Claudia walks into the living room with my fancy purse, the one I take to weddings and the opera.
“Mommy, I like your purse. It is very beautiful.”
“Well, thank you.” I say. “Why do you have my dress up purse? Where did you find my dress up purse?”
“In your bedroom.”
“What were you doing in my bedroom?”
“Playing England.”
“Playing England?”
Since this cleared nothing up I went in my bedroom to see how one would go about playing England. I guess I was picturing a tea party with the Queen or something but I was mistaken.
Apparently playing England involves taking all of your library books and half of your regular books and putting them all in my bed. This is where Ian lives. Then Claudia comes to visit him with every stuffed animal she has and all of her dolls.*
“Okay,” I said “but I still don’t understand why you would call it playing England.”
Ian rolled his eyes at me. “Because it is NEW England.”
Okay. Wicked cool then, I guess, but I still want to know why that girl has my nice purse.
On Saturday I took the grumpiest child in the world to the National Book Festival.
I made the mistake of not going early so the lines were super long to meet all the PBS characters. Fortunately, Claudia was too pissy to stand still and have her picture taken with Clifford anyway.
We did get to go on the Magic School Bus. (Thanks PBS Kids!)
There was that. Then I saw the back of Neil Gaiman’s head and I heard him read approximately three words from his new book before Claudia completely lost her mind. I did not get to see Tiki Barber (or Kristen) but I did get to meet Papa Bradstein and he gave Claudia some water. So that calmed her down for about 45 seconds and then I just gave up and took her to the McDonalds in Air and Space with some friends where I got to actually talk about books while the girl ate some french fries and scowled at me.
Next year I’m either going alone or I will actually show up on time.
My kids have been talking about my reproductive organs a lot.
For example - this morning they were arguing about who got to choose the television how they watched before school. I was sick of the fighting so I turned off the tv and told them that they needed to work it out amongst themselves. They could either pick a show that they could both agree on or figure out who got to go first.
After a few minutes they came to the following conclusion:
Whoever came out of my uterus first got to pick the first television show.
They asked me who came out first. I told them Ian did* and then they were both happy. Ian chose “Phineas and Ferb”.
I swear that this is true. What kind of four year olds talk like that? Do your children talk about your uterus all of the time? I’m starting to feel self conscious about my insides.
(1. Shut up. You’re not cool either. You know you have embarrassing season passes on your DVR too and 2) VH1 Classic, ugh. I’m so old.)
The first couple episodes of 120 Minutes we watched were all about Morrissey and Siouxsie & the Banshees and a lot of mid to late 80’s alternative music but lately they have been much more early 90’s stuff.
I was folding laundry and the kids were playing on the floor (Usually I let them watch kids shows if we have the TV on but if I am folding laundry I often insist on watching a “music show” which is usually some crap I recorded off of VH1 or MTV2 just so that I can pretend I still listen to music on occasion.) and the video for “Ruby Soho” came on.
“Hey guys!” I said. “You know this song don’t you?”
We have been known to listen to a lot of Rancid around thse parts.
“Yeah!” All of the sudden Ian was really excited. “I know that guy! I know who he is!”
“Which one?” I asked. “The guy with the mohawk?”
“Yeah! I know him!”
I was so proud. My son new Tim Armstrong by site.
“Mommy! He’s the guy from Guitar Hero!”
Oh. I see.
And nobody tell Tim Armstrong about this. I don’t think he would find this amusing.
My son is completely obsessed with Transformers. He talks about them all the time. He would watch the show 12 times a day if I let him. It is the first things he asks for when he wakes up in the morning. Yes, he may be a touch young for that level of violence but he loves it so much. He probably has 10 different Transformers and he know the name of each one.
He dreams about Transformers. He is going to be Bumblebee for Halloween.
This afternoon I was shopping for a gift for a birthday party when I saw him. Opti-Mash Prime.
How could I not buy him? A Mr. Potato Head that was dressed like Optimus Prime! Sure my kids have more toys than any two children could possibly require, but I think I would have actually been a negligent mother to pass up this opportunity.
