Yesterday’s post sent me on a happy rabbit trail of reading other posts in my archives bearing the same “These People Crack Me Up” tag. My kids crack me up.
Some of the gems I found:
Disgruntled 3-year-old reporting on her big brother: “Mommy, he keeps telling me to knock it off! The ploblem is, I don’t want to knock it off.” (That IS a Ploblem, 2009)
Huck: “Mommy, be prepared for me to shout, ‘It’s Christmas, it’s Christmas, woohoo!’ tomorrow morning. It will probably startle you.” (Early Warning System, 2015)
“Mommy, whenever you’re not with me, I want you. I want to be with you all the time. At night when I’m sleeping, or when I’m cuddling—I always want you! Or else…I want candy.” (The Birthday Girl Tells It Like It Is, 2006)
Me: Hey, looks like someone forgot to sweep up the dust pile.
Rose: Wasn’t me. I never sweep. (Exonerated, 2014)
Huck: “I bet all the kids with this coloring book are doing this with their moms right now, too.”
(Yes, I melted.) (Huckisms, 2015)
Meanwhile, Scott’s been sending me old photos from a cache he found. Mah babies! Funny and cute.
Yesterday I got on a housecleaning jag and without really meaning to, I found myself going full-throttle A Bowl Full of Lemons on the basement and laundry room. Except: as I told Scott later, during the laundry-room deep-clean I faced my most difficult parenting challenge yet. In nearly 24 years as a mother, I’ve never been put to the test quite like this.
Our laundry room is in the (finished) basement and has one small high-up window. When we moved in, the house had been professionally cleaned and was immaculate except for a spiderweb in that particular window—a large web, quite old, thickened with lint and age into a heavy cobweb the size of a saucer. No sign of a spider—the original webspinner was probably long gone—but we left the web just in case. Nearly two years and seven million loads of laundry later, the cobweb is the size of a cloth napkin. There’s no spider. There never was, not in our time.
But when Rilla saw me on a stool, vacuum hose in hand, she begged me to spare the cobweb.
I’d just finished hoovering up every speck of dust and lint from the rest of the room and I was all set to decobwebify that window. And wash it, even!
But Rilla implored. “For science!” Heh, she knows my weak spots.
So I gritted my teeth and left it. For now, I said ominously. She grinned, unfazed by my direful tone.
When Scott came home later, I told him the story.
“So you left it there?” he asked. “WHEW. That thing is cool.”
“That thing is the size of a wedding veil.”
“Like I said. Cool.”
Well, he does all the laundry, so I guess if he wants a year-round Halloween theme, he can have it.
(For the record, if I believed that old circus tent was still the home of a spider, I wouldn’t have needed any persuasion to leave it alone. No Aunt Sponge or Aunt Spiker here.)
This morning, two days after the photo above was taken and about a week after taking a spill on his bike, Huck burst into my studio at his usual sunrise moment and announced with excitement, “Mom, look! My leg is almost totally better!” He lifted the injured knee almost to his chin, Karate Kid-style, to demonstrate. “Now it only hurts when I do THIS!”
Thanksgiving is one of the three days a year on which I do the cooking. I’m sure it’s a total coincidence that this morning my family is developing a treatment for a cooking show.
“I know! It’ll be called ‘Ms. Frazzle’!”
“Tagline: ‘This gravy isn’t my best.'”
Eight years ago I was far too discreet to name the book that caused Scott to threaten me with the worst possible revenge.
And now I have no idea what book it was.
Rose: Remember that time in Warcraft when you tried to pickpocket a bear and instead you aggro’d it?
Rose: That’s exactly what it’s like to have a little brother.
Me, singing in a loop: People are people so why should it be etc
Huck: Do you want to be singing that over and over?
Me: Not particularly
Huck, eyes lighting up: “Oh baby pleeeeease, give a little respect to-oo-oo-oo me!” There, does that help?
Tuesday, 23 February 2010
So today Rilla asked if we could play a game where I pretend I’m her mommy. Um. OK. About ten minutes in, she said, “Can you pause the game for a second? I need to ask you a question when you’re my REAL mommy.”
Me: “Our family uses a lot of hyperbole.”
Rilla: “Mom, I would NEVER do that.”