It's official. The little monkey has mastered the monkey bars.
Monday, February 27, 2012
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Who's The Boss? Revisited.
Maggie: You the boss Mommy.
Me: You got it.
Maggie: You big boss.
Me: Yep.
Maggie: I baby boss.
How true. How true.
Me: You got it.
Maggie: You big boss.
Me: Yep.
Maggie: I baby boss.
How true. How true.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Lent.
Yesterday Ben and I were discussing what we should give up for Lent. I said that I would limit myself to two Diet Wild Cherry Pepsi's a day and he agreed to stop eating his boogers.
Me: It will be hard for me because soda is good.
B: So are boogs.
Me: I doubt it! What do they even taste like?
B: Jellybeans.
Me: No way! If they tasted like jellybeans then everyone would eat them!
B: How do you know if you don't ever eat them?
Me: It will be hard for me because soda is good.
B: So are boogs.
Me: I doubt it! What do they even taste like?
B: Jellybeans.
Me: No way! If they tasted like jellybeans then everyone would eat them!
B: How do you know if you don't ever eat them?
Style.
Maggie and I were running some errands at Coral Ridge Mall yesterday when we walked by the teenage clothing store, Wet Seal.
M: I want go in there.
Me: Not today Mags. I don't think that's our style anyway.
M: Yeah it is!
Me: Nope.
M: What our style?
Me: Oh I don't know. What do you think is your style?
M: My style is bunny.
Me: Hmmm. If your style is bunny, what is my style?
M: Your style lion, Mommy.
Perhaps I've been wearing too much animal print lately?
M: I want go in there.
Me: Not today Mags. I don't think that's our style anyway.
M: Yeah it is!
Me: Nope.
M: What our style?
Me: Oh I don't know. What do you think is your style?
M: My style is bunny.
Me: Hmmm. If your style is bunny, what is my style?
M: Your style lion, Mommy.
Perhaps I've been wearing too much animal print lately?
Monday, February 20, 2012
Midnight Painters
Ben and his buddy J were painting, side-by-side, in the art room at preschool last week when their art teacher, Helen, overheard the following conversation:
J: Ben, we're midnight painters right?
Ben: Yep, we paint until midnight. Right J?
J: What happens at midnight?
Ben: Then we play on the playground and come in...and play with all the toys.
Ben: Then we play on the playground and come in...and play with all the toys.
Helen: Are there adults at school when you paint til midnight?
J: Nooooo.
Ben: We could stay and paint until we are even older-even until we die!
J. Yep, they say everyone dies sometime.
Little Girl. Big Personality
I almost titled this post "Little Girl. Big Trouble."
Ask Maggie how old she is, and she'll say "Three," while holding up one finger. I typcially follow up with a shrug and the statement, "She's two, going on five."
Although sometimes I think she's two, going on 15.
This was demonstrated at the public library last Friday. I chatted with a friend while Maggie sidled up to the train table.
There was an older girl, probably around 5, already at the table. She was mindlessly playing with one of the wooden bridges, repeatedly flipping it up and down. She and Maggie were the only two kids at the table and Maggie had plenty of space to play.
The "flipping" caught Maggie's attention and she immediately stood close to the girl and watched her move the bridge. Up and down.
After watching for a few minutes, Maggie bent her head toward the girl and said, "That not how we do it."
The girl looked up, surprised, but made no response and kept flipping.
Maggie turned up the volume, placing her hand on the bridge to keep it in place, "THAT NOT HOW WE DO IT."
"Yes it is," replied the girl firmly.
"Nuh-uh!" said Maggie in the practiced whine that only a 2-year-old with older siblings can effect.
The girl looked up, as if searching for help. Was she really being bullied by this...this...baby?
Finally, she turned to Maggie and, as if to remind her that the status of the bridge was really none of her business, said, "You are NOT big!"
To which Maggie's immediate reply was an emphatic, "Yes I am!"
See? Little girl. Big trouble.
Ask Maggie how old she is, and she'll say "Three," while holding up one finger. I typcially follow up with a shrug and the statement, "She's two, going on five."
Although sometimes I think she's two, going on 15.
This was demonstrated at the public library last Friday. I chatted with a friend while Maggie sidled up to the train table.