Gabe and I try not to spoil the kids too much - we try to leave that up to the grandparents but today I could not resist. Ian has been carrying him around all afternoon.
I knew he would love it.
And yes, of course I had to buy something for the girl too. She is playing with these things right now. You can’t tell from the picture but they are sparkly.
I don’t know why the people baking cookies with their kids on TV always look so happy.
I thought it would be a good rainy day activity yesterday so The Goon Squad and I decided to make cookies.
Well, technically we decided to make cupcakes, but I only had two eggs and the box recipe called for three eggs. And my neighbors weren’t home. And I had a package of sugar cookie mix, so cookies it was.
In commercials they show a well groomed lady in a clean kitchen smiling with cooperative and appreciative children that are all wearing pants.
In my house only two of us were wearing pants and I made the other one put on underwear before he could “bake” anything. The kitchen was a wreck from the get go and my hair… let’s just say I haven’t showered since yesterday and I went to the gym this morning.
The directions were simple. A stick of softened butter, one egg and the mix.
Have you ever tried stirring a dry powdery mixture with two four year olds helping?
I do not reccomend this activity to anyone. (Except my enemies.)
It went poorly but eventually I got the first sheet of cookies into my oven. Then it went like this:
Are they done yet? How about now? How about now? Are they done now? Now? Now? How about now? Mommmmmmmy, are they done yet?
and on and on for 9 minutes.
Times four sheets of cookies.
And then:
Can I eat one now? Are they cool enough now? Why are they too hot? Why are you putting them on that rack? Can I eat it now? How about now? Now? I’ll only eat the cold part. Can I eat one now? Are they done now? Can I eat one now? Mommmmmmmmmy this is taking forever. This is taking one million years. Can I eat one now?
Until they cooled.
Then came the frosting. It took 10 minutes and they each frosted ONE cookie.
After that they complained about it.
Those commercials lie. Now my kitchen is an even bigger mess than it was when I started.
And now I am too full from eating cookie dough to go back in there and clean it up.
It is entirely possible that I gained five pounds and I don’t even really like sugar cookies all that much.
The next time it rains I am buying a bag of Oreos and renting a DVD.
Mommy Mommy! I saw something on tv that I want to do. Go on Sprout online dot com. It said to grab your Mom OR Dad.
_______
I’ve had that line sitting in my drafts folder for about six weeks now. Ian is the biggest sucker in the world for commercials. At first I thought it was just the websites for kids networks that he was into - maybe he just liked the games that they showed on television. But no.
Yesterday I was cleaning up the kitchen after dinner. Ian wandered in as I was putting away the leftovers.
Ian: Aw, man. I wish we had green bags.
Me: Why do you need a bag?
Ian: Green bags.
Me: You want a green bag?
Ian: Green Bags. You know, Green bags. They can keep food fresh for up to six days. Regular bags can’t do that.
Me: *speechless*
He is like a walking infomercial.
In fact, I just checked with him to make sure this picture was what he was talking about. He gave me a short speech about how the bananas on the left were fresh and the ones on the right were yucky. The he went through the same diatribe with the strawberries. I said “You said six days this says nine days” and he said (I swear I am not making this up) “Yes! UP to nine days!”
I want you people all to swear to me right now that nobody will ever introduce my son to Home Shopping Network.
Alternate Title - And Then My Children Came Down With an Overdeveloped Sense of Manners
I don’t get these kids at all.
We spent the last couple days of our vacation in that mode where Claudia was refusing to smile at any family members. This included scowling at her Great-Grandmother. It was fairly embarrassing.
At one point when I asked her to get dressed she threatened to “smash everything”. She also told me she would never hug me again, nor would she kiss me or smile at me or ask me to do anything for her.
(I told her that I was fine with that last one.)
In addition, Ian caught whatever Claudia had at the beginning of the week and he demanded butt medicine. Fortunately, I had some left over.
