In the car somewhere in Utah.
Me: When we were in Hawaii we noticed that the city we were staying in had a big letter L on the side of their mountain just like the G on the side of the mountain where your Uncle Grant lives.
Elise: Cool. What did the L stand for?
Tyler: Lollipop? Lemon? Linoleum?
McKenzie: Lumps in mine oatmeal!
Tyler: Lumps in mine oatmeal?
General snickering.
McKenzie: What?
Me, with accompanying hand gesture: Heil oatmeal!
Tyler, with a Britishy accent: Theh ah lllomps in mine oat-mail!
Elise: La-la-la mine linoleum!
Tyler, with another Britishy accent (that I’m now much too lazy to try to phonetically convey): I traversed through the woods back to my dwelling and found that there were lumps in mine oatmeal.
McKenzie: Whatever!
Can you feel the love?
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Thank heaven for Tyler
Watching Tyler pick the flaking skin off his arms and legs.
Me: You need to exfoliate.
Tyler: What’s that?
Me: When you scrub off your dead layer of skin.
Tyler: Should I try to molt?
Me: You are molting.
Tyler: No, I mean like shed my whole layer of skin all at once.
Me: How are you going to go about trying?
Tyler: I don’t know. Maybe I can buy a manual “Molting for Dummies”.
I would buy that.
Watching Tyler stick objects in his nostrils.
Me: You know, you better be careful or you’re going to do permanent damage to your nose.
Tyler: You mean like I’m going to do permanent damage to my reputation by doing this? Does some kind of weirdo dance around the room with his shirt over his head.
Yeah, just like that.
Other Tyler-isms heard round the house.
“I love making strange noises for no reason.”
“Random acts of rudeness.”
Thank heaven for Tyler.
Me: You need to exfoliate.
Tyler: What’s that?
Me: When you scrub off your dead layer of skin.
Tyler: Should I try to molt?
Me: You are molting.
Tyler: No, I mean like shed my whole layer of skin all at once.
Me: How are you going to go about trying?
Tyler: I don’t know. Maybe I can buy a manual “Molting for Dummies”.
I would buy that.
Watching Tyler stick objects in his nostrils.
Me: You know, you better be careful or you’re going to do permanent damage to your nose.
Tyler: You mean like I’m going to do permanent damage to my reputation by doing this? Does some kind of weirdo dance around the room with his shirt over his head.
Yeah, just like that.
Other Tyler-isms heard round the house.
“I love making strange noises for no reason.”
“Random acts of rudeness.”
Thank heaven for Tyler.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Anatomy lessons
In the kitchen.
Sydney: Mama, I hurt my nostril.
Me: You hurt your nostril?
Syd, grabbing crotch: Yeah, right here.
Me: That’s not your nostril. Why do you call it your nostril?
Syd: ‘Cause that’s what I call my extra body.
Me: Your extra body, huh?
Syd: Yep, that’s right. That’s what I call it. Everything is a nostril on your body.
Me: Everything is a nostril?
Syd, turning around and patting her booty: Yeah, except for this.
Me: What’s that?
Syd: That’s a bummy!
Nostrils? Extra body? I’m so confused. She’s so confused.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Later that day. In the car.
Syd: Mommy, I hurt my crotch.
Me: How did you do that?
Syd: I just scratched it.
Me: Oh. … Where is your crotch?
Syd, pointing to nostril: Right here.
It’s all starting to make sense now. A natural mistake, really, seeing how the words “crotch” and “nostril” are practically interchangeable.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Last month McKenzie had a field trip to go swimming at the local YMCA, and came home somewhat disturbed by her locker room adventure. She saw naked people. Apparently, they were just walking around and sitting on benches and carrying on normal conversations with boobs and bums and other bits hanging out for all the world to see. I had not even thought to prepare her for this inevitable YMCA experience. Although, I’m not sure how one goes about preparing for it.
McKenzie: And there were old ladies in their bathing suits, and when I saw them I was like (putting hands to the sides of her face), “Ahhhh!” in my head. And then when I saw them naked, I was like, “AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!” in my head.
Elise, coming in late to the conversation: There were naked people?
McKenzie: It was like the girls locker room and so there were like only girls, so I guess some people are OK with it, but some people are like not OK with it, so they should be more considerate.
Can I hear an AMEN?
Sydney: Mama, I hurt my nostril.
Me: You hurt your nostril?
Syd, grabbing crotch: Yeah, right here.
