Word Play

If you haven't read the entry below please read it first, because I'm now back to funny, normal stuff.

At dinner, we discussed Alexander the Great and how he actually died of dehydration caused by diarrhea. Not sure how we got on that subject, but when you combine an 11-year-old learning interesting things in school with a 34-year-old learning interesting things in school, you get interesting topics at the dinner table. It's unavoidable.

Add a five-year-old to that, and you get interesting combinations like:

"Die-arhea." As in, people die from diarrhea. That was Jackie's observation.

One thing leads to another, so we then had a discussion about how Hershey (the dog) should not be called "Her-She." Because he's a boy.

Triumph

So, it's a rocky road, family. But amidst the bumps, falls, and bruises, I flew high for a moment today. As we sat around our worn table at dinner tonight dining on hot dogs, grapes, and carrot sticks, I asked the children if they thought they could use their best manners at Grandma's for Thanksgiving weekend. For a moment, I thought a reward might be a good idea, and I even asked the children if there was a reward that might help them remember. Morgan piped up, "Oh yes, a blizzard at McDonalds." I replied, "No, that's not good for you." Then she beamed, "How about a new Webkinz?" "No," I answered, "We can't afford that right now."

Anika, with her hands folded under her chin thoughtfully and cheerfully suggested, "I think our reward can be being able to come home with satisfaction that we acted our best."

Ooh. Loved that one!

Morgan jumped on the band wagon, straightening her shoulders and looking at me sincerely, "Yes, Mom, that's all I need too."

New Song

I'm sitting here listening to the kids play the "ugh" game in the kitchen as they enjoy ice cream, but I'd like to tell you about Morgan's newest song (as you may remember, the last song she sang was the "Oh Crud" song.

Drumroll please . . . the newest song is the "DUH" song.

Crud

This morning, I was trying to take muffins out of the hot oven, but the silicone mitt I was using kept sliding off the pan or into the muffins. At some point I spurted under my breath, "Oh crud."

As if ugh weren't enough in our lovely home. Morgan (8), who has ears like a bat, picked up on my want-to-be expletive, and piped, "YOU just taught me a new word" and began singing sweetly, "Oh crud, oh crud, oh crud, oh crud."

There is beauty all around . . .

Ugh

About a year ago, Anika fell into the habit of groaning, long and drawn out, "Uuugggghhh" when something wasn't going her way. I ignored it for a while, until one day Henry started saying "Ugh" too. Now, the word "ugh" is inherently benign, but I was annoyed nonetheless. So I made a rule that whenever Anika, or Henry, or anyone else, said the word "ugh," Anika had to do push ups. For Anika, this punishment was quite effective--I haven't heard her say ugh in months. However, little Henry quickly figured out that if he said "ugh," Anika did push ups. Now, on a good day I hear "ugh" a few times.

This morning, I think I've heard "ugh" 100 times. Not only that, but Henry says "ugh," and then laughs and points at Jackie (as if she said it). If I were still enforcing the push ups, Anika would be the strongest girl on the block.

Morgan, by the way, is sitting next to me reading as I write, and just proudly turned to Jackie. "Jackie, here's how you spell ugh--U G H."

Kids, kids

I'm babysat a cute little boy Henry's age this morning. While they sat at the table facing each other and eating Frosted Cheerios, I sat on a short bathroom stool with a bottle of lemon Old English, a rag, and a magic erase, and scrubbed dried gunk off my kitchen cupboards.

Needing to pick out the dirt from the cracks, I retrieved my plastic birthday box from a tall shelf and got out a couple of toothpicks. Then I sat the birthday box on the table and went to work. Henry and his friend were fascinated by the box and began removing bottles of food dye and birthday candles from the box. I was a little concerned about the dye, but the boys lined the bottles up on the table and promised sincerely that they would only look and not open.

The conversation as Henry's friend stares at a bottle of red dye sitting on the table:

Henry: I won't open it.

Friend: I won't open it.

Henry: That's real. (Said long, slow, and with authority.)

Friend: Real means dangerous.

Henry. Oh, yes.