Archive for the ‘kids say the damndest things’ Category

Overheard

While the eldest children are making pumpkin pie in the kitchen…

Devon (14)- “WHAT! WHY are you biting my sleeve?”

Olivia (11)- *laughs hysterically* “I don’t know!”

Devon- “You can’t just go around biting other peoples sleeves!”

Olivia- “Well, you can’t just go around biting other peoples wrists!”

Devon- “I don’t.”

Slightly maniacal laughter from both follows

Mom- (from the other room) “Have you two been drinking?”

Oh, the things they say.

Rafe, 5, in the bath-
“Who let the dogs out? Hoo Hoo Hoo Hoo!

Olivia, 11, on a screaming match with her 14 year old brother-
“Well, APPARRANTLY, I am a freak, a cirque de freak ANNNNND a JERK!”

Devon, 14, on why he should not have to help with the dishes-
“WHAT? My leg hurts!!”
Me- “That didn’t stop you going to your best friends house for two hours.”
Devon- “Yeh, but it hurts now
Me- “Tough Bananas, GO.”
Devon- drags himself on his stomach into the kitchen, moaning theatrically the whole way.

Rafe, 5, on birthday presents
“Mommy, I will get you a big trophy! That says “Happy Birthday AND I love you! FROM- TESCO’S!!!”

I’m not sure if he meant it would actually say from Tesco or that it would be purchased from Tesco. You can’t tell with that kid, he has an evil sense of humour.

On Peanuts

Devon is watching a movie and asks for popcorn, being unwilling to stand around making popcorn for 20 minutes I instead grab a bag of peanuts that has been languishing in his bedroom and give him that. As I turn to head back upstairs and continue to stare unproductively at a psychology essay, he asks me if he could have a bowl.

“A bowl? Can’t you just eat them out of the bag?”

“No, they taste…too compressed like that.”

“Compressed? What does that mean?

“You know, like they’re all shouting, “LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT!“”

The wordsmith

My oldest son has always had a way with words. He caused me no end of trouble as a toddler, and quickly gained a reputation when he started school as somewhat of an..lets say…embellisher of reality. For example, there is the time he told a teacher at school he had a secret room in our house which was full of 64 Xboxes and many TV’s.  Or the time I received a worried phone call from my confused brother, after my son had told him his father had picked him up in the middle of the night and taken him to California and they had gone to disneyland, and other wild things I don’t remember. Colour me shocked, as my son has never met his birth father and has only been to California once, safely ensconced in my uterus.

Then there is the time he, at three years old, announced to a room full of my sisters friends attending her baby shower, that “MOMMY HIT ME!”. Of course I had not hit him, this was his way of recounting how when I had buckled him into the carseat for our drive over, the belt had stuck and the buckle snapped back, hitting him in the face, though not hard. Everyone at the party, most of whom I had never met, swung their heads around in unison to glare at me in silence. Awkward, much?

Devon, March 2010, 12

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As Devon grew older he used his power usually to get others into trouble or to get attention, more than once I have marched into a school office with my mama bear face on and demand to know how on earth he could be beaten up by children on the playground and no one do anything about it?! The office staff would look shocked, the head teacher would consult the playgrounds security cameras for the day and time, and find…nothing. Ah, kid. Those security cameras will get you every time. This of course presented a problem. My son was dealing with terrible bullying, and I did feel that not enough was being done about it. But, he had revealed himself to be an… embellisher. His credibility had taken a nose dive. Getting anyone to take the bullying seriously after that was very difficult. I’m momma though. Momma never tells her child “You’re making it up.”, when it’s something as serious as bullying. I continued to take everything he said seriously and try to get the bullying taken seriously and dealt with. While also trying to get him to realize he couldn’t just make things up to get the bully’s into trouble, or to get himself sympathy. Those were some difficult years.

