Girl Cheese

Not my son but my dear friends four year old, Grayson, asked his mom, "What's for lunch?" she told him "Grilled cheese sandwiches" he got angry and said, "NO I don't want GIRL cheese sandwiches mom, I want BOY cheese!"

Mordechai's rebbe met up with Dovid today in yeshiva and told over the following conversation he had had today with Mordechai (just turned 7!):

Mordechai: Is it okay to ask a rebbe when his birthday is?

Rebbe: The Torah doesn't say you can't but it's not so nice to ask older people because it's considered a private question.

Rebbe: Why? Does it make a difference?

Mordechai: Not really. I just wanted to know your birthday so I could tell my mother to bake a cake.

Five Year Old Semantics

Background: my chiropractor offers treats to kids with their parents' permission.

Oldest Son - age 5 at the time (as we're driving to the chiropractor): Eema, can I have a treat from the chiropractor?

Me: If they offer, then it's okay with me. But please don't pester them for a treat.

Oldest Son: So I shouldn't ask? I should wait until they offer?

Me (as we arrive at chiropractor's office): Yes.

After we entered the office, I signed in and Oldest Son marched up to the front desk.

Oldest Son: Excuse me please. I'd really like to have a treat, but my eema said I shouldn't ask for one. So if you'd like to offer one, I can say yes.

Chiropractor staff (laughing): Oh! Would you like a treat?

Oldest Son: Yes, please. Thank you.

Chiropractor staff: Should we ask your mom if it's okay with her?

Oldest Son: No, she already said I could have one. Just that I couldn't ask for it.

My Wife's Name

KJ (4) still likes to pretend knock on the door, when I say come in he pretends to open the door then will run to me excited saying, "HI MOMMA" Yes he's still at it. This last time I asked him how his wife and kids were. This time he said, "I got a new wife." I asked what his new wifes name was he said, "My wife's name is goofball." Now THAT'S a name I taught him unfortunately.

(test post)

Butterfly names

from Sweetie, 7:

- What should I name my butterfly?
- It's made of paper. You're gonna name it?
- Yeah.
- Okay, what do you wanna name it?
- Well, my [deceased] bird was named Buddy.
- You wanna name it Buddy?
- Yeah.
- Okay.
- ... She doesn't like that name.
- <raised eyebrow> The butterfly doesn't like it?
- No.
- So what are you gonna name her then?
- Hmm... she likes water.
- You're gonna name her water?
- Yeah.
- Ohhh-kay.

Hawaiian noises

Last night Rivka (5) started to change into her pajamas but stopped after removing her shirt.

Me: What are you doing?

Rivka: Getting ready to do the hula (starts wiggling her hips around)

Me: Oy.

Rivka: You can't do the hula with your shirt on.

Me: Are you crazy? What are you talking about?

Rivka: No. You can only wear a necklace.

The Wisdom of Children

Olivia: Mommy, I know why they call it a "penis."

Me: Oh?

Olivia: Because pee comes out of it.

OY!

Holy Men

Yesterday Rivka, 5, saw a Sikh wearing a turban (as they are wont to do). When Mrs. R. picked her up from school, Rivka said, "Mommy, I think I saw the Kohen Gadol today."

DA!

This isn't funny like all the rest of the posts on this blog are, but it sure made us smile.

Elianna (10.5 months), to me:

"DA!"

Cop-out

(Beloved is my husband. Sweetie is 7.)

Me, to Beloved: We should go to that karaoke club sometime; it would be fun.
Sweetie: Yeah, it would be fun.
Me: You wouldn't be going anyway until you're older.
Sweetie: Yeah I would!
Me: You don't even know what karaoke means.
Sweetie: Yes I do.
Me: Okay, what does it mean?
Sweetie: I don't wanna tell you right now 'cause my throat hurts.

Good neighbors aren't everything

After wrestling with a jar of marinara sauce with no luck, I sent Mordechai with the jar to my neighbor's house so she could try her hand at getting it open. He came back a few minutes later with the opened jar.

Me: Oh, wow, great. How'd she get it open?

Mordechai: Oh, she had this can opener thing she used to twist it open.

Me: Well, isn't it great to have good neighbors?

