Archive for the 'Snippets' Category

Sisterly affection.

Immediately after RegularDad throws a balled up tissue at my 11-year-old and then innocently hides his hands in his hoodie pockets:

11-year-old, to her sister: “Hey!!! Stop!!!”

13-year-old: “It wasn’t me!”

11-year-old: “Yes it was!”

13-year-old: “No it wasn’t! If it had been me, I would have thrown something heavier.”


It’s the little things that you’ll miss the most.

Our beach day got rained out yesterday, so we decided to hit a movie instead. We were driving to our favorite theater, down this long county road that is hilly and full of potholes, a road that we always seem to end up on, in spite of its perpetually awful conditions, a road that, incidentally, was the road we first took seven years ago, when we found this little town and decided to stick around. As we’re bouncing along in my minivan, swerving here and there to miss the really bad potholes, radio blaring, my 11-year-old says:

“You know, I’m gonna miss this road.”

Me: “Really?”

11-year-old: “Yeah. It reminds me of every single horrible stomach ache I’ve ever had.”

Don’t need no seconds.

RegularDad: Who wants more meatloaf?

10-year-old: Me!

7-year-old: Me!

RegularDad: What about you hon? You want another?

Me: No. I’m good. I’ve got a big hunk right here still.

7-year-old: No fair! How come you got the big hunk?

Me, chuckling telepathically to RegularDad, who’s sitting at the other end of the table, slightly red and smiling Real Big: Oh honey, let me tell you… because a long time ago, I was THAT HOT.

The Six Million Dollar Post

Conversation before turning out the light:

RegularDad: Ya know what I’ve always wondered? How’d they decide on six million dollars? Like: why not the Four Million Dollar Man, or the Ten Million Dollar Man? Why six?

Me: I dunno. I guess it seemed like a lot of money back then.

RegularDad: Yeah, I guess. And you know what else bugs me?

Me: What?

RegularDad: They rebuilt his legs with bionics. And his arm. And his eye. So he could jump from the top of a ten story building and land without breaking his legs, right? But imagine the spinal compression factor. A jump like that would have compressed his non-bionic spine and just paralyzed him right there. It’d be like: ded-ded-ded-ded-ded-ded-ded-ded-CRUNCH!

Me, laughing: Uh-huh.

RegularDad: And imagine this: he picks up a car with his bionic arm… but the connective tissue in his shoulder isn’t bionic, so wouldn’t the arm just rip right off him and be stuck to the car he just tried to lift?

Me: I guess so. You’d think they’d have budgeted for those kind of issues.

RegularDad: Yeah, but they only had six million dollars, and I guess the money they could have spent on that went to providing the sound effect of when he was looking through his bionic eye, so there you have it.  What a waste. Who needs to listen to THAT all day long? So, again, why not seven million dollars?

Me: I wonder what that would amount to in today’s economy, factoring in inflation? It’d be something like the 97 Trillion Dollar Man! And we’d pay to watch it, too.

RegularDad: Yeah, today the Six Million Dollar Man would be some dude with knee problems and an HMO.


This post will only make sense to people over a certain age, I suppose. People who were watching network television in the 1970’s will totally understand this. People who are significantly younger will probably not. It’s only fitting, perhaps, that the Beloit Mindset List has been released for the class of 2014. I’ve always loved these lists. They’re my way at looking at aging while keeping a big smile on my face.

For those who want to know what my post is talking about, and for those who just want to see it again, here ya go:


Why most homeschoolers recommend at least two weeks off during the month of February:

We’re eating popcorn and apples and grapes, and going over the review questions outlined in the Story of the World, volume 3, by Susan Wise Bauer. We’re on Chapter 19, in which India collapses due to a string of weak emperors, and in which the English subsequently take control of the country, via the East India Company’s hired armies.

Me: Who decided to send an army against Siraj and the Indians of Bengal?

6-year-old: Um… the… um… the…

9-year-old: The traders?

6-year-old: HEY! I WAS GONNA SAY THAT!

Me (quietly): That’s okay… calm down… do you remember the name of the traders?

