Overheard

I used to write this column once a week. It's been my most popular feature here. Over a year ago, I stopped being able to keep track of the funny and weird things that my kids said.

The kids have been in school for a whole week. I have some of my mental energy back. I'm calmer and have a better memory. A quick update on each of the kids:

Danny is in third grade and actually shares what he's learned at school without prompting. This is stunning because for years we've asked "What did you do at school today?" and gotten a vacant stare and a "Nothing." He's delighted to be learning multiplication. Our dinner conversation has been all math, all week.

Fiona is in first grade. She has a real knack for figuring people out. For instance, she figures out exactly which Lego piece her brother needs and vehemently insists that she needs it. She occasionally uses this power for good. Despite this, she is my easiest kid right now.

Owen just started kindergarten. His teacher says that he is so happy to be there and is doing great. Kindergarten is exhausting, though. He put himself to bed one night this week.

And without further ado ...

Put the blanket behind the couch and the cookbook on the shelf, I tell Owen.
Oh, that's just for Molly. He often puts out blankets and books for the dog and cat.
Molly doesn't read cookbooks, honey.

Owen, your shoes are on the wrong feet.

Mom, did you know that plants need dirt? Um, yes, but your shoes, son. YOUR SHOES!


Mom, Owen is chasing me! Danny wails.
Honey, Owen is swimming in the opposite direction.

Go upstairs, Danny. Daddy is going do a hairstyle, Fiona squeals. My husband braids our daughter's hair and spikes the boys' hair.

Look mom, there's a skunk bird, Owen says. It's black and white. He's talking about the white breasted nut hatches we have in our yard. I like skunk bird better.

Go get a baby wipe for your hands, I tell Owen.
Why? My hands don't wear diapers.

What church are we going to today? Are we going to the eating church? Owen asks. We ate dinner at this church once and it's forever the eating church in his mind.

I'm angry at you. I'm going to stand up now. And he proceeded to stand up on the bench at the kitchen table. I tried really hard not to laugh.

Put that lip back in, I tell Owen. And he immediately tucked his lip back in and continued to glare at me.

Honey, don't ever put your hand in there when the [van] door is closing.
Why?
Because it will pinch your hand.
Fiona pipes up: And then you won't have a hand anymore and mom will have to feed you.

I was reading the kids a book about whining (at their request). 
Are you ever around anyone who whines? the book asks.
No, but you are, mommy, Fiona replies.
Oh yeah? Who?
Me.

B-U-T spells but, mom, but not our butts, Danny says.
You're right. B-U-T is a connecting word. It connects two ideas, I say, trying to steer the conversation away from potty talk.
Yeah, he says, wide-eyed. Mom, this is lemonade. Welcome to the mind of an ADHD 8-year-old. 

Copy me, Danny says.
Copy me, Fiona responds.
No, you copy me.
No, you copy me. This went on for 10 minutes straight. I wanted to poke my eyeballs out. 

Listen to the words I say and do what I say. Right now, you're just listening to the words and doing what you want to do, Jim tells the kids. And why is he still surprised by this?

Mom, Fiona knocked over my tower, Owen declared when his tower toppled over.
No, honey, gravity knocked it over, I assured him.
[GROWL] Fiona did gravity, Owen declared.

Till next week.