Overheard

It is rather ironic that I had more time to write this blog when my kids were younger. There's no shortage of material these days, but when they were younger, the sheer insanity of living with three little maniacs was just more jarring. I remember being in such a constant state of disbelief at what was happening. These days we are quite busy yet we're not one of those families involved in multiple classes, camps and sports. My kids are just busy and curious and talkative and have all sorts of ideas that I have to put the brakes on, such as:

Mom, let's do an idea. How 'bout we drop our shoes from the bathroom window? Fiona asks. Um, no.

Owen, you can't float boats in the toilet, okay, honey?
Why? I really had no answer for that one. It's a bowl full of water. Why wouldn't he float a boat in it? It was easier to explain to his brother a few years ago why dipping his hair in the toilet was gross.

Stop putting green beans in each others' noses, I tell Danny and Fiona.

Don't pee in the kitchen, honey, I tell Owen, who has pulled his little potty into the kitchen.

Owen? Where are you?
Mom, I cleaned the mirror with my [water] gun.

Stop shooting that thing. That thing being a penis. Really.


Mom, I have water on my tongue. I can use it to clean boogers off my shirt, Owen explains cheerfully.

I want mommy to be with me in my green NASCAR, Fiona declares. Sweet! Incidentally, Danica Patrick's car is green.

Do you need a napkin, Owen?
No, I'll use my tongue napkin, he says, licking his face and hands. Clearly, his tongue is so, so useful.


It's fun to play football in the house, Danny squeals. Um, fun for whom?

Where's your gum, honey?
It went down my drain, Owen replies. His drain is his throat.

Mom, why do you have big boobs? Danny asked and then laughed.
Because I had to feed all you guys, I replied as cautiously as possible. I thought maybe we needed to have a talk about our bodies until he followed up with Why do you have a big head? 
Because I have a big brain, I replied.

You can put your shoulder straps on yourself, honey, I tell Owen.
Why?
Well, you're three.
Why?
Because time moves on, kid. Ah, the age of why has begun.

Why does your leg hurt, mom? Danny asks.
Because I've been running. 
Then don't run away again, he replies.
Owen, you stink, dude.
No, YOU stink, he says, pointing his little finger in my face.

Dead worms are better. They don't squirm, Danny explains to me. The kids are obsessed with worms since Danny's kindergarten class had been studying them. In fact, they went on a worm rescue mission on a recent hike, but alas some were beyond saving. They skipped down the path, singing and pointing, Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.

Okay, Danny claps his hands together. Potty and bed. I have a big day tomorrow. I have to go to school and I have to finish writing my book. He was writing a book about a NASCAR driver, of course.

Let's play tag, Owen says to the kitty who wandered into our yard. Later, he brought the kitty a football.

I know a new song, mommy, Fiona says. Twinkle, twinkle little poop. And she cackled maniacally.

Mom, Owen just bit me in the ear, Danny wails. It was only 8 a.m. and I have a little Mike Tyson on my hands.

What's two plus two, Fiona?
Eyeball. 
MOM. Dude, calm down. She doesn't know how to add yet.

Till next time ... hopefully sooner rather than later. Summer vacation is upon us and four days into it, I am exhausted.