Me: That’s not your nostril. Why do you call it your nostril?
Syd: ‘Cause that’s what I call my extra body.
Me: Your extra body, huh?
Syd: Yep, that’s right. That’s what I call it. Everything is a nostril on your body.
Me: Everything is a nostril?
Syd, turning around and patting her booty: Yeah, except for this.
Me: What’s that?
Syd: That’s a bummy!
Nostrils? Extra body? I’m so confused. She’s so confused.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Later that day. In the car.
Syd: Mommy, I hurt my crotch.
Me: How did you do that?
Syd: I just scratched it.
Me: Oh. … Where is your crotch?
Syd, pointing to nostril: Right here.
It’s all starting to make sense now. A natural mistake, really, seeing how the words “crotch” and “nostril” are practically interchangeable.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Last month McKenzie had a field trip to go swimming at the local YMCA, and came home somewhat disturbed by her locker room adventure. She saw naked people. Apparently, they were just walking around and sitting on benches and carrying on normal conversations with boobs and bums and other bits hanging out for all the world to see. I had not even thought to prepare her for this inevitable YMCA experience. Although, I’m not sure how one goes about preparing for it.
McKenzie: And there were old ladies in their bathing suits, and when I saw them I was like (putting hands to the sides of her face), “Ahhhh!” in my head. And then when I saw them naked, I was like, “AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!” in my head.
Elise, coming in late to the conversation: There were naked people?
McKenzie: It was like the girls locker room and so there were like only girls, so I guess some people are OK with it, but some people are like not OK with it, so they should be more considerate.
Can I hear an AMEN?
That Mom
I was at Freddy’s last weekend, picking up this and that when I noticed they had their summer clothes on sale for 50% off. All of my darn kids have grown since last summer (can’t this shooting up a size or two be like a bi-annual thing or something?), so I looked around for shorts for everyone.
I picked out a few things for the girls, and then moved on to the boys section. I looked around, and all I saw was plaid. Plaid shorts everywhere. Now I’m thinking these plaid shorts are pretty cool, but Tyler tends to be on the more conservative side, so I wasn’t sure how he’d feel about them. I called him up.
Me: So I’m at the store looking for shorts for you, and everything’s plaid.
Tyler: OK.
Me: Are you OK with plaid? Is that what the kids are wearing at school these days? (Is that what the kids are wearing at school these days?!)
Tyler: Yeah, plaid’s fine.
And then I proceeded to describe to him the different color/stripe thickness combinations to try to get a feel for whether there was a difference between cool plaid and dork plaid because, you know, I’d like to think I’m the kind of mother who wouldn’t buy the dork plaid. Actually, I’d like to think I’m the kind of mother who wouldn’t buy the dork plaid without any special instruction from anyone else, but frankly, I have no such confidence in myself. I have no idea what’s cool anymore. And did I mention I said, “Is that what the kids are wearing at school these days?”?! No wonder my children have taken to rolling their eyes at me.
I used to roll my eyes at my mother when she whistled along to Personal Jesus on the radio (you don’t whistle to DM!), when she said words like “annual” (it’s a yearbook, Mom!), when she came home from a shopping trip with the dork plaid. I swore to myself I would never be old. That Mom old. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
Yesterday, driving in the car, I looked over at Tyler and the slight scowl he had on his face and realized he’s doing his best to settle into that prepubescent angst I’ve been dreading since the day he was born. I worry sometimes that he’s going to start seeing me as That Mom—the woman who has no clue, the one who doesn’t understand him (or anything else, for that matter) at all. The next few years are going to be tough. I’m hoping, at least every once in awhile, he’ll be able to see past That Mom whistling along to Boom Boom Pow (or whatever it is kids are listening to these days) and just let me be his mom.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
At the dinner table.
Tyler: Can I get a handlebar moustache?
Me: Like at the store?
Tyler: No, grow one.
Me: If you can grow a handlebar moustache, you can have one.
McKenzie: Why would you ask that?
Tyler: What? Handlebar moustaches are awesome.
McKenzie: No, I mean wouldn’t you just be able to decide for yourself?
Tyler: But I might still be living at home when I grow hair. You never know.
Maybe there’s hope for us yet.
I picked out a few things for the girls, and then moved on to the boys section. I looked around, and all I saw was plaid. Plaid shorts everywhere. Now I’m thinking these plaid shorts are pretty cool, but Tyler tends to be on the more conservative side, so I wasn’t sure how he’d feel about them. I called him up.
