Overheard

I skipped a week of Overheard. It's not that no one has said anything funny around here. Believe me, I live with a bunch of chattering monkeys. My 4-year-old couldn't stop talking if his life or my sanity depended on it. So, I'll let you guess at just how sane I am right now.

I can't seem to keep up with everything they say lately. And now that Owen is so mobile and has his own little life going on, my mind is going in three different directions. Most of his little life right now revolves around shoes, actually. He's obsessed with them. He brings me everyone's shoes. So nowadays I eat breakfast with six shoes in my lap. Notice I didn't say "pairs;" he just finds six random shoes whose matches I must later track down. Yet another reason I've not had time for blogging. I'm endlessly hunting down shoes. As if it's not hard enough to get out of the house with three kids.

In other news, we switched the car seats around in the van. Now Owen and Fiona sit on the back bench and Danny now sits behind the driver's seat. He listens to everything we and the radio say. And asks about it. There's usually a running commentary going on in the front seat about the news and the drivers and the weather and whatever else comes up.

It's gonna rain. The weather guy said it, Danny proclaims often. 

Why did you say "That sucks"? he asked one day.
I explained that a company was taking money that didn't belong to them. He made his "I'm going to get them" face and declared: I'm going to get them when I grow up to drive NASCARs. I'll take that money with my car's taker. 


This kid has ideas. Lots of them.


Now I should mention that his NASCAR, in his 4 year old mind, does a lot of things. It transforms, flies, retrieves stolen money, blasts off, shoots bad guys, chases down bad drivers, dumps blueberries on barren trees. It's like a magic car. And every time he mentions his NASCAR, his father mutters "YES" and pumps his fist. His mother winces and worries.



He's even interested now in what his sister will do when she grows up.

Fifi, what are you going to grow up to do something? he asks. His tongue and his brain can't keep up with each other.


We think she's going to be in the circus, actually. Sooner rather than later if I don't sell her to the next one that comes along. Or maybe a stunt woman. She's been hanging and climbing and jumping off everything. At the park this week, her head hit the ground after she jumped from a two foot ledge. Not a peep.



Push me on the swings again, Fiona asks Jim.
There's really nothing in it for me, kid. In his defense, he'd just spent the last 10 minutes pushing her on the swing. And he's right. That is why I hate swings.


There's no crying in handwashing, Jim tells Fiona.
Honey, there's crying in everything 'round here. How has he not noticed this yet?

Do you sit in the sink when you're thirsty? Jim asks me. Fiona was sitting in the sink and when she was caught that way, she said, I'm thirsty.

Danny, that's not nice, I tell him after he pushes his sister into the wall.
It's not? he asks. He actually sounded genuinely surprised.

No, no, I have that stuff in the blue jar to make me not sick, Danny says, pointing to the Vicks Vapor Rub. I was explaining to him why doctor's give shots.

Dad says I don't get the Kitty Hello Band-Aid. Actually, it's the Hello Kitty Band-Aid. His inversion of what we say explains quite a bit.

You guys are going on vacation, Jim tells them as we load them up for a night at Nana's.
What's vacation? Danny asks. Good question, kid. We haven't had a vacation now in at least two summers.
It's when you go swimming and sleep somewhere else.

What's Disney World? Danny asks while we're doing a puzzle. There was a picture of Epcot Center.
It's an amusement park. 
What park is it? 
Disney World. 
What's Disney World? 
It's a park in Florida. I really don't want him to know much about it, actually. 
Oh. We've got to talk about it differently. Oh, all right. So I told him about Space Mountain and Mickey Mouse. 


Oh, Danny, please stop asking questions, I tell him after a long day of questioning. I'm interrogated all day long.
No, I have to ask questions. 
I don't have any more answers.
But you have to have answers. 
But why? 
Because you have to. 
Why? Turning the tables is fun, isn't it?
BECAUSE YOU'RE THE MOM AND IT'S YOUR JOB. Damn.


Don't you lock that door, Fiona, I warn her. And I get the wide-eyed stare. She'd locked us outside a minute earlier.
Mom, she's thinking about it, Danny says.


You need to eat your dinner [before getting a cookie], I tell Fiona.
You eat it for me. So, this is my fault. One of my tactics is to tell the kids that I'll eat their food for them if they don't eat it. It worked on Danny.



I want to see Owen's poop, she tells me. She follows me up every time I change his diaper.
Why? It's gross.
I like Owen's poop. She's so weird.


What's breakable?
It's when something can break. 
You've got to use a different word. You mean I can't define a word with a word anymore?


You've got to pull your pants down first, genius, I tell Fiona. She tried to sit on the potty with her clothes on.
She's a genius, penius, says Danny. He likes to rhyme.
I don't have a penis, Fiona replies.

Have a good weekend.