Devon, March 2011,13

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Now days, Devon has matured and he uses his power with words to make us laugh. He tells the best and the worst jokes I have ever heard. I encourage him to write his jokes down and tweak them and to take it further and write stories. But, he doesn’t have the patience or the drive for that. I hope that he will someday. He is wonderfully witty and smart, has a great vocabulary and a superb sense of humour. For the moment his interests lay in cooking and sports leadership. He is a wonderful cook and brings home wonderful marks as well as wonderful dishes for us. He is a sports leader and enjoys getting involved and running sport activities, like a cross country day at a local junior school in the next few weeks. He was chosen for that and I am so proud of him.

Watch out world, here he comes.

Little Things part 1

It’s the little things that make life worth living, right?

********************************************************

I am at the computer. (Where else?) Rafe is playing nearby and occasionally calls me or comes over to show me something.  I am eating ice cream and have shared with him. The spoonful he’s just had would be his last, I say to him. He agrees. A few minutes later-

Rafe:  Comes over and stands next to me very sweetly. “I hot, mommy.”

Me: “You’re hot…?”  *presses cold fingers against his tummy and turns back to computer*

Rafe:  “I hot, mommy. Guess I need more iceeeee cream!”

*****************************************************************************************************

Me:  “mmmmmm. You smell so good today! I love the smell of babies!”

Rafe: “awww. You smell good, too, mommy! Like… POO POO!!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA”

*******************************************************************************************************

Rafe: ” T…A…P  TAP!”

Daddy: “No, Rafey, it’s T…O…P   TOP!”

Rafe:  “Thank You, Daddy, for catching me out.  TOP!”

“they grow so fast…” or Happy Birthday, kid

A frequently heard refrain in the world of parenthood is “They grow up so fast.”  It is a sentiment full of truth, sadness and pride. They do grow up fast. It is sad. Yet, it fills a parent with pride to watch their child grow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rafe will be 5 very soon, 14 short days in fact. Money is tight, but we are hoping to have a big party for him, it being a milestone birthday and all. Looking at him fills me with those two emotions. Sadness and Pride. Where has my baby gone? He is still sweet and cuddly. But everyday he needs me less. He is a pro with electronics. Computer? Playstation? Wii? TV? DVD player?  i-phone? No problem. My husband and I argue over whether we should buy him a Nintendo DS or a Bike for his birthday. What an argument to have about a 5 year old, eh? Having two older siblings is wonderful for his independence and he is afraid of nothing. Which often leaves me, mommy, standing on the sidelines watching as he attempts some amazing feat that makes me cringe in terror. I stand by and grin, clapping enthusiastically and hugging him with vigour when he is triumphant.  When he doesnt succeed, and indeed falls to the ground and skins a knee, there are the inevitable tears, but they are dry within seconds and usually he has gone off to try some other death defying task before I’ve even finished speaking those timeless words of comfort, “Don’t cry. Everything’s ok, Mommy’s here.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rafe is learning how to read and write. And yes, I’ve been there, done that. Yet, it seems so much more crystallized now. I feel as if his childhood is slipping through my fingers as I watch from the sidelines, cringing in terror.  It  makes me want to cling on so tightly. I’m not sure why. Perhaps it is because I know he will be my last and these wonderful years of childhood innocence, for all my children, are so clearly numbered.  Perhaps, it is because for the longest period of time since I became a mother, I have not been working. My life is here. With them. 24/7 I know them so much better than ever before. I don’t want to lose that and knowing that I will, one way or the other, makes me very sad.