There was an older girl, probably around 5, already at the table. She was mindlessly playing with one of the wooden bridges, repeatedly flipping it up and down. She and Maggie were the only two kids at the table and Maggie had plenty of space to play.
The "flipping" caught Maggie's attention and she immediately stood close to the girl and watched her move the bridge. Up and down.
After watching for a few minutes, Maggie bent her head toward the girl and said, "That not how we do it."
The girl looked up, surprised, but made no response and kept flipping.
Maggie turned up the volume, placing her hand on the bridge to keep it in place, "THAT NOT HOW WE DO IT."
"Yes it is," replied the girl firmly.
"Nuh-uh!" said Maggie in the practiced whine that only a 2-year-old with older siblings can effect.
The girl looked up, as if searching for help. Was she really being bullied by this...this...baby?
Finally, she turned to Maggie and, as if to remind her that the status of the bridge was really none of her business, said, "You are NOT big!"
To which Maggie's immediate reply was an emphatic, "Yes I am!"
See? Little girl. Big trouble.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Clarification
After listening to an uncharacteristically sad Maggie whine this morning I said, "Maggie, you've got to stop whining. It hurts Mommy's ears."
Maggie looked at me and said, "I not whining."
"Um, I think you are," I said.
"No," she replied. "I not whining. I squeaking."
Good grief.
Maggie looked at me and said, "I not whining."
"Um, I think you are," I said.
"No," she replied. "I not whining. I squeaking."
Good grief.
Monday, February 13, 2012
Baby Cheetah Say...
Maggie: I be baby cheetah.
Me: Oh are you a nice baby cheetah or a scary baby cheetah?
Maggie (considers this): Nice baby cheetah.
Me: What does a baby cheetah say?
Maggie (thinks very hard): Baby cheetah say...cheetah say...nothing Mommy. Baby cheetah no say nothing.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Where there's smoke...
The Iowa City Public Library has a used bookstore, the Book End, where they sell donated books and library discards.
Today I stopped by to browse through the children's section. I walked away with 16 books for the bargain price of...$4.00.
One of the books I picked up, "Fire, Fire," depicts how firefighters fight fires in a variety of settings---in a city apartment building, in a barn, in the forsest and on a boat. My kids are fascinated with fire stations/fire trucks/firemen and so I thought this book was a sure winner.
We read the book tonight at bedtime after Maggie went to sleep. Cate and Ben listened attentively, hanging on every word.
Thinking this would be a good time to discuss what to do in case of a fire, I discussed "stop-drop-and-roll." Then we talked about what to do if there is a fire in the middle of the night (stay in your room until Mom and Dad come to get you). Finally, I ended with where we would meet after leaving our house (the green space across the street).
Ben immediately burst into tears, "WHAT ABOUT TONKY? I DON'T WANT TONKY TO BURN UP IN A FIRE!"
I tried to explain, calmly, that if there was truly a fire in our house that our first priority is our family.
My children did not find this explanation satisfactory.
"I DON'T WANT ANOTHER DOG! I ONLY WANT TONKY!" cried Ben.
"But Mom!" Cate got choked up. "If we go outside in our pajamas, then it will be really cold!"
"WHAT ABOUT TONKY'S HOUSE?"
"Okay Ben," I say, admitting defeat. "If there's a fire, you can stuff Tonky up your shirt."
"WHAT ABOUT TONKY'S HOUSE?"
I sigh, "Buddy, we'll have to build him another house."
"NO!! I ONLY WANT HIS HOUSE! AND WHAT ABOUT MY COZY BLANKETS!!?!?!" continued Ben, crying harder.
"But Mom," Cate said. "Where would we live? If our house burns down, where will we live?"
By this point I was desperate to get them to bed and my attempts to placate them were not effective. I tried a new tactic, telling them that if our house burned down we would live in a hotel, order room service and swim in the pool every day.
They considered this.
"But Mom," Cate protested. "We couldn't stay at a hotel. We wouldn't have a car to drive anywhere because it would be burned up."
I told her we'd rent a car.
"But our money! Our money would be in the house!"
"We could borrow money."
"From who?"
"Grandma and Grandpa," I say, trying to figure out how to end this conversation.
"But MOM! If our phone is in the house then how can we CALL Grandma and Grandpa?"
"Daddy sleeps with his phone. He would never leave the house without it." (Hey, desperate times...)
