From the Archives: Who’s on Surp?

Originally posted in April, 2005, when Jane was nine, Rose was six, and Beanie was four.

I was cleaning the bathroom this morning when Jane came in to ask me how to pronounce the word “usurp.” She had seen it in print a number of times but wasn’t sure how to say it. I told her, and then Rose wanted to know what it meant. So I gave some examples, including: “Or let’s say you’re sitting on my lap and I send you to get a tissue, and while you’re up, one of your sisters climbs in your place.”

Rose started to giggle. “A usurper!”

Jane wandered back out with her book. Then Beanie came in and perched beside Rose on the edge of the tub while I wiped down the sink. Bean’s hair was wild; it hadn’t been brushed yet. I sent her to get her hairbrush and when she returned, I sat down on the tub’s rim to tackle her curls.

“Hey!” Bean cried indignantly. “You took my spot!”

Rose cackled. “You usurped, Mommy! You’re a usurper!”

“What’s that?” asked Beanie. Rose explained.

Bean pondered. “I think,” she said, “that when a mommy surps, it’s okay.”

“U-surp,” Rose corrected.

Beanie was puzzled. “No I didn’t. Mommy surped.”

“No, U-surp!” Rose insisted.

“I surp? But I didn’t! Mommy did!”

By this point I was choking with laughter. Beanie took my paroxysms for some kind of dismay.

“It’s okay, mommy, I don’t mind when you surp me.”

“U-surp!” proclaimed Rose.

Beanie stared at her in disgust. “That’s what I SAID.” She humphed out of the room before Rose could get in the last word. I sat there howling. Sorry, Abbott and Costello. Your place in my heart has been surped.

Sounds Like a Product I Could Get Behind

Rilla asked for something this afternoon, but I didn’t quite hear her at first.

Me: “You want a popsicle?”

Rilla: “No. A pie-cicle.”

Me: “A bicycle?”

Rilla: “NO, Mommy, a PIE-cicle.”

Jane, giggling: “What’s a pie-cicle?”

Rilla: “In the fridge!”

(She opens the freezer.)

Rilla: “Oh. I mean an ice cream cone.”

Honey, I Don’t Even Know How to Spell It

Rilla says, terribly aggrieved, “Wonderboy was saying luddle-luddle-luddle to the baby.”

(You know, that sound you make when you stick your tongue in and out really fast.)

Me: “Well, the baby probably liked it!”

Rilla: “But he was saying it WRONG.”

Because It’s All About the Silhouette

Beanie: “I despise those big fancy guns, don’t you? They’re so bulky. A little cowgirl pistol is much nicer.”

That IS a Ploblem

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.”

You Know Your Child’s Growing Up in the Internet Age When…

…she thinks baby talk sounds like “google ga-ga.”

Who Needs a Magna-Doodle?

Jane just entertained Rilla for fifteen minutes by writing letters and names with her finger…IN THE DUST ON OUR TELEVISION SCREEN.