Tag Archives: kids say the darndest things

A Conversation To Test My Parenting Ability and I Think I Failed

(This conversation actually happened after a Daddy Daughter Day when my daughter was about 3 … that’ll teach me to leave them alone together for long periods of time.)

At about 2am, Ry wanted called me into her room because she couldn’t sleep until she got some important answers to pressing concerns. She is so insightful in the wee hours. I guess watching some of her older brother’s movies with her dad had sparked important questions about survival.

Ry: If a laser hit a kid what would happen?”

Now let’s not forget it’s 2am and I’m trying sleep while answering these serious questions.

Me: Well, there are lots of different types of lasers. Some can help your skin or your body, and they don’t really hurt at all. Mommy knows this because she wants to get broken capillaries zapped and hair removed and dark spots lightened… (imagine me trailing off into lovely dream about having all the areas on my face and body zapped back into their 20s).

Ry: Nooo I meeaan the laser in the Super Mario Bros movie that Luigi shot at the mouse and made his ship explode?

Me: Ah, that kind of laser, the kind that isn’t aesthetically useful at all (what a waste). Well, I guess it would hurt, but those lasers don’t really exist.

Ry: But, Luigi had one.

Me: Yes, but that’s just made up.

Ry: What about sharks? They’re not made up … they exist right?

Me: Yes.

Now, I’m officially awake, much to my dismay. But every mom knows a fear of sharks can ruin all good beachy vacations until the time when the kids are too old to want to vacation with you anymore!

Ry: Could a kid get eaten by a shark?

Me: (Careful Jenny) Ummmmmmm I guess, but they don’t usually eat people, ‘cause we taste yucky.

Ry: I don’t taste yucky, I’m sweet.That’s why the mosquitoes bite me, and Daddy is sweet, but you and J are sour.

Oh, we’re sour alright, especially at 2am when we’re trying to tread lightly into shark infested waters…

Ry: What about electricity? Could that fire?

Ahhh, a quick transition, fear of sharks averted (for now) gotta love toddlers.

Me: Huh?  (I questioned, as I realized this was about to go into what happens to people when they are electrocuted or on fire.)

Ry: If a dragon falls in a fire what would happen?

Another surprising digression. Phew.

Me: Well, dragons breathe fire, so they probably have super thick skin and I bet they would be just fine.

Ry: Like a seal? A seal has skin like a dragon, so a seal would be okay if it was on fire, right?

Me: Right.

Please do not judge me, how am I supposed to talk about seals on fire at 2 am? Who knows where that could go? So I played it safe.

Ry: How about a kitty, cause they are soft and furry. What if a kitten was on fire?

Holy crap! I played it safe and it went there??? I’m working on 40% of my brain power and I’ve just been asked what would happen to an adorable fluffy little kitty if it was on fire.  Awesome!

Me: OK then … it is really time to go to sleep now. We’ll talk about this tomorrow (never).

Well, I’m pretty sure I failed that test of my parenting ability! I’m soooo much better at multiple choice … Scantron? Bluebook? I mean, give a mom a fighting chance here!

Make me feel better, when have you dropped the ball?

If You’ve Ever Been There, Please Like/Share

XO – Jenny From the Blog

The True Bane of Suburbia

The bane of suburbia… the teenage wannabe gangsta.  Beware their 8 Mile lingo, tee-shirts with moderately offensive sayings, and fro-yo addiction.  They’re hoodlums alright. Well, they wear hoodies and they live in the hood, well, the middle class suburban neighbor’hood.  

So the last two days I’ve taken my son to the skate park at the Kirshberg YMCA in middle/upper class USA.  Be careful with the bigger kids, I warned my son, I don’t know if they’re so good.

“What, those kids are bad?  How do you know?”

“Well, for one, none of them are wearing helmets or pads.”

“Mommmm.”

“Plus, none of them is lucky enough to have his mom cheer him on from the sidelines.”

“Come on.”

“Oh, aaaaand I saw one of them smoking!”

“No way.  No one was smoking” my little innocent said, aghast.  (Kids are really anti-smoking these days.  If only they knew what chimneys their grandparents were.)

“Yo G, I got 4S” one of the older kids yelled to the others.

“No way, Seri is my bitch, yo.” Another yelled back… through his braces.

Wow, you know who thinks these kids are baaad? They do.  I mean, really?  Is this what happens when you’re so bored of suburbia?  Can their parents stop laughing long enough to tell them how ridiculous they sound?

