Every eating outing is ripe with opportunity for creativity with L. Featuring Jolly Roger aka cherries and Wassup, Mr. Wasabi.
Tag Archives: kid
Surprise?
I arranged for L to take a swimming evaluation and start private lessons. My error? I did all of this a couple of days ago and somehow forgot to tell him.
M: “L, we’re going to go swimming today! Woo hoo!”
L: “What do you mean?”
M: “We’re (I’m using the royal WE) going to a great, heated pool and are going to see where you are and then start lessons.”
L: “WHAT?! I’ve been taking lessons at school for three years.”
M: “Yes, and they just concluded, so now you get to have cool, individual lessons.”
L: “Why didn’t you tell me? What if I drown? What if I’m not good enough? Mom, this is the kind of thing I need to prepare for. I need to have enough time to mentally get myself ready. You can’t just spring this on me. This is becoming a problem. You sign me up for things but you don’t ask me and you don’t give me enough notice. This doesn’t work for me. Who knows if these people can really swim? If I’ll be supervised? Do you want me at the bottom of the pool?”
M: “Got it. Discuss then act.”
Super Duper
In honor of the team that won’t see the Super Bowl for a long, long time, I give you the Spirit of Football Past (yup, that’s the black & silver).
What the F?
Yesterday as I was chopping some veggies for dinner, I nicked my finger and let out an F-bomb.
L: “Mom, I think it would be more appropriate for you to stop using that sort of language. If you’re telling me not to use it, I think you should stop using it. You’re sending a confusing message.”
M:
L: “Do you think you can stop using that sort of language? Because you’re sort of telling me it’s okay. And I know it’s not.”
M: (DREAM SEQUENCE: You betcha, I will not say s–t, f–k, a–h–e, d-bag, d–k wad, h–l to the no. I will abstain from such language.)
M: “Got it. No more potty mouth.”
L: “Great. What’s for dinner?”
Puberty Punt
While sitting in the general waiting area at L’s doctor’s appointment yesterday, I was handed a pile of paperwork. The usual stuff… Brushes teeth, eats a billion servings of vegetables every single day, doesn’t spend 12 hours in front of a video game… We happened upon a printout on puberty.
Apparently, girls can start puberty at age 8 these days. Who knew?
L was reading over my shoulder and said, “what starts to happen at age 8? What does that mean?”
(He’s terrified. I can hear it in his voice.)
M: “Well, that age applies only to girls. Seems some girls’ bodies can start to change when they’re eight years old.”
L: “Like what? What kind of changes? Like they get wrinkles?”
Thanks.
L: “Okay, so what happens to boys when they turn 10?”
M: “How would I know? I’m not a boy. You’ll have to ask your dad.”
A good punt if ever there was one.
Ha Ha ha ha heh heh eh meh
M: “Very funny. Now put it down. Besides, that’s the cheap stuff.”
What Day Is It?
L comes down this morning feeling pretty good about himself. He got a thumb’s up from the doc, he’s conquered all of his homework. He’s on fire.
L: “It’s Thursday. Let’s go over the spelling one more time.”
M: “Uh, it’s Wednesday.”
L: “NO WAY! I did all of that extra homework and studying and it’s only WEDNESDAY!? Geez.”
M: “Yup, and you still need to brush your teeth.”
What’s Up, Doc?
Oh, the joy of a well-child appointment (as opposed to a sick child appointment)
Went yesterday to have the lad measured, weighed, tapped and prodded. As we were sitting in the waiting room, the nurse came in and instructed L to remove his clothes down to his undies.
L: “Well, this is going to be embarrassing. What if the doctor comes in and sees me nearly naked and has to turn away and gather herself? What if she’s not expecting this? This feels very awkward to me. I think the nurse might have confused us with another patient.”
M: “L, your doctor is a pediatrician. She expects to see you in your undies. She would be surprised if you weren’t nearly buck naked.”
L: “Okaaaay. But if we have this wrong….”
Doc comes in and is amazed at how tall L has become. She is the single greatest pediatrician in the world. She knows that L comprehends everything and speaks to him as she would speak to me.
Doc: “L, what’s your favorite subject in school?”
L: “Math. Definitely math.”
D: “Why math?”
L: “Because I have systems and strategies and math makes complete sense. For instance, if you’re adding two three digit numbers, you already know that…”
D: “Yes, you definitely understand math. That’s great. I wish more people loved math.”
L then tells her about his day, his week, his life, his dog, his friends. At the end of the appointment, he says, “well, did I do okay? Am I healthy?”
D: “Yes, you’re very, very healthy. You’re amazing.”
Yup.
Who Needs Pants?
One thing I know: When the front door is shut and locked, we are a wildly inappropriate family.
Case-in-point: Pantsing.
We have a habit of trying to pants each other at every available opportunity. Our version rarely involves any success. It really is the journey. In other words, if one is wearing sweats or some other elasticized waistband garb, better grab on and tug. This leads to shrieks, laughter, and planting oneself firmly on the ground.
I sometimes wonder if the neighbors can hear us laughing, chasing, and ending up in a heap. Then I think, well, if everyone were to stop being so serious and just try a bit of pantsing, maybe everyone really would get along.
When in doubt, pants. (The verb, not the noun.)
These pants will do.
Necessary Evils a.k.a. Homework
Ah, number lines. L approaches them in an assembly-like manner. Assess question, color in least number of squares, write digits in sequence.
M: “I notice that when you’re doing these exercises, you always color in the least number of squares necessary.”
L: “Yes, that’s my strategy.”
M: “Seems to work well. Looks like it’s a good strategy.”
L: “I’m a good strategy.”
Can’t argue with that.
My Kid Wears A Gas Mask 