Valentine's Day

My 4-yr. old excitedly greeted me at the door to show me her bagful of valentines from her party at preschool.

Me: Did you get one from George?

Olivia: Yes! (said very dreamily)

Me: Is George your boyfriend?

Olivia: Yes, Mommy. He's my man. I loooooove him!

Me: Really? And why do you love him, Olivia?

Olivia: Because he likes to show me his green boogers.

The Better Toy

Enough Times

In my brother and sister-in-law's car, my nephew Ben (3) was quite content listening to "I Was Created Perfect For Me" or some such CD - over, and over, and over again. After a while, my brother and sister-in-law were pretty sick of it, so they took it out. Well, they wouldn't get off so easy:

Ben: Why did you take it out?

OD: Well, I think we've had enough for now.

Ben: Why?

OD/SIL: We've heard it enough times.

Ben: Oh. Okay.

The next day, Ben walks over to SIL.

Ben: Imma, Henna Bayla (1 - uh huh) and I want to listen to this CD. But you and Daddy shouldn't listen.

SIL: Why not?

Ben: You heard it enough times yesterday.

Heh. :)

Can't argue with that logic

2000. Chana is 1 1/2 years old. She started crawling out of her crib, so we switched her to a toddler bed. Since we don't want her wandering around at night, we put a child gate in her doorway. She still hasn't slept through the night (since she was born, not just since the switch). It's 2 AM, she's at the gate, shaking it, screaming (if she had a tin can she'd be rattling it against the gate). I have finally reached the end of my rope. I kneel down so I'm eye-to-eye with her, and lose it. I'm screaming at her. Yelling that this is unacceptable, that we all need our sleep. I am right in her face. I finally stop my screed, but remain where I am, staring her down.

She reaches over the gate, touches my schnozz, and says, "Nose."

Vegetarian?

The other morning Chana (6) asked for a leftover meatball for breakfast. As I was getting it ready, she starting waxing philosophic about eating animals. "I wish we didn't have to eat animals, Daddy. It's mean."

"Well," I said, "you don't have to if you don't want to, but we'll have to make sure you get all of your nutrition elsewhere."

"But it's sad, Daddy. You have to kill them. It's not nice."

"Do you still want to eat a meatball, Chana?"

"Two, please."

I was in the shower one morning when Sari (3) walked in and announced that she needed to use the bathroom. "Go ahead," I told her. Before she got started, she assured me, "It's okay. I don't need my privacy."

Team loyalty

Chana (6) needed a sports-related shirt for "sports day" at school today. I'm from Houston originally, and I showed her my Houston Rockets World Championship T-Shirt. She said, "That's really special, 'cause it's from your Homeland."

Early motherhood

While I was sick, Tiny's dad couldn't get a substitute, and I was unhappily stuck. One night, from the bed, I instructed Sweetie in microwaving chicken nuggets for them. She's never managed the whole process by herself before, so I was pretty happy she did it without any shenanigans, until I got up two hours later and found the bag of chicken in the middle of the kitchen floor, rather than in the freezer. Anyway, as I lay, half-sleeping, half-listening for misbehavior, I heard from the other room,

"I didn't make 'em for you play with, I made 'em for you eat."

Well, I think she's gonna be a good mother someday.

Quick Thinking Son

Okay, I will admit it... I don't have much control over the children -- and dog -- in my home. My husband insists they don't take me seriously because I offer them empty threats and don't follow through.

That was just some background info. Now for the story.

This evening, my husband was out and I was trying to get the kids to eat dinner, but they kept getting up, being distracted, etc. The radio in the kitchen was on and it was a rock station playing. My daughter got up, disappeared for a moment and came back with a colander lid with a long handle, which she then proceeded to use as a guitar. She played air guitar to accompany the song on the radio.

I told her to put away her "guitar" and sit down to finish her dinner. She did...for a short bit.

She disappeared again and came back with her "guitar," ready to accompany the next song on the radio. Again I told her to put it away.

Me: "What's the difference between now and what I told you two minutes ago, when I told you to stop?"

Quick Thinking Son: "Two minutes."

Halachic Precedence

Sari (3) does whatever she wants. That's the way it is. Especially with Dovid (husband -32) because he doesn't have the willpower to stand up to her. She's difficult to bribe and there's not much you could do to her that she wouldn't just take in stride. In fact, sometimes when she misbehaves, she'll announce "I'm going into time out" and march off contentedly to her room to curl up in the big yellow rocking chair.

One of the things she routinely gets away with is sleeping in Dovid's bed. The truth is, for me, it's much easier this way. She goes to sleep without complaining and falls asleep quickly. The alternative is that she plays around in her bed, keeps Mordechai up with her chatting, and sometimes (horrors!) wakes up Ada (1). When Dovid's ready for bed, he transfers Sari to her own bed. Works fine for me. Not so, understandably, for Mordechai (6). He explained his side of the argument to Dovid tonight as I eavesdropped from the other room, writing furiously. The transcript follows:

Dad, do you remember by Parshas Toldos there was Esav and Yaakov? And remember Esav was the oldest so he was supposed to get the better thing? Well, I'm older than Sari so I'm supposed to get the better thing.

cross-posted at May Cuties

More literal humor

My older daughter, Chana, was about four, and banging on my sister-in-law's piano. She was really getting into it, bouncing around and sort-of dancing while she hit the keys. I shouted above the din, "All right, Kayla, shake it!" She stopped in her tracks, gave me a puzzled look, and then started shaking out her hands.