“WHAT’S UP WITH ALL THE LITTLE KIDS?” inquired one of the white suburbanites, who got dropped off in his momma’s Beamer.

“I know, yo.  Is that one on a rip stick?” The one wearing the unfortunate fashion statement of a tee-shirt, which said, “Smell my Bag,” asked…  referring to MY little kid.

My ears perked up, ready to jump in with something like, “You got a problem with my son biatch???”  Oh, I can do “thug wannabe” just as good as these pishers.  Plus, I’ve actually lived in a city, that’s street cred, G… Props.

“Shit, that kid is bad ass, that’s hard to do.” One marveled.

Phew, he’s lucky he called my kid “bad ass,” ‘cause homie was about to get a beat down.  Plus, he  IS bad ass.  I wonder if he knows it?

“Mom, mom watch me do this… mooooooooommmm watch!  Are you watching???” Jake yelled, unaware.

Well, that answered that question.  

Frankly, Jake had no problem with these boys.  He climbed up to the highest ramp and chilled at the top, as all the suburban gangsta’s tried to decide where to go next.  (Hollister, Starbucks, Jamba Juice?)  I know, you wouldn’t want to run into them in a dark alley. It would look like this (insert squiggly dream sequence lines here.)~~~~

“Yo bro, where do you think you’re going, BIATCH?”

“Umm, I was going to Abercrombie, but take what you want…”

“F@ck that, we were going there too!  I got a sick coupon, G.”

As I contemplated the irony of this scene a new playa‘ walked up to me and asked, “Are my eyes ridiculously dilated?”

Oh, this one’s the real deal, huh? Doing drugs at the park and flippant enough to ask an adult about his “tells”?

“Um. yep, kinda.” I answered, “Why do you wanna know?” I followed.  Look, if he’s insolent enough to ask, I get to ask back.

“Oh, because, I just went to Dr. Rothberg, you know the ophthalmologist?  He did those drops and I don’t know if I should skate in the sun before they wear off.” He replied like a kid debating whether to wait the full half hour after eating, to go into the pool.

“Well, sure sure not a great idea.” I said, trying to squelch my laughter.

“Ok then,” he said as if I had given him sound parental advice.  Then he walked into the ramped- up hockey rink and yelled to his boyz, “F@ck this shit, I’m gonna get a f@cking smoothie, yo.”

“Yeah f@ck this, let’s get smoothies,” Smell my bag, concurred.

“No way, bro, I want fro yo, yo.” piped another…

And they were gone, those crazy hooligans arguing off into the sunset about toppings and calorie counts, and spoiling their appetites.

f@ckin’ thugs.

If you liked the post push “like” up top. If you loved it, please share at the bottom and if it didn’t float your boat … let’s keep it on  the DL!!!

link_badge

I was nominated for Circle Of Moms — please please — Simply click and vote!!! XO

OMG No One’s Gonna Take Care of Us When We’re Old

This conversation actually happened.  As a humor blogger, I see the “funny” in it, but it also opened my eyes to one possibility that no one’s gonna take care of me when I’m old!

I was diagnosed with Orthostatic Sycopate. See: (How to Retain Water and Lose Sanity and Altoids and Coffee a Deadly Combination? for more funniness on that).

Chief Tacky Costume

Indian Chief definition of orthostatic syncopate: Electrical malfunction when stand up, blood pressure drop like big ball in sky when night come, blood no travel to head, brain freak out like herd of buffalo, no air,  pass-out like Princess Drinking Slut after long night in tee-pee.

First, I want to apologize to all my Indian readers for doing such a cliche impression, plus that picture of that Indian on the left is pretty cheesy, I realize it makes me look totally ignorant to the American Indian culture.  To redeem myself a big “How” to all of you.  Okay, I think that’s better.

Frankly, Chiefs make technical stuff sound fun, like all people with British accents are smart.

Moving on, (please read the rest in a British accent as that is how I’m writing it) this diagnosis was just another one of those “aging” things.  Like cellulite dimples on non fatty areas like your calves, veins that are trying to escape from your legs or having to crack air into your vertabrae after standing or walking for upwards of 10 minutes.

Since finding out, I have not found myself suddenly unconscious.  I know, jig time.   Yesterday, I came uncomfortably close.  I realized that putting a Fat Burn powder boost in an espresso/frozen yogurt smoothie is not the best way to even out your blood pressure.   I know what you’re thinking: chromium picolinate, fro yo, and espresso… “that’s a heart healthy way to start the day, maybe you should chase it with a Red Bull and do a couple lines before going for a run.”

