From the Complaints Dept.

Refer please to Diagram A:

Rambo

The PT: Wanna see my new picture?

Me: Sure!

Me: Hmm...Rambo?

The PT: No! Rainbow!

Of Course, Some Do Go Both Ways

Abba: Are you an innie or an outie?

The PT (6): I'm a rightie.

Let Them Eat Steak

About the Author

Passing Notes

The PT (age 6) is eating lunch. She puts a spoonful of food in her mouth. Suddenly, she arches her eyebrows and emits a whining tone, but doesn't swallow her food. She runs off to the other room and returns with a note:

I swa
loed a hole
Nootal!

PT Imagery: Jraffs

Mrs. B and I went to parent/teacher conferences this week and received mostly wonderful reports about all the kids, pfu pfu pfu. We expected to hear...interesting things about The PT, who, if you've been paying attention to all the franchised blogs, is a bit...different.

And of course, we did. She is her own inimitable self and will bow to the will of the masses only slowly and at her own pace. We are not worried about her and do not plan to assign any DSM-4 criteria to her.

One interesting thing we saw last night was an assignment she did for her first grade writing journal. Now, I have done homework with her and watched her write out sentences, and I assure you that this is a grueling experience. The PT doesn't do anything quickly, and writing four lines can easily be a 30 minute affair. I was quite shocked to see this, though (I'm sorry I don't have the original to scan):

JRAFFS (written backwards, of course)

JRaFFs R tol Bcuz
ther long neks.
JRaffS hav brn spts lic
choklet chps in ice crem

Translation:

Giraffes are tall because (of)
their long necks
Giraffes have brown spots like
chocolate chips in ice cream

Even the teacher was surprised by her use of imagery. I'm just shocked she could keep a train of thought going for so long.

All the Rage

The PT (age 6): Behold, Curly! I feel the rage to jump on you!

Curly (13): Huh?

The PT: YAAAAAAAH!

Curly: AHHHHH!

---

The PT: I feel the rage for some pancakes. Fudge, can you give me some pancakes?

Fudge: ?

---

The PT: I have the rage to sit on the blue chair.

---

The PT: I have the rage for some milk.

Iguana: Uhhh...you want milk?

---

The PT: Uh...HELLO?? Whoever's in the bathroom?? I feel the rage to use the bathrooooooom!!

Who is Rich?

The PT (age 6!): Fudge, did you see my rich picture?

Fudge (18): Yes it's very nice. Why is it the 'rich' picture?

The PT: Because they're happy with what they have.

Fudge: I see...what are these?

The PT: Jewels.

Fudge: And that house looks pretty big.

The PT: It's a castle.

Fudge: So they're rich because they live in a castle and have jewels.

The PT: That's why they're happy with what they have!

When Brothers Escape from Yeshiva...

Instant Message from Fudge (at home):


fudge: abba

fudge: rafiki is here

psychotoddler: what the

fudge: that is what i said

fudge: he appeared like dracula

fudge: from the night

fudge: he says he left his usb drive in the back of your car

psychotoddler: which car

fudge: your red car

psychotoddler: too bad for him

fudge: your midlife crisis vehicle

fudge: your flaming

fudge: uh

fudge: he wants to know if you can fax it over

psychotoddler: fax a flash drive?

fudge: he is not serious apparently

psychotoddler: who can tell

fudge: not i

psychotoddler: how did he get there

fudge: it was like a flash of blinding light

fudge: there was a poof

fudge: i thought it was you, and screamed

fudge: and then he was back alive

psychotoddler: ack!

psychotoddler: this would make a good post

fudge: not really

fudge: but you know what would make a good post

fudge: The PT's coming home in two minutes

fudge: wait till SHE sees him

psychotoddler: he can yell surprise

fudge: it will be 'what the' times two

psychotoddler: more like

psychotoddler: "I want a yogurt"

fudge: what do you know of yoghurts?

psychotoddler: I know there's no h in yogurt

fudge: there are in british ones

fudge: and healthy ones

psychotoddler: the british misspell everything

Ghost of Fudge

Our daughter Fudge is away in New York (vote here!), but her spirit lives on in her five-year-old sister:

Mrs. B: Did you eat all these cookies??

The PT: No, I licked them.

That's Confusing!

The PT (holding her arms at her side and her legs together): Look! I'm an "I"!

Me: Or a lower case "L"!

The PT: Erm...why don't they just make a lower case "L" a little "L"? It's too confusing!

Me: I have no idea.

Recipe for Egg Salad

Mrs. B: Iguana, you can make some egg salad if you want. Do you know how?

Iguana (10): I think I do. You add salt, pepper, mayonnaise and...mustard.

Mrs. B: Right.

The PT (5): Erm...I think you need some eggs...because they call it "egg salad."

Things to Look Forward to:

Your kids get driver's licenses and borrow your car!

Cell Phone: Uh...Abba?

Abba: Hello? Who is this?

Moe.

What are you doing on Fudge's cell phone?

She drove me to the orthodontist.

And?

And the keys are in the car...but we aren't.

