Always true stories, always from us.
(1) At the dinner table last week (10/2008), serving out the rice.
Cinderella: “I don’t want rice, Mommy.”
I say, “Okay, this is for Doodle anyway,” as I plop a little pile of rice down for him. Then I scoop some out for me, and then I go for John’s plate, as I work my way around the table.
C: “Hey! How come you get some before me?”
John interjects: “We thought you didn’t want any.”
C, not to be taken off topic: “How come she got some first?”
John, also not to be deterred: “So you do want some after all?”
C: “No, after mom.”
While on the phone, I was cutting up old squishy apples to feed our chickens. Yes, we have chickens, and yes, we feed them produce that’s unedible by our standards, but not theirs.
The kids were having a blast throwing in small apple pieces through the hole in the coop made for that purpose. And then, the bowl of squishy apples was all used up. Game over.
Not so! Behind my back (well, right in front of my face, actually – I’m still not sure how this happened!) my ingenious children grab apples out of the bag of *good* “people food” apples, and manage to hurl 3 or 4 of them at the poor, defenceless chickens.
It gets better.
I herd them back inside, shut the back door (thankful for the kid-proof handle coralling them in), and try to “no-no-no” them while still on the phone. Game over.
Again, not so! They take the apples still in their hands, and before I can confiscate the ammo, run screaming (happy screams) through the kitchen, throwing the apples at EACH OTHER. “Whoa, whoa, whoa there…” as *I* run after them, running after each other, laughing hysterically (them, not me).
It was really game over when D clocked C right on her cheek bone. That kid has a great arm!
This is my life.
Setting: After dinner, just before Family Night. Cinderella and Doodle playing – and bordering hysteria due to tiredness from the birthday festivities. C on one side of the curtain, D on the other.
He waps her with his pirate sword (having been prompted by “you can’t get me!”), she cries (well, screeches), and somehow the curtain gets pulled such that the rod falls off, clonking her right on the head. (more screaming.)
A moment or two later, I say something profoundly mother-like.
“Maybe you shouldn’t play in the curtain like that any more.”
She immediately comes back with,
“Maybe you shouldn’t have got it.”
(meaning, “Mom, the problem is clearly that you should not have put this dumb curtain here where it could fall on my head. DUH.”)
You might have had to be there to capture the funniness out of this scene, but the whining and wailing beforehand coupled with the red-face, teary eyed, immediate wit from our four year old had us chuckling hard for a good ten minutes.