Me: So I’m at the store looking for shorts for you, and everything’s plaid.
Tyler: OK.
Me: Are you OK with plaid? Is that what the kids are wearing at school these days? (Is that what the kids are wearing at school these days?!)
Tyler: Yeah, plaid’s fine.
And then I proceeded to describe to him the different color/stripe thickness combinations to try to get a feel for whether there was a difference between cool plaid and dork plaid because, you know, I’d like to think I’m the kind of mother who wouldn’t buy the dork plaid. Actually, I’d like to think I’m the kind of mother who wouldn’t buy the dork plaid without any special instruction from anyone else, but frankly, I have no such confidence in myself. I have no idea what’s cool anymore. And did I mention I said, “Is that what the kids are wearing at school these days?”?! No wonder my children have taken to rolling their eyes at me.
I used to roll my eyes at my mother when she whistled along to Personal Jesus on the radio (you don’t whistle to DM!), when she said words like “annual” (it’s a yearbook, Mom!), when she came home from a shopping trip with the dork plaid. I swore to myself I would never be old. That Mom old. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
Yesterday, driving in the car, I looked over at Tyler and the slight scowl he had on his face and realized he’s doing his best to settle into that prepubescent angst I’ve been dreading since the day he was born. I worry sometimes that he’s going to start seeing me as That Mom—the woman who has no clue, the one who doesn’t understand him (or anything else, for that matter) at all. The next few years are going to be tough. I’m hoping, at least every once in awhile, he’ll be able to see past That Mom whistling along to Boom Boom Pow (or whatever it is kids are listening to these days) and just let me be his mom.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
At the dinner table.
Tyler: Can I get a handlebar moustache?
Me: Like at the store?
Tyler: No, grow one.
Me: If you can grow a handlebar moustache, you can have one.
McKenzie: Why would you ask that?
Tyler: What? Handlebar moustaches are awesome.
McKenzie: No, I mean wouldn’t you just be able to decide for yourself?
Tyler: But I might still be living at home when I grow hair. You never know.
Maybe there’s hope for us yet.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Holiday filmmaking
Being fortunate enough to live within just a few miles of family (my sister Kim and her family), we often find ourselves spending major holidays together. So what do you do when the cousins are all together? Make movies, of course.
These were both filmed, directed, produced and edited by my awesomely talented niece, Jessie Lohberg.
Thanksgiving 2008: McKenzie's Turkey Day Fatness, starring McKenzie
Easter 2009: Crushcrushcrush Music Video, starring Kara Lohberg, Jessie Lohberg, McKenzie, Elise and Sydney
These were both filmed, directed, produced and edited by my awesomely talented niece, Jessie Lohberg.
Thanksgiving 2008: McKenzie's Turkey Day Fatness, starring McKenzie
Easter 2009: Crushcrushcrush Music Video, starring Kara Lohberg, Jessie Lohberg, McKenzie, Elise and Sydney
Adventures in public restrooming
Some of you may not yet be aware of my love-hate relationship with the public restroom. Actually, it's more of a hate-hate relationship. :all over body shudder: Well, my dear friends, I'm about to tell you a tale so wild, so beyond the realm of good reason, so un-freaking-believable, that you will all most likely dismiss it as a dream or acid trip and call me a wacked-out delusional liar. But all I can tell you is it IS true. I lived it. If I hadn't experienced it myself, I'm certain I would not believe it either.
Just a few miles east of Boise, Idaho off the I-84 interstate you will find a beautiful oasis of public restroomery. I'm not even sure where to start. You walk into a building, a clean building with benches, gleaming benches free of grafitti, gum and other sticky substances of unknown origin. To the left and the right are doors. Many doors. Each leads to a sanctuary, your own private sanctuary where you can find the ultimate relief unhampered and untainted by fears of contact with foreign bodily fluids and invisible communicable diseases.
Floor to ceiling there is beautiful tile in natural stone hues. The floors are dry and free of any questionable debris. The toilet paper and toilet seat cover dispensers--fully stocked. Toilet flushing mechanism, sink faucet and hand dryer are all automated. The hand soap actually smells good. The hand dryer actually dries your hands. We always venture into the reststops as a group, my girls and I--safety in numbers, you know. So we were sharing this spacious handicap/family bathroom, and while Sydney was taking her turn, McKenzie was drying her hands. The hand dryer is mounted a good 7-8 feet away from the toilet on the opposite wall, yet while McKenzie was drying her hands, Sydney's hair was flying in the warm breeze, the toilet paper fluttering on its roll. And this warm breeze not only dried McKenzie's hands like that--like that!--but also circulated the most delightful aroma. It was like cinnamon bears or hot apple cider.