And?

And...we called Mommy but she can't pick us up...because we have the car.

And?

And...you're in clinic seeing patients, so she got Grampa to agree to go to your office and get your car key and bring it over here so we can get in.

I see.

Aren't you going to say something?

Is there something that NEEDS to be said?

Uh...I guess not.

The only way this could be worse would be if the car were still running.

Hello?

Convert or Die!

Sorry to interrupt the flow of things around here, but I was forced to convert my Blogger profile over to The New Blogger (hmm...shades of New Coke here) and as a result this blog (which I own--HA!) has been converted as well.

So if you still want to post here, you must upgrade to New Blogger.

BTW the process was mostly benign, although I feel a little like Jeff Goldblum in Invasion of the Body Snatchers after he becomes a Pod Person. It was painless, yet part of me has been left behind.

Also, beware: If you have more than one Blogger account linked to the same Gmail address, they will be combined into one. This was a problem for me as I had one under Psychotoddler and one under my real name which I used for my Mother's Holocaust story blog, Rose's Story.

So all of the sudden, all of my posts and comments were being signed with my REAL NAME. If this is a problem for you, make a new google account first! I fixed the problem by changing the default name back to Psychotoddler, but now it has that name on my Mother's blog. Unfortunately, I don't think there's any way to fix that.

My Kids Speak

Fudge and The PT are reunited over Winter Break.

The Dreaded Dinner Talk

Around the dinner table, a few days after our last talk...

Iguana (10): So today, we had a nurse come in and tell us what has to happen to have a baby.

Abba (40): >choke< >gag< >cough<

Iguana: So she told us that we have a womb, and our wombs are growing now. And then pretty soon we're going to start get our periods.

Abba: >clears throat<

Iguana: Are you OK?

Abba: ...yeah...

The PT (5): What's a woom?

Iguana: So what I want to know is, like, how am I going to know when I need to put one of those pads on?

The PT: Is that like, a bedwoom? You know...like...BEDWOOM??

Abba: Well, I think that's a great question for your mother.

Iguana: Yeah, but you're here, and she's like way over there. (Gestures at Mrs. B minding her own business by the sink).

Abba: (Tries to get Mrs. B's attention)

Mrs. B: (Totally ignores Abba but seems to be smirking)

Abba: Yes, well most women have some kind of...stuff...that they can tell their period is coming.

Iguana: She also said that we wouldn't start having children until after we were married.

Abba: Good.

The PT: Hahaha I said BEDWOOM!!

Iguana: But what I want to know is, how does your body know that you're married?

Abba: Huh?

Iguana: I mean, what, you have the ceremony and suddenly your body knows you're married and you have a baby?

Abba: Sounds like maybe they didn't fill you in on all the details.

Mrs. B: (smiles and shakes head)

The PT: Hey, Iguana, let's go up to our bedwoom!

The Dreaded Talk

Discussion while sorting laundry...

Iguana (age 10): Abba, why don't boys have to wear swimming suits?

Abba (age 40): Boys do have to wear swimming suits.

Iguana: Na-uh, they wear swimming pants. Why don't they have to wear whole suits like girls?

Abba: Oh. Um.

Iguana: ?

Abba: Be...cause....girls have to....

Iguana: ?

Abba: Cover up...their....

Iguana: ??

Abba: ...cover up...their...girl...parts.

Iguana: Oh. Well my [DELETED]

Abba: I see. Well, that's something I didn't need to hear.

Iguana: Mommy says that when your [DELETED] it means you're going through puberty.

Abba: She did, did she?

Iguana: What's puberty?

Abba: Yah. Puberty is when...you start changing from a kid...into more like a grown-up.

Iguana: Oh, so you suddenly start talking about politics all the time?

Abba: Riiiight.

Another Reason Not to Watch Football with the Kids...

Iguana: What did Terell Owens do?

Mrs. Balabusta: He gave the crowd the finger.

Iguana: ??

PT: He flipped the bird at them.

Iguana: ???

Ocupado

>>KNOCKKNOCKKNOCKKNOCKKNOCK<<

The PT: Abba.

Abba: ...

The PT: Abba.

Abba: What.

The PT: Abba, are you in the baffroom?

Abba: Yes. Go away.

The PT: Abba. What are you doing in there.

Abba: I'm busy. Go away.

The PT: Abba.

Abba: WHAT??

The PT: Er, what kind of sticker do you want.

Abba: I don't want a sticker. Go away.

The PT: You have to pick one. Which one do you want?

Abba: Can we discuss this in a little while?

The PT: Abba. I'm sliding the stickers under the door. Here they are. Do you see them? Which one do you want?

Abba: I really don't need a sticker right now.

The PT: NOOO! WHICH ONE???

Abba: Uh...I'll take the Menorah one.

The PT: OK. So peel it off and put it on your shirt.

Abba: Uh....OK. NOW GO AWAY.

The PT: Abba.

Abba:

The PT: ABBA.

Abba: WHHHHHHAAAATTTTT?????

The PT: You sure are taking a long time in there.