older.
Large [with wicked glee]: No, you're older than Daddy!
Me: Am not. Daddy's 40, and I'm 37.
Large [sing-song]: You're older than Daddy!
I glared at Hubby, who was finishing Small Fry's hair and smugly grinning as Large continued to insist that I was older.
Large [right in my face]: You're 290!
*sigh*
My niece was kind enough to point out, when I posted about that on Facebook, that I don't look a day over 200. Thanks, sweetie. You're such a peach.
Hubby is brushing Large Fry's hair when Small Fry pops into the den.
Small Fry: Mommy, how old are you?
Me [not wanting to admit the truth]: Well, on my birthday, you said I was eight. Eight!
I touched my nose to hers, and she giggled.
I went upstairs to get my ankle brace—yesterday's rain has left an lingering ache—and then sat down on the stairs by the kitchen to wrap it around my ankle. Small Fry was now getting her hair brushed, and was using me as a focal point. Medium had come up to sit next to me.
Small: Daddy, how old awre you?
Hubby: 40.
(He only has that number two more days, and he's clinging to it with all his might.)
Medium: Mommy, are you oldewr than Daddy?
Me: No, Daddy's older. Small says I was 8 on my birthday back in July.
Medium gives me a goofy look.
Me [deciding to bite the bullet]: I'm 37. Daddy's older.
Large [with wicked glee]: No, you're older than Daddy!
Me: Am not. Daddy's 40, and I'm 37.
Large [sing-song]: You're older than Daddy!
I glared at Hubby, who was finishing Small Fry's hair and smugly grinning as Large continued to insist that I was older.
Large [right in my face]: You're 290!
*sigh*
My niece was kind enough to point out, when I posted about that on Facebook, that I don't look a day over 200. Thanks, sweetie. You're such a peach.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Quote of the Moment
"You'wre too big to undewrstand!" ~Medium Fry, to me
She was rambling and I had no idea what it is that I'm too big to understand.
I'm also apparently too big for see-saws, monkey bars, and to pick up the TV with one finger.
Who knew?
She was rambling and I had no idea what it is that I'm too big to understand.
I'm also apparently too big for see-saws, monkey bars, and to pick up the TV with one finger.
Who knew?
Monday, September 17, 2012
Fun Stuff
I'm sure there's some great stuff going on here.
I just don't know what it is.
I'm eyeballs-deep in the book I'm copy editing, and deadline is this week.
See y'all on the flip side.
I just don't know what it is.
I'm eyeballs-deep in the book I'm copy editing, and deadline is this week.
See y'all on the flip side.
Saturday, September 15, 2012
Golly.
So, today Hubby took the Fries out for breakfast since he was going to be gone most of the day and not back home until late tonight.
I started a load of laundry, and decided it was a good time for a nap since my brain hadn't shut down before 3 a.m. after editing late into the night, and then I had kids waking me up around 7:30.
I was up and dressed before Hubby had to leave for Uprise, and he suggested taking the Fries over to the school's playground and letting them run free while I got some work done.
Small Fry had already told me, in insistent tones, that this was what she wanted to do.
I had some things to take care of first.
Namely, a brilliant last-minute gift for my mother, spending the Kohl's cash that was about to expire, and shipping a book for Paperback Swap. Small Fry's excitement over getting to go to the playground could not be contained, and she demanded no less than six times to know when we would be going.
I had Large Fry carry my work binder (I find it's so much easier to edit if I'm working with a hard copy first), Small Fry carried my can of Dr Pepper, and I schlepped the lone chair Hubby had left for me to use (the one that's falling apart). And my cane. My ankle's been bugging me.
We spent about two and a half hours over there, with me getting next to nothing done the last half hour because Medium decided she needed to have a tantrum.
Earlier in the week, some of the kids at the school had drawn all over the blacktop with sidewalk chalk. When the Fries complained of being hot, they moved into the shade of the school (where I'd been sitting all along), discovered the chalk would rub off on their hands, and generally had a grand old time face "painting."
And "painting" their bellybuttons.
We came home and I fixed dinner, which the kids--who normally like chicken stir fry--refused to eat. They just sort of picked at it.
Fine.
I had them take care of their dishes, and Small Fry asked (within the hearing of the others) if it was bath time yet.
Given that they'd all but bathed in chalk, baths are a necessity tonight.
No, I said, because I had a coloring project for them all to do. Small and Medium followed me around obediently. When I called for Large so we could get this project (and then baths) done asap, she appeared at the top of the stairs.
Buck naked.
It was a Migraine Salute moment.
So...I had two fully-dressed kids and one nekkid one working on this coloring project.
Now I have to see how fast we can get through baths....
I started a load of laundry, and decided it was a good time for a nap since my brain hadn't shut down before 3 a.m. after editing late into the night, and then I had kids waking me up around 7:30.
I was up and dressed before Hubby had to leave for Uprise, and he suggested taking the Fries over to the school's playground and letting them run free while I got some work done.
Small Fry had already told me, in insistent tones, that this was what she wanted to do.
I had some things to take care of first.
Namely, a brilliant last-minute gift for my mother, spending the Kohl's cash that was about to expire, and shipping a book for Paperback Swap. Small Fry's excitement over getting to go to the playground could not be contained, and she demanded no less than six times to know when we would be going.
I had Large Fry carry my work binder (I find it's so much easier to edit if I'm working with a hard copy first), Small Fry carried my can of Dr Pepper, and I schlepped the lone chair Hubby had left for me to use (the one that's falling apart). And my cane. My ankle's been bugging me.
We spent about two and a half hours over there, with me getting next to nothing done the last half hour because Medium decided she needed to have a tantrum.
Earlier in the week, some of the kids at the school had drawn all over the blacktop with sidewalk chalk. When the Fries complained of being hot, they moved into the shade of the school (where I'd been sitting all along), discovered the chalk would rub off on their hands, and generally had a grand old time face "painting."
And "painting" their bellybuttons.
We came home and I fixed dinner, which the kids--who normally like chicken stir fry--refused to eat. They just sort of picked at it.
Fine.
I had them take care of their dishes, and Small Fry asked (within the hearing of the others) if it was bath time yet.
Given that they'd all but bathed in chalk, baths are a necessity tonight.
No, I said, because I had a coloring project for them all to do. Small and Medium followed me around obediently. When I called for Large so we could get this project (and then baths) done asap, she appeared at the top of the stairs.
Buck naked.
It was a Migraine Salute moment.
So...I had two fully-dressed kids and one nekkid one working on this coloring project.
Now I have to see how fast we can get through baths....
Yikes
I have a deadline on Monday.
I have 70 pages to edit, a final draft to create, and a markup draft for my client.
Hubby is gone for 12 hours tomorrow due to youth group obligations and Uprise Fest.
Tomorrow is my mother's birthday. I don't have anything yet.
I don't think I have time to sleep.
I'm going to do it anyway.
I have 70 pages to edit, a final draft to create, and a markup draft for my client.
Hubby is gone for 12 hours tomorrow due to youth group obligations and Uprise Fest.
Tomorrow is my mother's birthday. I don't have anything yet.
I don't think I have time to sleep.
I'm going to do it anyway.
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