We hesitated to leave that place. We lingered at the door for just a moment wishing they could all be like this. A tear of joy welled up at the bottom of my eye as I tried to commit every detail to memory. Imagine it--a public restroom nicer than your own bathroom at home! I know, I know. But it's true. I swear it's true.
When we got back to the car, we told Nate and Tyler to prepare themselves for a very special experience. We waited.
Elise: I'm going to tell Tyler the toilet flushed 3 times while McKenzie was on it.
McKenzie: No you're not! It happened to me, Elise. I'm telling him!
Elise: It doesn't matter.
Nate and Tyler returned to the car.
Tyler: Those bathrooms rock!
Nate: Those were nice.
Tyler: Dad took pictures.
Me: Were yours tiled?
Nate: Yeah, they were all tiled...and cinnamony.
And then, as if order must be restored to our universe, when we tried to leave, our car wouldn't start. The battery was dead. We had to sit around for ten minutes, waiting for someone to come to the rest stop. At one point Nate said, "Man, for crying out loud, doesn't anybody need to use the bathroom?!" Finally, a lovely party of elderly travellers pulled up beside us. Nate asked for their assistance and they happily agreed. They only asked if they could please use the bathroom first. We eventually got on our way, but the minor inconvenience was well worth it. I would trade a working vehicle for a public restroom like that any day.
Other public restroom adventures.
McKenzie, getting out of the car: Do I look presentable?
Me: For the Burger King bathroom? Yeah.
Sharing a stall.
Elise, taking her turn: Shield your eyes!
Sydney, covering her eyes: Sheel yo eyes! And then peeking, Ew...a butt!
Coming back to the car.
Nate: Did you have fun?
Elise: Going to the bathroom?
More family random speak
At the dinner table.
Nate: You know, people in Chile eat chili because they’re chilly.
Elise: Chile isn’t a place.
After I finished rolling my eyes, I was sure to inform Elise that Chile is indeed a place.
First words out of Sydney's mouth Monday morning.
Syd: There’s a smile on my bottom. My armpit smells pizza.
Yo-kay.
Tyler gets random at the dinner table.
Tyler: Six is my favorite color of the alphabet.
I usually don’t bother responding.
Tyler has a new game he plays with his friends—one person supplies the answers, then the other person comes up with a question.
Tyler's answers:
A) 4
B) lick them
C) I don’t know
D) all of the above
His friend’s question: What do you do when a stranger walks up to you?
Hey, at least they’re not doing drugs. I think.
More at the table.
Me: Sydney looks old to me today for some reason.
Tyler: It’s probably that oreo ’stache.
Huh, that’s funny. I thought facial chocolate usually made you look younger.
More Tyler random at the dinner table.
Tyler: I like my chili like I like my women—chunky and meaty.
Me, looking at him, he’s giggling: Where’s that from?
He’s still giggling.
Me: Did you just make that up?
Tyler, still giggling: I’m a freak.
Yeah, but he’s my freak and I love him.
Nate: You know, people in Chile eat chili because they’re chilly.
Elise: Chile isn’t a place.
After I finished rolling my eyes, I was sure to inform Elise that Chile is indeed a place.
First words out of Sydney's mouth Monday morning.
Syd: There’s a smile on my bottom. My armpit smells pizza.
Yo-kay.
Tyler gets random at the dinner table.
Tyler: Six is my favorite color of the alphabet.
I usually don’t bother responding.
Tyler has a new game he plays with his friends—one person supplies the answers, then the other person comes up with a question.
Tyler's answers:
A) 4
B) lick them
C) I don’t know
D) all of the above
His friend’s question: What do you do when a stranger walks up to you?
Hey, at least they’re not doing drugs. I think.
More at the table.
Me: Sydney looks old to me today for some reason.
Tyler: It’s probably that oreo ’stache.
Huh, that’s funny. I thought facial chocolate usually made you look younger.
More Tyler random at the dinner table.
Tyler: I like my chili like I like my women—chunky and meaty.
Me, looking at him, he’s giggling: Where’s that from?
He’s still giggling.
Me: Did you just make that up?
Tyler, still giggling: I’m a freak.
Yeah, but he’s my freak and I love him.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)