"Just don't put things down your undies."

Why not?
Just don't.

I don't know, maybe it's just me, but I kinda figured people knew this without having to be told. I guess it's one of those things that a parent needs to say early on just to make certain his or her child understands what not to do at times. But I didn't really explain much, did I? I left it pretty dry. I did think about elaborating and possibly mentioning things like how something might pinch something or how difficult it might be to extract an object or even just the whole yuck factor. But I chose not to. I chose to keep it simple. I chose not to have a long discussion about the placement of objects down one's underwear and the consequences resulting from such placements. My husband, on the other hand, is really good about breaking down a concept (say, marching on one's sister) and forming a sequence of logical events that ultimately results in all parties coming to a plausible and acceptable conclusion, ending with some sort of group hug. Aah, he's the peanut butter to my chocolate.

"Just to set the record straight, we do NOT put little boys on our lap."

Oh, I'm still laughing about this one. Here's the deal: So yesterday I was upstairs exercising when my husband walked in and mentioned that he had a good exercise he wanted me to try. When I finished I went downstairs to try it out. My kids were excited for me to attempt it, as they all had just moments earlier. It was a tricep dip using two chairs (feet on one, arms on the other). My daughter proudly boasted that she could do 17 so I figured I needed to do at least that many. When I was done my oldest did some more, then hubby told us to watch him do what he and his buddies do at the gym. He got in position, did a couple of dips, then instructed our 8 year old to sit on him while he did some more. Our daughter quickly asked, with a mild look of confusion and disgust, "You put little boys on your lap at the gym?!" I couldn't contain my laughter so I just let it out. My husband, on the other hand, looked offended and instantly retorted, "No! We don't put little boys on our lap. We use weights!" He removed our son and stood up. "We use weights, girlie. Weights." She looked relieved and simply said, "Ooh." Then she asked me why I was still laughing (I tried to suppress it but truly couldn't). I mumbled something incoherent and walked back upstairs to get a jacket. On my way back down my husband met me on the steps and offered the above clarification. I, of course, didn't need one, but I think it made him feel a bit better. I don't think we'll be doing that exercise again any time soon.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Not funny, I know. Not even a bit unusual or awkward, given the day, but I still said it and wanted to share it. I do, however, have a hilarious story to tell but I think I'll wait until everyone has a full belly. Enjoy your day!! Maybe it'll be a Black Friday special. Get it? (As long as I think I'm funny, right?)

Thank you to those (few) who read my bog!!

"Well remember mommy, sometimes when you fight you get hurt."

Ouch. I think I saw stars. When his knee made contact with my cheek I instantly saw a flash of light. Now my head is pounding. But I know he's right - that's the risk you're willing to take when you begin a wrestling match with an 8 year old who has been taking karate. Lesson learned. Thank you, son. And now I know you've been listening to us.

"Would I ever shoot you?"

My husband looked deeply into our son's eyes, gently cradling our boy's sweet face, while he asked him this question. He followed it up with a sympathetic, "Huh buddy?" Little man looked back at his daddy and quietly answered, "No." Hubby quickly assented with a, "No, of course not. I would never shoot you. You're my little buddy." "Oh, okay daddy. I know, I know" (his new favorite phrase). The boys hugged, daddy gave him a big kiss, and all was right in the world once more.

Background info: Hubby recently got a paintball gun. Little man came in early one morning, sniffling, saying that his foot hurt and that daddy had shot him. When I asked him what he was talking about he pointed to his ankle, at an orange spot, and said, "See look, there. Daddy shot me." Hubby heard this and called him over to his side of the bed. He lifted him up and plopped him down in front of him, beginning the above conversation with this question: "Did you have a dream that I shot you with my paintball gun?"

"So...you got so excited that you pulled your pants down?"

I know what you're thinking, who doesn't do this, right? You hear some really fabulous news and your pants just drop. You're in a dither, beside yourself with emotion, unsure of how to express your elation, so you instinctively reach for your bottoms and yank. Huh?! Well, I guess if you're 6 and you just heard that you're having a sleepover you'd do that. I guess. Apparently.

"Whose nose is this?"

"Well if it's not your nose then you probably shouldn't be touching it. What if somebody stuck your nose on their face? You wouldn't like it? Right, then just think about that the next time you find a nose on the ground."


Now if that's not a lifelong lesson, I don't know what is.

"Well then how did something fly out and land on your chin?"

Or "I guess you didn't swallow it all because there's some on your chin." Or "Obviously not because something just flew out of your mouth and onto your chin." Or "Apparently you didn't swallow everything because there's food on your chin now." Or just "Yuck, get that off your chin."