Jumping on PT's bandwagon

I'm jumping on PT's stories-about-myself bandwagon:

My mother's favorite story about me:

I'm not sure exactly how old I was, but I was old enough to talk right and I couldn't pronounce the letter "L." My parents took me to this speech therapist, to that speech therapist, but nothing was working. Then, one day when I was sitting in the back seat of my mom's car, I started singing a song from Sesame Street: "La-la-la lightbulb. La-la-la lollypop." And then shouting, tune be damned: "La-la-la lightbulb! La-la-la lollypop!"

My grandmother's favorite story about me:

Again, no idea the age, but young enough for this to be cute. We were at some fancy restaurant, and I ordered French Fries. They turned out to be big, thick, wedges, or possibly steak fries, while I was used to the skinny, crispy, fast-food variety. I took one bite and said, "I don't like these french fries - they got potatoes in 'em!"

The Acorn Doesn't Fall Far From the Tree

This one is actually about me. My great-aunt Boba has a collection of stories about me as a child. That she will repeat to any and everyone that she meets. Whether they know me or not. She says I was something of a psycho toddler.

So every Saturday we went to her house for Shabbos cholent. And in those days, when I was about 3, my cousin Yossi was about 11, and he used to be in charge of bringing up the soda from the basement. Back then, they would deliver bottles of soda to your house. And they'd also deliver big bottles of seltzer that you'd have to shpritz into your glass. So that was Yossi's job.

But he wasn't very good at it, and more or less every time he would shpritz and it would go just about everywhere except for the glass. Why they continued to let him do this, I'll never know. But every single time he did this, my Aunt Boba would yell, "Cluuuuuummmmsssssyyyy!!!!!"

And that continued week after week, a part of the Shabbos ritual. I didn't think there was anything unusual about it, so I was surprised one Shabbos morning when I asked my cousin, "Yossi, may I please have a glass of Clumsy?" and the whole room erupted in laughter.

Nephew Chipper Jess

I wanted to share a few stories of my little nephew Chipper J. When he was about four (he's 11 now) he always wanted to invite people over to have supper with them. One time he said to my sister, "You can come over to eat if you want, we're having smashed potatoes with meatloaf bread." We started calling mashed potatoes "Smashed potatoes" after that.

He asked mom for a quarter and she gave him a fifty cent piece, he grabbed it and asked, "This big dime?"

Rope or string to him was called, "STROPE"

His thumb was always referred to as his thummy one.

Spaghetti was always sketti and meat bulbs

And one time he walked in and said, "Hey Dani, where's my coffin?"
Dani: Your what?
Chipper: My coffin for my gwassis (glasses)

Pick 'em and Trick 'im

There is a David Copperfield card trick circulating 'round the Internet. My husband got it sent to him and he forwarded it to our home e-mail so that my children could see this trick. Several cards of different suits and different colors are shown. David Copperfield tells the viewer (instructions appear on screen in a slide show) to pick a card and remember it, and eventually that card will disappear from the displayed group of cards.

Apparently, this evening, when my eldest son watched this video and was told to pick a card, he whispered his choice to my husband.

Hubby burst out laughing, explaining that the computer might be all eyes, but it's certainly not all ears!

The Recital

Sunday mornings we go to the Nursing Home to visit my wife's grandparents. As the older kids are out-of-state or in school now, we're down to taking my two youngest daughters, Iguana, 9, and The PT, 4.

Iguana has been taking piano lessons and brings her books with her to play for her great-grandfather, who was once in a Klezmer band. The PT insists on playing as well, although she is, as of yet, untrained.

The PT: I want to play piano too!

Abba: OK, but just a little, and then let Iguana play for Grandpa.

The PT: OK, I'll be short.

Abba: Good.

The PT: Because I'm short.

The Nephlet Goes Into Real Estate

I don't have kids, but I'm a nanny and I also have a two year old Nephlet. This story concerns the latter.

The Nephlet's mother, my sister, has been having a heck of a time selling her house...two people have backed out on it at the last minute and "selling the house" has been one of the two hot topics around recently.

When the Nephlet was at Grandma's house last week, the doorbell rang. It was Great-Auntie coming over for a visit. (The Nephlet doesn't see Great-Auntie too often, maybe once or twice a year.)

Great-Auntie: Hi, Nephlet!
The Nephlet: (sticks out his hand, as for a handshake) Hi! Want to buy a house?

What's the point?

Mordechai (6): I have a question. Why does "sorry" make [anything] better? It's just a word.

cross-posted at May Cuties

And What Am I? Chopped Liver?

I picked up my children this evening from Karate and while driving, I gave them a rundown of what they should be doing when they get home.

My youngest (G-d willing turning 6 next month) pipes up in the back seat and says, "You're not the boss of us. You can't tell us what to do."

Me: "So who is the boss of you?"

Youngest: "Aba. He's the boss of the whole family. He's the boss of everyone."

Maxim

No, not the magazine. For kid #2's 4th birthday party, we baked a heart-shaped cake and iced it with pink frosting. She was wildly excited about this cake. Ecstatic when we brought it out at the party as the kids sang Happy Birthday. Thrilled when she blew out the candles.

And then she started bawling. Crying so hard that I couldn't understand what she was saying as she tried to explain. When the kids had all but finished their pieces, she finally managed to tell me that she was upset that the beautiful heart had to be destroyed.

So, for the first time in my life, I used the phrase "You can't have your cake and eat it, too" literally.