Monthly Archives: November 2016

Bazillions!

Elias really likes to understand words, and does not like it if I can’t explain them. This is mostly admirable, but problematic when he’s watching a cartoon in Spanish.

This morning, though, it was an English word he couldn’t quite parse.

E: Mom, what’s bazillions?
Me: It’s a made-up number. It just means so many you can’t possibly count.
E: No, no. BRAZILIANS.
Me: OH! Okay. Brazilians are people from Brazil, which is a country in South America.
E: *sigh* No, mom. What’s RESILIENCE?
Me: I will tell you what resilience is, but first you have to come over here and give me a hug, because you’re so cute I can’t stand it, and you didn’t lose patience with your poor deaf mother.

 

Buddies

This is my sweet buddy. He literally canNOT wait to run errands with me today. Isn’t he a love?

Yeah, okay, fine. 

They give him suckers at the bank. 

Overheard at the Pediatrician’s Office 

Being shut in a small space with both boys is always interesting. Also loud. All of the following are direct quotes from this afternoon’s appointment, and none from me. (But see if you can pick out the voice of the doctor.)

He’s naked!

No, all those orange things are muscles.

What are those things? What are organs? Are they slimy?

I’m not sticking a needle in your ear!*

That doesn’t hurt but it makes me have to go to the bathroom.

No, we don’t do anything. We just sit in the house and watch tv.**

We don’t like to brush our teeth and Mom doesn’t make us.**

Why don’t you want me to fall down? What are stitches?

That’s DISGUSTING.***

You have to leave. I can’t change in front of you. You’re not my mom.

Why did he have to go to the office? Who did he hit? In the what?

What do you mean you can’t get a word in edgewise?

*true
**false
***infectious disease poster, and it was

Go Figure

Paul went by the local tire shop Saturday to pay for a flat he’d had fixed on the farm truck. There was a full waiting room, so he was happy he was just there to hand over payment. 

He deflated, though, when he pulled out his wallet. “Oh, no,” he said. “They sent us new debit cards and I don’t know which one is the farm account. I don’t dare use the house one.”

“Well,” the woman behind the counter said, “you could just use the one where your wife wrote FARM on the back in black marker.”


Accompanied by muffled snorting from the peanut gallery, he turned the card over. “Cool!” he said, and laid it on the counter. 

“Oh look,” she said. “It’s on the front, too.”

“Huh,” Paul said. “How ’bout them Indians?”

Clearance

Scene: The circus homestead. The promise of fro yo (BookIt reward – we don’t like Pizza Hut)  hangs in the air. 

Me: Okay. There’s still time tonight for fro yo. IF the table gets cleared. 

<mad rush to sink>


Me: Wow. I don’t think the table has ever been cleared that fast. 

L: Yeah, I have a dish clearing record now!!!

Oh, my little friend. If there’s a record held for dish clearing in this house … well, it doesn’t belong to YOU. 

But it doesn’t matter. 


Because we all reached the mecca together. 


And that’s what REALLY counts. 

Go Tribe!

I know, I know. It seems like I’m cheering a little late, but bear with me.

Those of you following along on Facebook may recall that last week was spirit week at school. This means that every day has a theme and kids are supposed to be dressed in the theme.

I am not good at spirit week. Mostly I’m happy if my children are wearing clothes and they’re clean, y’know? Some families really go all in for spirit week and plan outfits with all kinds of crazy stuff, and that is totally cool and I’m really glad they’re having fun with it, but mostly for me it is just another way – if a small one – for me to fail the Awesome Mom Test. So it’s not my favorite.

But despite the fact that I’ve never managed to color my child’s hair orange – or anything – for crazy hair day, I do actually try. Levi was wearing a white shirt on the appropriate day last week, and they wore red and blue on the right days, too.

Tuesday, though, was Indians day. And we had no Indians gear. Nada. Zip. (Given that my children’s style could best be described as Postmodern Hand-me-down, it’s not that surprising, I guess.)

So I did what all good moms do in this enlightened times: I asked Facebook for help.

In less than 10 minutes, I had someone lined up to bring some shirts to church that the boys could borrow. I washed the shirts and returned them the next week at church, and had completely forgotten about it.

Well. We have this friend who works for the Indians, and I guess he decided that young boys in the northeast Ohio area who do not own any Tribe gear is a travesty.

I got a package this afternoon. Both boys now own a Kluber shirt, a Brantley hat, a toy truck, a foam finger, a string backpack, and a jersey (Carrasco and Kipnis).

Merciful heavens. Thank you, John.

They are pretty pumped. I need to go look up all these guys now and figure out who they are and what positions they play or something. I guess what I’m saying is …

Uncle. I surrender. Looks like we’ll be a baseball family after all.

GO TRIBE!