Special Wormie, Bad Dog, Founding Fathers

Our fifteen month old golden Retriever can't be trusted not to pick stuff up that doesn't belong to him. Today he got hold of Wormie, an 18-inch white stuffed sock puppet that Joel made in second grade.

Reilly tore the eyes off, which made Joel understandably very, very angry and hurt. In his anger, he threw the eyes into the bottom of the trash.

He carried on and on. "Wormie was special to me! I hate Reilly. I'm never gonna look at him again. I'm never gonna feed him, never play with him even if he looks cute cuz he's not, he's ugly. He doesn't deserve anything he has! He only deserves to go back to his old owner that didn't take care of him!"

I asked Joel if he wanted to take the eyes out of the trash; he could glue them back on.

"No. He will never be the same!"

"How about if I sew the eyes back on? He'll look just fine."

"No, he won't, Mom. Even if you make me a brand new Wormie, I'll still be angry. It's like the Declaration of Independence."

I was stumped. Where'd that analogy come from?

"What do you mean, honey?"

"I mean a copy of the Declaration of Independence just isn't valuable. Only the original thing is!"

"Wait! That Wouldn't be Good for Me!"

Sarah started at Towson U today in the education program. The class she had at noon is taught by a professor who tells corny jokes the whole time. Sarah said, "He's worse than you, actually, Mom. Seriously."

Joel piped up, "Mom should just break up with Dad and marry that guy!"

And then he paused, thought about it, and said, "Wait! No, never mind. Don't do that. That wouldn't be good for me!"

I Don't Ever Want to be a Daddy

Yearbooks were distributed yesterday and Joel was reading me the things his classmates said in response to a questionnaire.

"Mom, do you know what Iris wants to be when she grows up? A mommy."

"That's great, honey. I hope God makes her a mommy someday."

"Well, I don't ever want to be a daddy," he replied adamantly.

"Oh? Why not?" I asked.

"Cuz ! It is WAY too hard to raise a child!"

You Smell Like ...

Last night my seven-year-old Joel and I made a chocolate cake just before his shower. By the time he was out, the smell of cake wafted through the whole house.

"Mmm, can you smell that cake?" I asked him, wide-eyed. I was standing in the bedroom doorway while he was at his dresser finding clothes.

"I can't smell anything," he said.

"You can't?"

"Nope. Well, except I can smell you," he corrected, putting pants on.

"What do I smell like?" I asked, dubiously.

"Love."


I melted inside but didn't say anything. Just smiled.
He asked, "I thought you were gonna say, 'aww' and then hug me and I was gonna say 'Stop hugging me!'"

What Obama Drank Yesterday

Our six-year old keeps abreast of politics in this house. Naturally he had heard and seen much of the inauguration of Barack "Obamis" (as he pronounces it).

I was putting Joel to bed and he got the giggles.

"What's so funny?" I asked.

"Do you know what Obamis drank today?" he asked.

"No," I answered. "What?"

"Egg nog," Joel replied.

"Egg nog?" I asked?

"Yeh. He drank egg nog at the egg-nogural ceremony."


That was pretty good. He made it up all by his lonesome.

Hey, Miss, Can you Spare a Dime?

Last night Joel accompanied me to Barnes & Noble for a couple of Christmas gifts. While browsing near the back of the store, he told me he needed to go to the bathroom. Well, when I'm all's he got for potty partnering, I don't let him use the men's room. I'm phobic that way.

So I scoped out the ladies' room. Coast was clear. I ushered him in and he starts doing what he's there for. I stood outside his stall while he tells me it's weird that he makes bubbles when he pees. A lady comes in just as he's telling me this. She grins as if to say, "How cute."

When he came out, he washed his hands and then looked for a paper towel. There were none. He didn't see electric hand dryers either. But then he spotted a feminine product dispenser with a sign that read "Napkins 10c".

He looked at me and, matter-of-factly said, "If I had ten cents, I would buy a napkin."

how Old is a Woman?

I ran errands today with Stephen (17) and Joel (6). While waiting in the van together for Stephen to run into a store for me, Joel asked me, "How old is a woman?"

'Do you mean how old do you have to be to be a woman?" I asked.

"Yeh."

I thought a moment and opted NOT to give him the birds-and-bees answer. Instead I said, "Oh, I'd say 18."

He paused. "Oh, so then Stephen's almost a woman?"


Then he laughed all over himself. He was still laughing when Stephen came out. (So was I.)

Balleret

Last night Joel and I got to talking about heights of children in his first/second grade combined class.

He remarked that one girl "is taller than me when she stands on her tippy toes, which she does a lot because she takes balleret."

"You mean ballet?"

"Thank you very much," he answered matter-of-factly.

"For what? I asked

"For saying that word like a girl. I'm not a girl so I can't say it."

"Thanks for your Help"

Today Joel was playing a video game and couldn't find a certain lever that would get him where he needed to go. He had tried everything.

"Can you help me, please, Mom?"

"Oh, Joel, you know I'm no good at video games. I don't even like them. How could I help you?"

"Just tell me where the lever is, where to go, so I can get out. It's hiding."

Just then I saw two green blinking lights on the screen, in a distance, down a tunnel.

"What are those green lights for? Try them." I doubted it, I mean you don't usually hide something and then flash green lights over the spot.

He tried it. It worked. "Thanks, Mom."

A few minutes later he said again, "Thanks for your help, Mom. I really appreciate that. Now I made it to the next level."

It's nice to help kids get to the next level, even if it is only on a dumb video game.