Monday, November 30, 2009

"yeah, well. You're a poo poo head"

I am trying to help Motormouth with his spelling sentences.

Me: Motormouth, I don't think this sentence is right: "My mom is the large in the family" It's missing some words or something.

Motormouth: no that's right, you are the large.

Me: The large what?

Motormouth: the largest.

Me: okay, well first of all, your spelling word is large, not largest. Second of all, you don't ever call a girl a large anything, it makes them feel bad.

Motormouth: But you ARE large!!

Saturday, November 28, 2009

What a difference a year makes.

Went to Monkey's parent/teacher conference a week or two ago, expecting the worst. What can I say, these things have not gone well since preschool. I keep hearing that he is fine, he is friendly and so cute and not a behavior problem at all, which makes me nervous. Fortunately, he really is doing well in his new class. So good in fact, that he hasn't needed a behavior chart or individual picture schedule all year. His teacher had very nice things to say, talked about how he tries to trick all the ladies in the room into letting him get away without doing his school work by trying to just hug and cuddle with them instead (they now have a 'we'll hug when you do your work' rule). He even moved up a reading group. What got me smiling all the way home was the story she told about him.
A few weeks ago one of the little girls in his class got into trouble and had to take a time out. She wasn't happy about it and was throwing a fit and screaming at the teacher. Monkey gets out of his chair, runs over to his teacher and says "Don't worry, I'll handle this" and marches up to the little girl, plants both feet, sticks his hand out and demands "STOP!! That's not nice!" and marches back to his seat. Apparently the little girl was so shocked that Monkey actually spoke to her that she stopped screaming.
And here I was half expecting her to tell me that Monkey marched up to the little girl and tipped her and her chair over.

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

My time is your time.

I'm in the bathroom. Using it.

Motormouth marches in, because, you know, closed doors mean nothing. "Mom, I peeled the orange but I can't open it."

Me: What exactly do you want me to do at this very second?

Motormouth: oh. I'll wait.

Me: I'd offer you a seat, but it seems there is only one in here.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

That's right, I am not above using my kids as a shield.

Backing the truck up in the driveway so I can unload the back. Just as I am braking and thinking "Whoa, it looks like I might be getting too close on that side...." I hear this sickening crunch. Monkey says from the back "Uh, oh. Thats not good. You banged." Um. Yep. I did. I pull forward a little and get out to check the damage, unload the groceries and get back in. "You break it?" Monkey asks. Yes. Yes I did. Now what? I ponder my best course of action as I make my way to where Sgt. G and Motormouth are waiting for us for lunch. Sgt. G loves his truck. Not as much as he loves me, but the truck doesn't ask him for anything, and it never is moody or cranky or sarcastic. It doesn't nag him, it doesn't make him fold laundry, it just waits for him and helps aid in his escape, so some days his love for it comes a close second I am sure. I know that if I was in a real accident he would only be concerned for my safety, but I hit our garage, it isn't like there is much chance for injury, so there is no sympathy card to be played. I know I have to tell him, but how and when? Then I look in the rearview mirror and formulate the perfect plan. There sits Monkey, looking all sweet and cute, with his little mohawk and big eyes. I'll just have him tell for me. The kid finally talks, I should get something good out of that! "Monkey, Mommy broke the truck. Can you go up to Daddy and tell him that Mommy broke the truck?" Monkey looks up from his DS game. "Tell Daddy?" A look of horror slowly washes over his face "NO!! NO tell Daddy!!!" "Please? just tell Daddy that Mommy broke the truck, it's okay, he won't be mad (at you)"

Monkey glares at me "NO. YOU do it."

Saturday, November 21, 2009

That's how I roll.

My husband has really stepped it up lately. He has been Super Dad and Super Hubby all rolled into a much less grumpy version of himself. This past week alone he has put in 7 hours of practice with Motormouth's Lego League team plus 8 hours of competition today. He has also ran errands, completely cleaned out the garage so both vehicles actually fit in it, surprised me by taking me to see New Moon, cheerfully sat home alone Friday night with the kiddos while I went to a home party, and did laundry and dishes without me asking. Keep in mind that he has only been home since Wednesday afternoon and about the first thing he did when he got home was make dinner for the kids.

Jealous yet?

Take comfort in knowing that he probably won't bother to be so sweet in the future, since this is how I repay his kindness:

I run his truck into the garage. You know, the truck he waited 10 years to get because we could
never afford it. The one he had to reenlist in the Army to get. Yup. That one.
Then to add insult to injury I red-necked it up by 'fixing' it with colored packing tape so every one can see it.

Monday, November 9, 2009

What I should have said was "YES!!"

G is trying on his new, bright orange, bib overall style hunting pants.

G: Wow, maybe I should give these to my dad, they are really big on me.

Me: You certainly are swimming in them. (I am eyeing the matching jacket that he is about to put on and start giggling about the visual of the entire outfit) Look Charlie Brown! It's the Great Pumpkin!!

G: Hey, do you want me to be seen in the woods or not?

Me: (what I DID say) Not in that.

(what I tried to clarify with) I don't think I want you to be seen anywhere in that.

Sunday, November 8, 2009

I'm so glad that kid's sense of humor is starting to grow in.

At the store, doing our obligatory tour of the sporting goods section.

Me: oh look, they have pink wool socks. G, those would look great on you.

G: I could SO pull off pink socks. I'd rock those socks.

(Give us a break, we've been married a really, really, really, really long time and some days you just can't think of anything else to talk about- at least we still talk.)

Motormouth: You could Dad, and out in the woods there would be deer walking by and they would say "Hey, look at that tree wearing pink socks, don't see that every day"