At some point it occurred to me that they were in such bad moods because they are only four and between me being gone for two weeks for BlogHer and then them going to the beach when we went to the wedding in Albuquerque and then this trip to Arkansas they were just completely out of their element. Kids need some sort of predictability and a schedule and we just haven’t been giving them that this summer.
During one of Claudia’s temper tantrums on Sunday the thing that finally calmed her down was me telling her that we would be home tomorrow and everything would go back to normal.
We got home this afternoon and they are different people. The girl has been completely charming. She has been dressing up in all of her princess gear and giving us fashion shows, She offered to let her brother choose the television show that they got to watch.
She thanked me for letting her brush her teeth.
But the crazy part came when we checked the mail. They got a thank you card in the mail from Mia’s birthday party.
They were beside themselves with joy.
I should explain that my children love all mail, but in this case (and I think it was because they were so happy to be home) they completely freaked out and demanded that we immediately send Mia a “You’re Welcome” note.
A you’re welcome note? From the children who have been known to sit at the table for an extra 45 minutes because they refused to utter the phrase “May I please be excused”?
I must be losing my mind.
Seriously, they ran and got paper and crayons and they took turns writing their names on the paper for Mia and then they dictated this letter:
Dear MIa,
You are welcome.
Love,
Ian and Claudia and Mom
I was going to explain that Mia calls me Sarah and not Mom, but I didn’t want to spoil the mood.
I think I am just going to chalk this up to my wonderful parenting (*snort*) but if these overzealous manners continue I might consult a doctor just to make sure that these children are actually The Goon Squad and not pod people.
We are on a 16 hour road trip and Claudia has a fever.
She refuses to take medicine.
Let me explain that Claudia always refuses to take medicine unlike her brother (and mother, to be honest) who will take medicine just because someone else is sick and it tastes good and/or makes you feel better. In fact yesterday when she was first ill we had this awesome fight where she refused to take some Tylenol to bring down the fever and I (being the mature lady that I am) threatened to take her to the hospital instead where they would surely give her an IV and when that didn’t work I told her if she let the fever get to high her brain could boil.
Even though she didn’t believe any of my threats her brother has been going around for about 20 hours now telling people that his sister had brain damage which is kind of a hilarious side effect.
Back to today - we are somewhere in the middle of Tennessee. I am in the car with both children and my Mother-in-Law and Father-in-Law and Claudia has a fever. She is very rosy cheeked and hot. She is sad and has a headache. We decide to stop at the first place we see (in this case a Wal-Mart. Apparently Tennessee is infested with Wal-Marts. Seriously they are omnipresent here.) and we stop to buy something that will help get rid of the headache and fever.
I seriously take her into this Super Wal-Mart and name every single flavor of every single children’s fever medication known to man. She hates them all. We finally decide on some dye-free Tylenol business that she used to take when she was a baby. It seemed that this was the closest to her favorite medicine - stool softener - which is the only medicine that Claudia will take orally.
No. The irony is not lost on me.
We get to the parking lot and Claudia is already crying even though her Grandmother is carrying her. After all three adults try unsuccessfully to get her to drink a teaspoon of medicine that tastes like candy I resort to more threats.
“If you don’t drink that by the time I count to three I am going to walk right back in that store and buy the kind of medicine that goes in your butt.”
And inexplicably she agree to this.
Twenty minutes later, after consulting with pharmacists and being led on wild goose chases by pharmacy techs I return empty handed. While it is very clear what I need it turns out that this particular Wal-Mart doesn’t carry it.
I go back to the car empty handed.* To which Claudia replies, under her breath “How unfortunate.”
MY FOUR YEAR OLD HAS A VERY STRONG GRASP OF SARCASM. She is also quite strong in vocabulary.
As I told Devra years ago (before my own children could talk this well) smartassery begets smartassery.
I have reaped what I have sown. I accidentally taught my four year old daughter to be a sarcastic bitch.
I also accidentally raised someone who would rather have something shoved up her ass than do something much more pleasant against her will.
We are so screwed when she becomes a teenager.
* Where my children were having this argument “She said she choosed the pharmacy.” “No! I said I choosed the suppository!”
.