Mordechai (shrugs, as if to say, "yeah, whatever."): It's even better to have a can opener.

Noodles

My parents blew into town last week and whisked off the whole family to a local restaurant. Rivka, 5, ordered noodles. The same thing she eats basically every meal.

Mrs. R: You like noodles? I had no idea you liked noodles.

Rivka (after studying her mom for a minute): You're being sarcastic.

Mrs. R: Where'd you learn that word?

Rivka (gesturing towards her sister, Chana, 7): Ask the Chanster.

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.

Foreign Visitors

I wanted to get this up quickly before Shabbat begins.

Comments from Oldest Son (6) when I picked him up from school today:

Oldest Son: Eema, guess what? We had visitors from lots of different countries at school today.

Me: Oh? What countries?

Oldest Son: They came from Israel and Africa and Mexico and New Jersey.

I Didn't Teach Him This

KJ (3, almost 4) likes to pretend to knock on the door and I have to say "Come in" He pretends to open the door going, "HI MOMMA!" and will run up to me and give me a hug. Yesterday I said, "HI sweetie, how are you? How's the wife and kids?" He looked at me then said, "I need new kids."

Time for a New Computer?

From my sister-in-law:

Last night I asked Ben a question and he didn't answer right away.

Then he said,

"I'm loading. I'll tell you in a minute."

Allergies

Sweetie, 7, asks the weirdest questions:

- Why I keep farting alla time?
- I dunno.
- Am I sick?
- No, farting doesn't mean you're sick.

<later, farting again>
- Do I have allergies with my butt?
- <laughing>
- Are you gonna write that down?

Why?

Part of a much longer Q&A overheard shortly before the kids' bedtime Saturday evening:

Oldest Son (6): Abba? Can you ask Eema if we can come downstairs?

Eema (me): [Thinking, I guess we know who's in charge in this house...]

Abba: Why?

Oldest Son: Because we want to come downstairs.

Abba: Why?

Oldest Son: Because we played everything and we're tired of playing everything.

Youngest Son (3-3/4): Yeah.

Abba: Why?

Oldest Son: Why do you keep asking why?

Abba: Because I'm trying to understand.

Oldest Son: Well, usually parents understand everything. So can we come downstairs?

Abba: Why?

Oldest Son: Arrggggh.

Youngest Son: Not again!

Oldest Son: [to Youngest Son] Let's just go downstairs.

Person of Color

In two separate incidents, my children question my ethnicity:

Incident 1:

Rivka (5, dancing around and singing): Martin Luther King, Jr! Martin Luther King, Jr!

Me: Who was Martin Luther King, Jr?

Rivka: He was a very important man. He brought peace between the white people and the brown people.

Me: Okaaaayyy....

Rivka (stares at me for a second): Daddy, are you a brown person?

Incident 2:

Chana (7): Mom, here's a picture of Martin Luther King, Jr.

Mrs. R: That's very nice. What did Martin Luther King, Jr. do?

Chana: He was a very smart man. He tried to help make peace between white people and brown people.

Mrs. R: Close enough.

Chana: Mom, is Daddy brown?

Keep in mind that I'm as white as anyone else in my family. Maybe I have a bit of olive in my complexion, but it's hardly noticeable. I don't really understand where any of this is coming from.

Life and Death

Almost every Sunday, the kids and I travel along the Jackie Robinson Parkway (a.k.a. the Interboro) en route to my mom and dad's house in Brooklyn. Sari (4) and Ada (2) have a habit of shouting "cemetery!" as soon as the headstones along the parkway come into view. Sari has been enjoying this ritual for quite some time and is thrilled to see that Ada has joined her. Last week, she seemed a bit more thoughtful:

Sari: Mommy, when I die, can you bury me next to you?

Me: Honey, that's not going to happen for a very, very long time so I don't think we have to plan about that yet.

Sari: I know, I know. But when I die, could you bury me next to you?

Me: Sure, okay.

Sari: And Daddy and Mordechai and Ada, too?

Me: Yeah, sure. But you know that's not going to happen for a very, very long time when we're very, very old.

Sari (clapping her hands, gleefully): Yay! We're going to be all together just like now! It's going to be so much fun!