Summer 2010

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He wrote his name a few days ago. On his grandpa’s birthday card. All. by. himself. No prompting, no handholding, no encouragement. He picked up the pen, grabbed the card, and wrote his name. Legibly.  Yesterday we were walking into an autopart shop and he read a word on the sandwhich board out front. All. by. himself. No encouragement, no prompting. I’m not sure what was being advertised but the word was “fit”. And he said “That says, IT, F- IT, FIT, mommy!” And he was of course, right. I almost patronized him by saying “oh, yes, good job” without even looking. Thankfully, it was one of those increasingly rare moments, where I had the presence of mind to see what I was doing, chastise myself for patronising him and actually take  a moment to look. What a wonderful moment. My baby, can read.  And write.    In a more sobering sign of his rapidly growing maturity, a week ago, when I had had a hard week, and a hard day and thought everyone was upstairs, I let down my guard and had a good sob in the kitchen. When I had finished and all was still, the kitchen door opened quietly and my sweet boy came in, gave me a hug and said “Everything is ok, mommy. Don’t cry. I’m here.” Which, of course, made me start blubbering all over again. Yet, getting these glimpses of the intelligent, empathetic and kind child he is becoming, makes me very proud.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They do grow up so fast. And in the next few years, which will seem like seconds, he will be grow to be a foot taller than me and instead of quizzing him on phonics or his numbers, I will be  telling him that if he even looks at a girl in “that way”, his penis will turn black and fall off. Which seems, so far, to be a good sex deterrent for my current teenager. And as much as I am enjoying watching that indomitable child grow into a great man, there are days when I want nothing more than to transform him back into a little boy, with his curly hair and insane temper, and just sit and cuddle with him one more time.

Rafe and big sister, Olivia Autumn, 2010

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So, Happy Birthday, Rafey. A few weeks early. Please forgive me if I call you “Lamby” well into your 30’s and treat you like a baby far longer than is reasonable. I love you.

My baby. 2007

 

 

Wow, Thanks, Kid. That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said.

I love my morning wake up calls. Even the 5am ones, promise. I love them because they come with a cuddle from Rafe, a kiss and always laughter. If that’s not the best way possible to start a morning, I don’t know what is. But, I must admit that, beauty wise, early morning is not my best time. Bed head and tangled clothes, sleep in my eyes. It’s not pretty.   Lately, Rafe is fascinated with my stomach. I won’t lie, it’s pretty big. I did gain  2 stone in 2010, after all, and if you’ve read my blog before chances are you’ll be familiar with my weight loss efforts even before that.

I don’t get upset, of course. He’s only 4 and at that age it’s all about stating facts. At 5am I don’t harbour any illusions about being skinny. And you know, it’s kind of nice to have that sort of fresh certainty. It’s not a judgement, it’s a fact. He doesnt care if I have a big belly or a little one, and it’s such a non issue, it simply wouldn’t occur to him that his comments might be hurtful.

The rest of my family are so lovely and sweet however that they will rush to my aid, assure me I’m not “fat”, I’m beautiful and they love me. Which is nice, but of course, I am fat. Denying that does not teach them the right lessons and it does get a bit tiresome. I am an adult, and as much as other things get me down, and yes even my weight sometimes, it is not what defines me. I’ve had three kids, I’ve got a sweet tooth and when things are bad I comfort eat. I think it’d be more of shock if I wasn’t fat! That doesn’t mean I like strangers commenting on it, or people telling me how I should be eating,etc. But,  I assume that I will not be fat my entire life and there are plenty of years left in my life to do something about it, years when I’m not trying to raise three young kids, deal with money issues and resuscitate a dead marriage.

So, I find Rafe’s observations about my belly charming and amusing. “You could have a baby in there, Mommy!” (puts ear to my belly to listen)  “Or TWO babies and LOTS of daddies!!!”  (Ok, seriously it’s not that big!!)  They remind me of my daughter who, when I was pregnant with Rafe, commented “You look like you ate about 1000 taco’s mommy!”  (We were having taco’s for dinner) And we just sat around the dinner table and laughed when she said that, because it was so cute and so funny.

I get down about my weight, sure. I’d love to be skinny. But, it’s more important to have perspective, right?  And if nothing else, my kids make sure I’ve got perspective by the truck load. Well, that and fat, of course.

 

%d bloggers like this: