Jack: Mom, let's talk.
Me: OK!
Jack: ...about poop.
Me: Oh.
Jack, excitedly: Did you know that elephants poop!?
Me: ...
Jack: It's a huge, huge poop. Like, up to the sky huge.
Me: Well...
Jack: Yeah, bet you didn't know that!
Me: Is this what you're learning in school?
Jack, laughing loudly: No silly! Pop-Pop told me.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
I am captivated...
When you unexpectedly quote my favorite Saturday Night Live sketch in the car for me and you are only 4-years old. And you get the voice right and everything.
When you still giggle everytime someone says the word "sausage" even though you will be 37 in a few weeks.
When you build a waterpark that has a feature called "The Hubba-Bubba Highway" and it is absolutely the best ride I've ever experienced.
When you use a headset for work phone calls and it makes the walkie-talkie noise when we disconnect. Kssssshht.
When you write a song with the lyrics: "I don't know who I like less, you or me."
When you call me and the first thing you say is, "I have an amazing idea, and you're directly involved." And it is, and I am.
When you steal my son for the day and take him along on your date, and he has a great time.
When you buy me an Amazon prime membership because you know how I hate to wait.
When you still giggle everytime someone says the word "sausage" even though you will be 37 in a few weeks.
When you build a waterpark that has a feature called "The Hubba-Bubba Highway" and it is absolutely the best ride I've ever experienced.
When you use a headset for work phone calls and it makes the walkie-talkie noise when we disconnect. Kssssshht.
When you write a song with the lyrics: "I don't know who I like less, you or me."
When you call me and the first thing you say is, "I have an amazing idea, and you're directly involved." And it is, and I am.
When you steal my son for the day and take him along on your date, and he has a great time.
When you buy me an Amazon prime membership because you know how I hate to wait.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Beardy Locks
Lately there is a lot of beard talk in our house. It's kind of confusing to an outsider because Dan grows a beard that is a poor imitation of one that Keanu Reeves might sport, so it's not as if we have beard trimmers laying all over the house, or beard grooming issues, or even beard PROBLEMS really. In fact, I can confidently say that of many of the problems that we DO have, none of them are beard related.
That is, unless you talk to Jack.
Jack is obsessed with beards. Luckily this newfound interest sprung up after our friend Scott B. had visited--for he is quite beardy and would have had to endure endless interogations from Jack on the subject of his beard. Which, who knows, might be the kind of attention Scott is looking for. He's a beardy dude. And sometimes neardy. But that's another post.
Sometimes as of late I will catch Jack sitting on the couch stroking his non-existent beard thoughtfully. Resisting the strong urge to hand him a pipe filled with tobacco, I asked him what he was doing, and he replied, in a completely non-chalant fashion: "Checking on my beard." I made the grimace that I usually make when I'm trying REALLY hard not to laugh in my children's faces.
[Aside: These kids are going to grow up thinking that I either have some reoccuring and painful hernia problem, or that the things that they say make my intestines spasm. All because of this face that I cannot help but make everytime I smother a laugh. It's starting to become a question of whether it would just be better to laugh at them than screw my face up like this.]
Anyway. So I asked him a follow-up question: "How is it doing?"
He looked at me, with an earnest, Will-Wheaton-in-Stand-By-Me-look and said, "It's still under my skin. It's going to come out soon. I can feel it."
I nodded, and turned around and screwed my face up. Maybe I'll give Scott B. a call to see if he can get down here soon to teach this kid how to grow a legitimate beard. Lord knows Dan won't be able to.
That is, unless you talk to Jack.
Jack is obsessed with beards. Luckily this newfound interest sprung up after our friend Scott B. had visited--for he is quite beardy and would have had to endure endless interogations from Jack on the subject of his beard. Which, who knows, might be the kind of attention Scott is looking for. He's a beardy dude. And sometimes neardy. But that's another post.
Sometimes as of late I will catch Jack sitting on the couch stroking his non-existent beard thoughtfully. Resisting the strong urge to hand him a pipe filled with tobacco, I asked him what he was doing, and he replied, in a completely non-chalant fashion: "Checking on my beard." I made the grimace that I usually make when I'm trying REALLY hard not to laugh in my children's faces.
[Aside: These kids are going to grow up thinking that I either have some reoccuring and painful hernia problem, or that the things that they say make my intestines spasm. All because of this face that I cannot help but make everytime I smother a laugh. It's starting to become a question of whether it would just be better to laugh at them than screw my face up like this.]
Anyway. So I asked him a follow-up question: "How is it doing?"
He looked at me, with an earnest, Will-Wheaton-in-Stand-By-Me-look and said, "It's still under my skin. It's going to come out soon. I can feel it."
I nodded, and turned around and screwed my face up. Maybe I'll give Scott B. a call to see if he can get down here soon to teach this kid how to grow a legitimate beard. Lord knows Dan won't be able to.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Hoink
A) How Jack pronounces the noise that pigs make.
B) I thought to myself today that Sydney must have been an adorable, chubby, smiley, pink piglet in a former life. Then I thought, wait, that's this life.
B) I thought to myself today that Sydney must have been an adorable, chubby, smiley, pink piglet in a former life. Then I thought, wait, that's this life.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Buschwhacked
We spent this past weekend in Williamsburg, VA along with some very special friends who we have not seen in TWO YEARS. (Yes, this a good indicator of the speed at which my social life moves.) We visited Water Country USA, which I cannot say enough nice things about, and Busch Gardens Europe, which was just so-so. The family survived the weekend in amazing spirits, despite a 7-hour roundtrip drive, one speeding ticket, several forgotten items, foot-blisters, a harrowing I-want-to-get-off-this-roller-coaster-now moment, and two small colds (me and Jack).
I was, as usual, very impressed with how well the baby fared during the whole trip. She didn't fuss in the car, was perfectly content to eat anywhere (and anything), napped in her stroller, played amongst hundreds of squealing, wet people in pools, greeted everyone with a smile, and even safely rode in the hotel shuttle with no restraints (although she did manage to pinch two strangers during these bouncy rides, which--if you don't know her--is a very low statistic). I suppose I find all of this mildly surprising because these were not activities we could have done with Jack. I know that you're not supposed to compare your children, but that is kind of impossible--it's our experience as parents to figure out each one of these rascals and how best to keep everyone from choking everyone else. (Thinking about it is OK.)
While we were off having fun, my parents and sister watched the dogs. Stanley was up to his usual antics (running around like a moron) and managed to have a near-death experience (luckily at the hands of my cousin, who, thankfully, is a very conscientious driver). He was very excited to see us when we finally made it to my Mom's for a bbq dinnner. He was so emboldened by his new lease on life that, at a moment during the meal, he hopped up into an empty chair at the table, and then proceeded to climb right up onto the table...and when the whole family started squawking, he was all WHAT? WE AREN'T DOING THIS ANYMORE?
Now he has contented himself with guilting as many cookies as possible out of Dan and I with his tap-dancing and I-could-have-died-doe-eyes. So all is back to normal in this house.
I was, as usual, very impressed with how well the baby fared during the whole trip. She didn't fuss in the car, was perfectly content to eat anywhere (and anything), napped in her stroller, played amongst hundreds of squealing, wet people in pools, greeted everyone with a smile, and even safely rode in the hotel shuttle with no restraints (although she did manage to pinch two strangers during these bouncy rides, which--if you don't know her--is a very low statistic). I suppose I find all of this mildly surprising because these were not activities we could have done with Jack. I know that you're not supposed to compare your children, but that is kind of impossible--it's our experience as parents to figure out each one of these rascals and how best to keep everyone from choking everyone else. (Thinking about it is OK.)
While we were off having fun, my parents and sister watched the dogs. Stanley was up to his usual antics (running around like a moron) and managed to have a near-death experience (luckily at the hands of my cousin, who, thankfully, is a very conscientious driver). He was very excited to see us when we finally made it to my Mom's for a bbq dinnner. He was so emboldened by his new lease on life that, at a moment during the meal, he hopped up into an empty chair at the table, and then proceeded to climb right up onto the table...and when the whole family started squawking, he was all WHAT? WE AREN'T DOING THIS ANYMORE?
Now he has contented himself with guilting as many cookies as possible out of Dan and I with his tap-dancing and I-could-have-died-doe-eyes. So all is back to normal in this house.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Credibility
(This is an unpublished post I found from back on May 4th. It made me laugh, so prepare to feel dumb if it doesn't have that affect on you.)
My cousin, who is only 4 months older than I am, spent the weekend down here with us. It was wonderful. She and I grew up next-door to each other, and went to school on and off with each other, so I can safely say that she is one of those lucky people who know me best in this world (they are limited for a reason).
She and Dan were invariably drawn to each other as co-survivors of knowing-me-well (good thing we kept my sister away). They sat and talked for HOURS about ridiculous things as I rolled my eyes until they were sore. Dan was ecstatic to have someone who had not heard all of his stories, and even more excited to find that my cousin, like Dan, is what I call a fellow "fretter." So their conversations turned towards how best to worry over unforeseeable life-events, forcing me, the non-worrier, to leave the room lest my eyeballs fall out entirely. (This was probably their intention all along.)
As they discussed their worst fears (about how to mentally and physically prepare for nuclear fallout and waking up one day with a bank balance of $0), I tackled some of our never-ending laundry. Needless to say, they had more fun than I did. I could hear their excited squeals of fear-mongering as I folded clothes upstairs, wondering about my worst fear: being discovered living in Wyoming with a very sexy cowboy and sent back home to my real family.
My cousin, who is only 4 months older than I am, spent the weekend down here with us. It was wonderful. She and I grew up next-door to each other, and went to school on and off with each other, so I can safely say that she is one of those lucky people who know me best in this world (they are limited for a reason).
She and Dan were invariably drawn to each other as co-survivors of knowing-me-well (good thing we kept my sister away). They sat and talked for HOURS about ridiculous things as I rolled my eyes until they were sore. Dan was ecstatic to have someone who had not heard all of his stories, and even more excited to find that my cousin, like Dan, is what I call a fellow "fretter." So their conversations turned towards how best to worry over unforeseeable life-events, forcing me, the non-worrier, to leave the room lest my eyeballs fall out entirely. (This was probably their intention all along.)
As they discussed their worst fears (about how to mentally and physically prepare for nuclear fallout and waking up one day with a bank balance of $0), I tackled some of our never-ending laundry. Needless to say, they had more fun than I did. I could hear their excited squeals of fear-mongering as I folded clothes upstairs, wondering about my worst fear: being discovered living in Wyoming with a very sexy cowboy and sent back home to my real family.
Admit It
I absolutely said:
Manure = "man-yer"
Lingerie = "Linger-ee"
Daschund = "Dash-hound"
Also I stubbornly pronounced "pint" to rhyme with "mint" for a LARGE portion of my life, because I thought that it was really asinine to say it any other way considering the spelling. Probably more asinine was my series of very bad haircuts between 1991-1996...but I was a teenager--I had to focus my outrage on something besides my horrible appearance.
Manure = "man-yer"
Lingerie = "Linger-ee"
Daschund = "Dash-hound"
Also I stubbornly pronounced "pint" to rhyme with "mint" for a LARGE portion of my life, because I thought that it was really asinine to say it any other way considering the spelling. Probably more asinine was my series of very bad haircuts between 1991-1996...but I was a teenager--I had to focus my outrage on something besides my horrible appearance.
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