Cate considers this, "Daddy sleeps with his phone?"
"Well," I say. "Practically..."
"BUT MOM! What if Daddy's pajamas don't have pockets?"
It was clear to me that the decision to purchase "Fire, Fire" was not, to use the classic term, a Good Choice (despite the $0.25 price tag).
"Guys," I said. "If there is a fire the most important thing is that our family--Daddy, Mommy, Cate, Ben and Maggie--are safe. We can always get more toys and books and toothbrushes. The only thing that we can't replace is our family. As long as we're safe and together, everything else will be fine."
"BUT MOM," they shouted. "WHAT ABOUT SADIE?"
I promised that firefighters always look for people and pets first. With some additional reassurances they did (finally) go to sleep, and I'm hoping that no one dreams of smoke filled hallways.
I'm still struggling with how to communicate important issues (e.g., fire safety, stranger danger) to my little people without scaring the bejeezus out of them.
Too bad kids don't come with instruction manuals.
Today I stopped by to browse through the children's section. I walked away with 16 books for the bargain price of...$4.00.
One of the books I picked up, "Fire, Fire," depicts how firefighters fight fires in a variety of settings---in a city apartment building, in a barn, in the forsest and on a boat. My kids are fascinated with fire stations/fire trucks/firemen and so I thought this book was a sure winner.
We read the book tonight at bedtime after Maggie went to sleep. Cate and Ben listened attentively, hanging on every word.
Thinking this would be a good time to discuss what to do in case of a fire, I discussed "stop-drop-and-roll." Then we talked about what to do if there is a fire in the middle of the night (stay in your room until Mom and Dad come to get you). Finally, I ended with where we would meet after leaving our house (the green space across the street).
Ben immediately burst into tears, "WHAT ABOUT TONKY? I DON'T WANT TONKY TO BURN UP IN A FIRE!"
I tried to explain, calmly, that if there was truly a fire in our house that our first priority is our family.
My children did not find this explanation satisfactory.
"I DON'T WANT ANOTHER DOG! I ONLY WANT TONKY!" cried Ben.
"But Mom!" Cate got choked up. "If we go outside in our pajamas, then it will be really cold!"
"WHAT ABOUT TONKY'S HOUSE?"
"Okay Ben," I say, admitting defeat. "If there's a fire, you can stuff Tonky up your shirt."
"WHAT ABOUT TONKY'S HOUSE?"
I sigh, "Buddy, we'll have to build him another house."
"NO!! I ONLY WANT HIS HOUSE! AND WHAT ABOUT MY COZY BLANKETS!!?!?!" continued Ben, crying harder.
"But Mom," Cate said. "Where would we live? If our house burns down, where will we live?"
By this point I was desperate to get them to bed and my attempts to placate them were not effective. I tried a new tactic, telling them that if our house burned down we would live in a hotel, order room service and swim in the pool every day.
They considered this.
"But Mom," Cate protested. "We couldn't stay at a hotel. We wouldn't have a car to drive anywhere because it would be burned up."
I told her we'd rent a car.
"But our money! Our money would be in the house!"
"We could borrow money."
"From who?"
"Grandma and Grandpa," I say, trying to figure out how to end this conversation.
"But MOM! If our phone is in the house then how can we CALL Grandma and Grandpa?"
"Daddy sleeps with his phone. He would never leave the house without it." (Hey, desperate times...)
Cate considers this, "Daddy sleeps with his phone?"
"Well," I say. "Practically..."
"BUT MOM! What if Daddy's pajamas don't have pockets?"
It was clear to me that the decision to purchase "Fire, Fire" was not, to use the classic term, a Good Choice (despite the $0.25 price tag).
"Guys," I said. "If there is a fire the most important thing is that our family--Daddy, Mommy, Cate, Ben and Maggie--are safe. We can always get more toys and books and toothbrushes. The only thing that we can't replace is our family. As long as we're safe and together, everything else will be fine."
"BUT MOM," they shouted. "WHAT ABOUT SADIE?"
I promised that firefighters always look for people and pets first. With some additional reassurances they did (finally) go to sleep, and I'm hoping that no one dreams of smoke filled hallways.
I'm still struggling with how to communicate important issues (e.g., fire safety, stranger danger) to my little people without scaring the bejeezus out of them.
Too bad kids don't come with instruction manuals.
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