Don’t judge, I needed that fat burn boost to combat the calories in that one drink alone.  Anywho, racy and overheated, I lied down on the floor and put my feet up on the wall… to get blood to my brain. Never fear, my son was around, so I knew I’d be in good hands.

Me:  “Um, Jake, I think I might pass out”

Jake:  Frantically, “I’m calling 911.”

Isn’t that cute?

Me:  Calmly, “Don’t call 911.  I mean if I’m standing and just fall over, call 911, but if I mention it might happen and it does… call Daddy and he’ll tell you what to do.”

Jake listened and absorbed the instructions as to his course of action.  Then he looked at me on the floor, “Um, okay.  Bye.”  He said, as he zoomed out of the room.  I  then heard the chime of someone continuing a game on XBOX.

Me:  “Uhh, Jake. JAKE.   JAAAAKE” I screamed with all the energy left in me, as the TV was set a volume you would need if you were playing against someone across the street and they didn’t have an actual TV.

Jake:  “Whaaaat?”

Me:  “I hate to interrupt your game, but could you come back for just a sec?”

Jake:  Pause button hit, “What’s up?”

Me:  “A minute ago you were praying by my side and then ‘bye?’  You don’t even want to stick around for a few minutes and make sure I stay conscious?  How would you even know if I passed out?”

Jake: “You would yell, like you just did.”

Me: “I feel like something’s been lost in translation here.  You know what?  Stay here for a few, the TV’s so loud I don’t know if you’d be able to hear me if I scream to inform you that I’m no longer awake.”

Jake:  In the same matter of fact way he said ‘bye,’ “Okay.”

He then sat on the bed and asked me questions about calling 911 like, “Would they get mad if I called and then you woke up?”  “How do they know where to go?” and “Does someone answer the phone or is it a machine?” Distracted by his own line of questioning he sat for another minute or two, hopped off the bed and said “Okay, bye.”

Well, there goes the retirement home.

Where do I get one of these with Brad Pitt's face on it?

Our Babysitter May be in a Cult, but at Least She’s Available Saturday Night

Sunday morning my son informed me of that our new babysitter is Pescatarian.

“You mean Presbyterian?”

“No Pesc,” Jake corrected

“Well, it’s actually Presbyterian,” I said trying to right his wrong.  Unlike when he was little and I found total amusement in his mispronunciation of words.  So much so, that I would repeat them back to him in the wrong way that he would say them.  Do you wanna look at your self in the “mirriour,” or type on Mommy’s “computue?”  Look, for nearly a decade I referred to grapes a “bops”

“Mom you’re wrong, she said Pesc,” he insisted

“Ok Jake, Pescatarian.”  Yep, now I just give in out of “fustration,” I mean frustration.  Sorry, old habits die hard.

“How do you know that she’s Pescatarian, did you ask?”  I questioned uncomfortable with the idea of him asking her about religion.

“No, I didn’t ask, she told me.”

“Was she asking YOU?” I questioned, now worried that she was also having him read pamphlets or asking for a donation or that Pescatarianism is some cult off shoot.  (Religion seems like a heavy discussion to have with a 9 year old unprovoked.)

“She was wearing a shirt that said Vegetarian,” he said, as if that were enough information to answer my question.

“Jake that doesn’t help me here.  How does her Vegetarian shirt relate to the story?”

“Well, I asked if she was a vegetarian and she said no, I’m a Pescatarian.

“Presb”

“Pesc”

“That doesn’t make sense Jake, Vegetarianism is not a religion.  I don’t know much about this Pescatarianism, but I don’t think they’re mutually exclusive.”

“Could a vegetarian eat a pescatarian?”

Wow that was an unexpected turn in the conversation, I bet you didn’t see that coming either… and you thought my cult theory was soooo off base.

“Umm, no. Because Pescatarians, are still meat… I would assume.”  I hate to give out incorrect information.

At this point I was slightly concerned about the origin of his question, “Did she happen to tell you she was a cannibal?”

“No,” he responded as if that was a normal thing to ask.

“Did she look at any of your babyfat while licking her lips, tying a napkin around her neck or sharpening cutlery?”

“No.”

“Well that’s good.”

I think that conversation went well.

PS- here’s a picture of our new sitter, Lilly.  She was teaching drums at a local Music school.  She seems nice enough, right?  Best of all, she’s available Saturday nights.

A good Saturday night babysitter is hard to find

 

In an unexpected turn of events a reader let me know that a Pescatarian is a vegetarian who includes fish in their diet.  Umm, Nevermind.