Things My Kids Said That Made Me Laugh

Wow, some title, huh? What can I say? My creative juices aren't flowing. In fact, I think my creative juices have turned into sludge. So there you go.

It was a busy weekend for us. It involved going to birthday parties and seeing the new Harry Potter movie and working on some projects around the house. While busy, it's small potatoes compared to the coming weekend which will involve a birthday Friday, then a birthday party Saturday, another party on Sunday and followed by an actual birthday Monday. If you think I'm insane now, catch me next Monday!

So coming up with an interesting blog post has been a little low on the To Do List. Thus, I give you the blogosphere equivalent to seeing a random stranger's eleventy billion pictures of their grandchildren.

Saturday night, while I was cleaning up after dinner, my husband (who may actually be in his mid-eighties rather than his mid-forties) turned on Lawrence Welk. He swears he just watches it because he thinks it is funny, but I think he garners a little too much enjoyment from it and that he may just have a secret crush on Sissy. (Also, you should know, that any person on that show other than Lawrence himself required my asking several times "Now who's that, again?") So on came Joe Feeney. Apparently he was the show's Irish tenor. Anyway, there was Joe, clad in his Harvest Gold sport coat and six-inch wide brown tie and he began singing. I swear I heard my husband humming along, but he denies it. As Joe was giving his song his best, Mary, who was in the room doing a puzzle looked up and said, "That is so cheesy!" I have no idea where she heard that phrase and having it come out of my nearly 5 year old's mouth cracked me up. And when I finished laughing, I gave her a little fist bump and said "Right on, chickie. Right on."

Earlier in the day I had James, Sean, and Mary in the car with me for a quick errand. It didn't require more than 10 minutes in the car and nobody had to even leave the vehicle, but you would have though I was asking them to ride to Alaska such was the whining and grousing. After we arrived back home, Sean was complaining about how I'd interrupted his time and how stupid everything in the entire world was while he was getting out of the car. He stalked into the house and slammed the door. As I was unbuckling her seat belt, Mary looked at me and said with the perfect sarcastic edge to her voice, "Well. That was pleasant!" I love that kid.

At dinner that night Mary was asking for someone to pour her some milk. But she is not content to make her request and then wait 2.2 seconds while our brains process the request and our bodies fulfill said request. She feels she must ask the question 40 times in a row. Set to music.

I enjoy a serenade as much as the next person, but hearing any conversation or question or word sung to the tune of "Mary Had a Little Lamb" all day, every day is enough to make me want to puncture my own eardrums with a rusty knitting needle.

After her father and I pointed out to her that she needed to be patient and that her behavior was rude, she said, "Well I don't want to be patient," in a tone that made it clear that we were put on this earth only to serve her and bow to her every whim.

I then launched into a tune I'd heard--on Barney, I think (kill me)-- about patience that was sung to the tune of "Row, Row, Row Your Boat." She looked at me, cocked an eyebrow and then to the same tune sang this little ditty:
I will be-eee rude,
I will be-ee rude.
Rude, rude, rude, rude,
Rude, rude, rude, rude, rude.....

I wish I had the strength of character to say that I used that as a "teachable moment." But I'll be honest. What really happened was that we all busted up laughing and Mary very much enjoyed her little moment in the spotlight. Nice parenting. Way to reinforce the wrong behavior. Honestly, though, it couldn't be helped because it really was quite funny.

And finally (yes, I really do intend to quit soon, just one more photo album little story.) on Friday night while in the car, James and I were talking about the clouds. They were gunmetal gray and very low. He was asking me about hurricanes and I was telling him what I knew of them (which, if you're interested, isn't very much.) As the conversation was winding down, James sort of shook his head ruefully and said with a sigh, "Mother Nature can be a cruel mistress."

I nearly wrecked the car. I asked him where he had heard that and hoped that I wouldn't have to explain what a mistress was. He said it was on some nature show on t.v.

I'm thinking that I may need to start watching his viewing habits more...

Really, after this post, I'm sort of hoping that the dog will make me look like a fool again. I'd venture to guess that if you read this far, you are too.