I can't remember exactly what I said to my daughter at dinner last night, but it was something along those lines. We've been trying to have more chewing and less talking while eating (particularly when there is still food in the mouth) and we're improving, albeit slowly. And there's just something about fallen food that really gets to me. It may seem a bit odd that of all things, spilled food is high up on the 'yuck' list for me, but it is. I know I've changed about a billion diapers and cleaned up about a thousand cuts and scrapes, but vomit and food messes rank #1 and #2 on the gross lost, respectively. My first child was a rather neat eater so I thought I was in the clear, but then my sweet girl arrived and seemed to make it a point to make the biggest food mess possible. I remember covering myself in burp cloths and towels while I fed my daughter and my husband coming home from work and just saying, "Here, let me feed her." I guess it was pretty obvious how I felt. So I've come a long way over the years and don't even flinch anymore when there's food on the table, but there's still something about food either not making it all the way into the mouth or somehow making its way out again that really makes my stomach churn. So I think what I'm trying to say is that what I actually uttered was probably more like, "Ah, uh, don't be yucky, wipe that off, oh."

"You need to wear more than undies and daddy's slippers."

While you may look adorable, you just might get taken away from mommy if she let's you go outside and play like that. The neighbors might not think it's so cute and get concerned. I know you're hot right now but trust me, it's barely 40 degrees outside so you'd be begging for some pants in no time. Your sweet tummy will get very cold and anyway, playing 'capture the flag' in huge slippers could result in some serious scratches. I understand your hesitation and I'd have no problem if we weren't going anywhere, but the neighbor kids don't really need to see your skivvies, so go grab a shirt and pants and then we'll head outside, okay? Good job buddy.

"So, did you march on your sister?"

This is just an excerpt from an interrogation/conversation my husband had with our eldest the other day. It went something like this:

Daughter cries out from living room, "Daaaddy, brother kicked me." Hubby and I were on our way downstairs anyway so I continued my path while he began the investigation. I plopped myself down on the floor to put on my shoes, strategically placing myself in full view of the crime scene.
Hubby turns to son:
"Did you kick your sister?"
"No."
Turns to daughter:
"Did he kick you?"
"Yes."
To son:
"Why is she saying you kicked her?"
"I don't know."
"Why do you think she's saying that?"
"I don't know."
To daughter:
"Why are you saying he kicked you when he's saying he didn't?"
"Because he did."
"Where did he kick you?"
"Right here. On my leg." (points to thigh)
To son:
"Look at me, she's saying you kicked her in the leg. What happened right before she said 'ow?' Where were you?"
"I was right here doing this." (points to opposite couch and makes a stepping motion)
"And what do you call what you did there?"
"Marching."
"So did you march on your sister?"
"No."
"While you were marching did you make contact with her?"
"What do you mean?"
"Were you doing this?" (husband proceeds to march around the room) "And your knee touched her leg?"
"Uh yes."
"I think you knew exactly what I was asking you."
"But I didn't kick her. She's saying I kicked her and I didn't."
"But your knee hit her leg and she didn't like that. Even if it was an accident you should have just apologized, but instead it became this big deal. Now go tell your sister sorry for marching on her or kicking her or whatever so we can just go."

Case closed.

"Try not to bounce on me."

Admittedly, not one of the strangest things that I've said but still something I probably wouldn't be saying to an adult. Probably. And if, for some reason, an adult were to be bouncing near me, I might take a different approach in my tone. I might say something like, "Dude, why are you bouncing?" or "Maybe you could bounce somewhere else?" I don't really know, since I haven't had to deal with any bouncing grown ups, but now I do feel a bit more prepared. I guess I just needed to work that out. Thanks, I feel better.

"Dude, you're tripping on your dress buddy."

This is a repost in support of nerdyapplebottom and all the craziness that has been following her!

"Dude you're tripping on your dress buddy."

"Well unstick yourself and go sit down."

It's a matter of getting yourself out of a dilemma into which you have somehow gotten. It's about fostering independence. It's using problem-solving skills to, well, solve a problem. My little guy fleetly figured out a solution and promptly plopped himself in his seat and we headed home. Sometimes you just have to keep things simple.

"I can't grab your staff while I'm driving."

You can easily change out the word 'staff' with any number of words and this might very well have been you talking. I, for one, can replace it with 'foot,' 'tummy,' or 'nose' just to name a few. It's always been funny to me how my kids seem to wait until the most inopportune time to ask for something or need something or talk about something. Like as soon as I turn on the vacuum cleaner someone desperately needs to tell me something or when I'm in the shower and a child suddenly needs my presence elsewhere. No calamity seems to strike when I'm sitting right next to a little one but as soon as I get up to move, the earth begins to rumble. But that's what makes being a parent so fun, right? Never a dull moment...