Friday, November 20, 2015


We're well into the second quarter of school here. The kids are doing well. I'm busy volunteering and working on some freelance editing and writing as well as training as a swim instructor. I'm at a loss for words tonight, so I'll just let the kids do the talking:

Can my name be Buster [from the Arthur cartoons] because he's always hungry? Owen asks.

A few days later, as we're eating burgers:
Can my middle name be Burger Smash? Owen asks.
So you want your name to be Buster Burger Smash? I ask. Seems totally appropriate.

Owen, what are you looking for? I ask.
Have you seen my taxi?
he asks.
No, but I'm sure it's not in that bucket of candy [that you're rifling through].

Please take this out to the compost.
[Insert long explanation by Owen how it's Fiona's turn to do it and finally grudging acceptance of the task.] But I'm going to be grumpy when I get back, Owen says.

They have police dogs, but why don't they have police cats? Yeah, they can chase bad guys that go up trees, Owen says.

Fiona is a hot mess as usual.

Fiona, please clean up whatever pee is on the bathroom floor.
It wasn't me who peed there!
Do you know how much pee I clean up that is not mine?
[Blank stare from Fiona]
How do you know when you'll have a baby? Fiona asks.
Well, when you move into a house with more bedrooms than people, then you know, Jim answered.

Mom, is Santa real or do you and dad buy the gifts and stomp your feet on the doorstep so we can hear Santa? Fiona asks. Um, how did we get here so quickly? For crying out loud, she's SIX. I simply asked her "What do you think?" She gave me a wicked smirk. She totally knows.

A few recent arguments that I've refereed:
Mom, Fiona is kicking me, Danny calls up the stairs.
Stay away from her feet, I called down.

Mom, I was just standing in the TV room doing nothing and Owen kicked me, Fiona wails.
Stand somewhere else, I told her.

Mom, Danny kicked me in the belly.
Danny's explanation? I was trying to help him get his sweatshirt on.

Fiona comes up and informs me that Danny was lying down on her. Upon further investigation, I learn this from Danny:
Did you lie down on your sister?
Mom, I wanted to lie down. I didn't want to lie down on Fiona. 

Right. My children are masters at martyrdom.

Words I never thought I'd utter:
Ketchup is not soap. Fiona was rubbing ketchup into her hands, claiming it was soap.
Stop painting with ketchup. Owen informed me that he was finger painting with ketchup, other wise known as making a mess.
Please don't lick me. Owen had just informed that he was hungry and then licked me.
Stop following me around the kitchen with that butter, I told Owen who was trying to "help" me cook dinner.
Stop parachuting down the stairs, I told Danny who nearly jumped on me while holding plastic grocery bags above his head.

Till next time. 

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