Out of the Mouth of Me

I've written a post in the past that is a simple collection of random things the kids have said over a few days. I realized this morning, while uttering something ridiculous, that an equally amusing glimpse into our family life can be given by a record of the things I say. It's not even noon yet, and so far, these are the things I've caught myself saying to the kids.

Who spilled powdered sugar into the bread basket? 

Is this salt all over the laundry room?

Don't put your hand in the garbage can.

Don't come in here right now. It's too icky.

Why do you have a snake around your neck? 

Where are your pants? 

Why don't you like pants? 

Put on pants, dude.

Please stop poking my boob.

Aren't you glad I didn't make you clean up the poop? 

The dryer is making that noise because somebody put gravel in their pants pockets. 

What is that smell?

Can you get the toy out of the fridge so I can shut it please?

We don't sit on kitties.

I need a nap. And a shower.

Ah, the life of a parent. 

Of Course They're Hearts

Micah, my seven year-old stud muffin, wrote me a love note today. I love him to bits, but this particular note is a little too Oedipal for my tastes.

Those are hearts, right? RIGHT??

Kids Are Weird

The kids are at it again.  They never cease to amaze me with the sheer volume, constancy, and strangeness of the things they say.  Over the past few weeks, I've written down some of their ramblings so that they can be used later in life for embarrassment/manipulation.

First off, we have a tongue twister, brought to you by Emma, trying to tell on Judah.  

. "Mooooom, Judah found a crackage of packers, and he's eaaaatttting it!!!" 

Secondly, we have misunderstood/misread movie titles and song lyrics.  

      

. Micah, trying to read "Karate Kid." "What's this all about, the Care-Ate Kid?"

. Micah, all the time, every time, sings "Oopon Gangnam Style," as "Oopon Condom Star."  No amount of begging or awkward explanations on my part seems to be helping.

. Claire, singing to the tune of, "All about that base, bout that base, no treble," sings, "Mama buys the dicks, buys the dicks, No PROBLEM."  I have no idea how this happened, but she is absolutely certain that I am the one misunderstanding the lyrics.  My kids have dirty minds.

Next, we have the things that just come from their own weird imaginations. No surprise to those who know him, but this section is Micah heavy.

. Micah asked me to undo the high lock on the door and let him out.  It seems like a normal enough request, until I mention that he asked by saying, "Mom, will you open the door for me to the outside world?"

. Micah tried convincing his sister that when babies are born, they only have a butthole.  The doctors actually surgically add the buttcrack.  Makes sense, right?

. Claire and Micah were concerned, while we waited in the car, that Daddy was taking longer than expected in the grocery store. Claire, with worry in her voice, suggested that "maybe Daddy got buyed." Micah decided that he must have stolen someone's car and driven away without us.

. Micah told me that if you have one rooster and two really, really mean hens, they actually make two roosters.  The condition, of course, is that the rooster has to be "extremely cockish."  

      

Lastly, we have a section for overconfident wit, featuring Emma.

. Emma told me that her favorite word is nubby.  I can't even....

. Emma walked in from taking care of our chickens, with chicken poop on her shirt.  I was in the laundry room, switching laundry out.  She threw the shirt at me and said,

E: Wash this for me.

I peeled the poopy shirt off of myself and replied,

N: Uh.....no! 

E:Why not?! 

N: Well, it might be because you just treated me like your slave, and not one that you like very much.

She giggled and said, 

E: Oh, Mama. Don't worry, I like you!

Like I said, they never cease to amaze me.  Amaze and worry me.  Am I the only one who wonders if her kids are ever going to be normal enough to survive outside the house?

Peanuts, Plums and Oranges

When two people who enjoy studying science get married and have a baby, the baby grows into a 9 year-old who also loves science and likes to have conversations like these.

Me:  Seriously, Emma? You have to pee AGAIN? Does it hurt when you pee?

Emma:  Noooo....why?

Me: I'm wondering if you have a bladder infection or something.

Emma: No, I just drank two glasses of water in a couple of minutes.

Me: Most people can hold it for at least a couple of hours at a time.

Emma: I can hold it for 10 minutes at a time.

Me: Congratulations.

Emma: That's why Trina calls me "peanut bladder."

Me: It's true.  It's an accurate name.

Emma:  Aaaaaactually, a child's bladder is about the size of a plum and can stretch to the size of an orange.

Me: .........

Emma:  Mine is usually stretched to the orange size.

Me:  You read too much.

Broken Toe, Capable Daughter

I'm so grateful to have such a loving and capable Emma.  I'm fairly certain that I've broken my toe. Daddy took Micah and Claire to meeting tonight, and left baby home with me.  Emma stayed with me too, to help out.  This able-bodied, 9 year-old little love dressed, fed, bottled, and played with Judah until his bed time.  She also walked and fed my Mom's dogs (who we're watching) and pretty much tidied the entire house up.  I am so happy she's mine, and knowing that I have some part in who she is becoming just makes me swell with pride.

Six Year-Olds are Awesome

Micah has been the one cracking me up lately, and I'm just making a little note of it for my memory.  He asked me, "Can men ever have babies, like....out of their butts?" Of course, I had to respond with detailed information about female internal organs.  He seemed slightly disappointed.

A few days ago, he ran into the kitchen with my bra.  Too much information, but it's kind of a stiff-cupped one, because it's made for strapless dresses.  He had one cup on his head like a helmet and was holding the other side up next to his head.  He said, "Mom!! Look! I'm a Siamese twin soldier!"

Also, we've been watching my Mom's dogs for the last two weeks. Today, Micah suggested that we sacrifice one of them to Jehovah. I think that everyone is ready for them to go home.

There's nothing like a 6 year-old boy to bring a little humor into your life.  

If Anyone Tells My Mom, They're Dead to Me

I'm the worst daughter ever.  Like, EVER.  We were at my mother's house, watching the Superbowl.  She was not there, but generously offered to let us use her enormous television for the event.  While we were there, we walked her dogs.  Joseph, my adoring husband who knows that I hate being cold AND I hate poop, went outside with a doggie bag to pick up what they left behind.  Then, he decided it would be funny to leave it somewhere for my Mom to find.  Her pillow?  The fridge?  In her toilet? No, no, no.  The microwave?  Yes.  THAT.

This is the point that I wish I could say that I discouraged him.  That I defended the home of the woman who carried me in her womb and nurtured me all those years.  I didn't.  I laughed and giggled right along with him, right along with my evil children.  You think that's bad?  It got worse.  Much worse.  

We walked away from the microwave to return to the game.  Well, all of us but Micah.  He stayed behind and, "set a timer."  Only, the timer wasn't a timer.  He had actually started the microwave.  It ran for something like 30 seconds before we noticed it.  I screamed, everyone panicked, and someone made it over and turned it off.  Not, however, before the poop cooked, lit on fire, and made the house smell like the dog pooped in every single corner of it. I did not know, until this night, that it was possible to laugh uncontrollably and dry-heave at the same time.

If you haven't yet read the title of this post, do it now.  Thaaaaat's right, I didn't tell her.  We sprayed the microwave down with Febreze and ran it for a while, until it smelled something like the wind blowing through a laundry line of clean clothes, under which the dog had just taken a giant crap.  It was an improvement.   My poor mother.  It's not her fault I turned out this way.