Silence. Blank stares. My 9-year-old flips her coloring page over to start doodling on the back of it.

Me: The East India Company…. Think for a second how weird that is. What if Wal-Mart got mad because we never shop there and hired an army to attack us?

They both start giggling.

Me: And who led the army of the East India Company?

9-year-old: Um…(flips her coloring picture back over to read the caption at the bottom)…Robert Clive.

Me: And after the battle, Mir Jafar became the new nawab of Bengal. But what happened when he didn’t do what the people of the East India Company wanted him to do?

9-year-old: They sent another army and attacked him.

Me: That’s right. And then what laws did the people of Bengal start to follow?

6-year-old: Ummm…. No hitting?

More giggles all around.

Me, trying not to laugh too much: No… not that kind of laws. Bengal wasn’t exactly a “no-hitting” city.

6-year-old, all excited, because this time she’s surely GOT THE ANSWER: No pinching?!?

Thus ends our history lesson for the day.

After dinner conversation.

6-year-old: Kerry was totally doing it again at karate tonight.

RegularDad: Doing what?

6-year-old: Touching me. She does that all the time. She just follows me around and touches me. Ugh!

8-year-old: Well, she had a really rough day today, you know.

6-year-old: She did?

8-year-old: Yeah. I heard her mom telling all the other moms that at daycamp today, Kerry’s teacher made everyone practice letters ALL DAY LONG just because one of the parents complained that the kids were playing instead of getting ready for the school year.

6-year-old: No WAY! All day long? Practicing letters?

8-year-old: Well, sometimes they’d take a break and paint for a while, but then they’d have to go back to practicing letters for, like, 8 whole hours.

6-year-old: EIGHT WHOLE HOURS????????

RegularDad: That can’t be right.

Me, from the kitchen: No, she’s got it right. At least that what her mom told us.

8-year-old: Anyway. So maybe that’s why she was touching you. She had a hard day.

6-year-old: Well, I still don’t like it. I tell her again and again, ‘Please stop touching me,’ but she just keeps on doing it.

RegularDad: How old is she?

6-year-old: Four.

RegularDad: Four? Oh, well now, it’s pretty common for someone who’s four to not listen to you when you ask them not to do something. You’ll just have to keep repeating yourself.

6-year-old, from the lofty heights of maturity: Yeah, four is pretty young, I guess.

8-year-old, in a completely genuine  tone of cheerful matter-of-factness:  That’s really true. You know, when you were four, you didn’t listen at all. In fact… you still don’t.

Better than chocolate. Apparently.

As dinner winds to a close:

8-year-old: Mom, when do you think we’ll be able to take a trip to Egypt?

Me: Um, I don’t know. I’m not sure we’ll ever get to go to Egypt, much as I’d like to.

8-year-old: So, you think maybe it’ll be in 10 years?

Me: No. I don’t know. Like I just said —

8-year-old: Or maybe 5 years?

Me: Look–

8-year-old: Do you think it’ll be more than 5 years or less than 5 years? Do you think we could invite Grandma to come with us? When would—

Me: Okay. It’s now 6:15 in the evening. I have been answering questions since 6:15 this morning. I am now officially closed to any new questions. I am unable to answer any more questions until tomorrow morning.

8-year-old: Seriously?

Me: I can’t answer that. It’s a question.

RegularDad: Hey, I saw on the way home that the new ’09 Corvettes are on the lot now. Mind if I drive over and pick one up?

Me: I can’t answer that. It’s a question.

RegularDad: Okay. Since you didn’t answer, I’m gonna assume that’s a yes. Thanks!

Me: Nice try.

5-year-old: Hey Mom. Would it be all right if instead of finishing all these peas and my salad I just go get a piece of chocolate and have that instead?

Me: No. Eat your vegetables.

5-year-old: Ha-ha! MOM!!!!! You answered a question!!! Ha! HA! HA!

I just stare at her until she starts fiddling with her salad again.

5-year-old: Mom, I wasn’t really asking for chocolate, you know. I just wanted to make you say something you said you wouldn’t say.

Me: So, making me say something I don’t want to is better than chocolate?

5-year-old: Oh, yeah.

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