Lucy demanded Double Stuf Oreos at the store today. We opened them at lunch and left the bag on the table. Since then, when I reach in I keep finding the outside-cookie-parts, but no icing. I might have to contact the manufacturer about this cookie defect. Or, maybe I should move the cookies above little-girl-hand-level.
Conversation with Kathleen on the way home from school today:
Kathleen: “Can I have a snack when I get home today?”
Me: “Sure. What do you want?”
Kathleen: “A granola bar. It will be just like the good old days!”
Me: “The good old days?”
Kathleen (in a tone of dismissive incredulity): “You remember . . . The beginning of the school year?”
Me: “Yes, I remember.”
Weirdest thing about the conversation? Kathleen has a granola bar EVERY day after school.
The following conversation with Lucy (4yo) all happened this morning, at entirely normal indoor volume.
Lucy: “Daddy come help, help, help.”
Me: “Ok. There you go.”
Lucy: “Thank you, you, you.”
Me: “Why are you repeating the last word three times?”
Lucy: “Because I am very loud, loud, loud.”
Me: “Ah, so you are making an echo, echo, echo.”
Lucy: “Yes, yes, yes.”
My girls love butter, so when we use butter in cooking, we give each of them a small slice to eat. While making Mac n’ Cheese tonight, Kathleen and Lucy came out to remind me to call them out for “butter time.” I responded “BUTTER TIME?!?” and then did my best impersonation of an MC Hammer dance move. Kathleen and Lucy responded by laughing their heads off, which, notably, is the appropriate reaction to me imitating MC Hammer’s dance moves.
I, however, assured them that I was not just crazy. Mommy, I told them, would know what I was doing. So we all marched to the living room, where Jennifer was seated on the couch petting Clyde, our cat. I announced that our girls thought that I was silly, but mommy would prove them wrong. We told her that she needed to do the appropriate dance when I said “BUTTER TIME!” Jennifer, however, responded, “Sorry, I have a purring cat on me.”
The next minute was constituted by Kathleen and Lucy imitating my imitation of MC Hammer while laughing their heads off. The next five minutes was constituted by my dancing like a fool any time Kathleen or Lucy said “BUTTER TIME!”
I am now exhausted, but at least butter time is over.
When I picked Kathleen up from school today she had to give Sara (her best friend) a hug before leaving. So far as I have known up to this point Kathleen and Sara have been the only members of what Kathleen calls the “BFFs,” a mutual admiration society. (No, I have no idea how Kathleen is learning text speak).
However, on the walk out of the school, a little girl I have never met yelled Kathleen’s name, and Kathleen ran over to give her a hug. “Who was that?” I asked. “Juliet,” Kathleen responded, “She is in a different class, but has recess at the same time as us. She is in the BFFs.” Then Kathleen thought for a bit, and said: “Well, really I am her boss. I am the boss of the BFFs.” “Kathleen,” I replied, “friends are friends with each other, not bosses. You don’t want to be bossy.” This time Kathleen didn’t need to think about her response: “The BFFs are a gang. Gangs have bosses, and I am the boss.”
My daughter might be the Michael Corleone of the kindergarten playground. I knew her Italian DNA was going to be a problem.
A day late for Mothers day, but I remembered this story while mowing today, so here goes …
When I first got the “opportunity” to mow the lawn at our family’s house, I would finish mowing, then get down on the ground to look across the lawn to see the grass I had failed to catch.
One time when I was doing this, my mother was working in the front yard. As she walked by me, she said “You are such a good worker, making sure that you got every last piece of grass!”
When she did this, I thought to myself something like: “Lady, you are crazy, I missed like half the grass.” But as I hopped up, I only said: “Yep.” Then ran on into the house.
Now as a parent, I appreciate that my Mom wasn’t actually crazy, because I know that before she spoke, she was thinking to herself: “Oh good Lord, that is the worst mowed yard ever, and he thinks he has gotten all the grass. But I don’t want to discourage him from mowing!”
As I stated at the beginning, I just got back in from mowing. So, well played mom, well played.