For this week I chose two favorites, because the first is insanely short and they both involve an obsession with undergarments.
The first is from last fall, the second from Februaryish. Enjoy! (Sometime I may even get back to writing new posts...
All Thing Bra
We went to Arby's for lunch today, and the kid was in the process of a ham and cheese sandwich massacre when a long piece of stringy ham slid off her sandwich. She picked it up off the paper and examined it as it dangled in all of its stringiness. I was on the edge of "stop playing with your food and eat it" when she beat me to opening her mouth, and here is what tumbled out in the most quizzical manner:
"Is this a bra?"
What?! Mom and I both just stared at her, dumbfounded, waiting for the punchline. It never happened. She repeated the question, just to cement that she did indeed mean it. We just laughed our heads off. It was probably ten minutes before we could speak enough to give her an English answer (not to mention a complex). I don't know where she got this wild idea, because she knows what a bra is. She's obsessed with them.
More proof of this fact (but first some background):
My child only asked for one thing for Christmas this year, and she got it, so now I think she's starting to see her fault in the asking process. Somewhere along the way, her brain has decided "I get everything I want for Christmas...I should have asked for 50 million things instead of just one." Ever since the day after Christmas, we can't leave the house without her seeing at least 27 things she wants for Christmas next year.
We were at the mall a couple of weeks ago, and we were getting ready to leave Old Navy, and I was having trouble keeping the offspring tethered. This was an unplanned trip, so we were lacking in the stroller department. Anyway, I was using the old "follow me or get left here by yourself" threat. It was working quite nicely...until I looked back and no longer had her in my sight. (I think kids play that game on purpose and they're watching you and laughing because they can somehow see that your stomach just fell out of your butt from the panic.)
It was only for a split second, mind you, because after that second, here she comes, running through the crowded store, waving a sports bra over her head.
"MOMMY MOMMY! I WANT THIS FOR CHRISTMAS TO PUT MY BOOBIES IN!" I quickly glanced around. Just as I suspected. Everyone in America was watching and snickering.
"Honey, let's put that back...you don't have any boobies to put in there yet." I thought this was a tactful enough answer, but of COURSE she just couldn't let it go.
"Well then I want BOOBIES for Christmas TOO!" Yes. The whole population of our lovely state is still watching, don't worry.
I pondered for a moment, and decided it wasn't fair for her to get all the laughs at my expense and loudly replied, "ME TOO!"
I bet neither of us will get our wish.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Friday, October 22, 2010
Favorite Story Friday: Change in Her "Pocket"!
This story may never be outdone, and it may always remain at the top of my favorite list, so I felt it appropriate for it to be displayed during Favorite Story Friday!
September 2009 (The Kid is 2.5 at the time of this event)
I finally went to the store the other day for the big "stock the new kitchen" trip, and I explained to the kid "we're going to the store and it's going to take awhile, so you're going to have to be a big girl and help mommy, no whining" etc, etc. My child, who has odd favorites for her age(including her preference for Captain D's over McDonald's), became OVER exuberant with the idea of going to the grocery store and immediately began excited preparations for the big trip. She was running through the house almost as fast as her mouth was running as it spewed a list of contents she needed to find.
"Wait mommy! I will help you! Let me find my list. Where's my keys? I need my phone in case Connie calls me."
"I have all that stuff, let's just get your shoes on and go."
So she ran back to the living room and pulled open a drawer in the end table where Brandon has been stashing change and exclaims,
"Let me get some money case I need to buy something at the store, ok?"
"Ok, give it to me and I'll put it in my pocket for you to pick out something if you're good." I couldn't help one last bribe.
"No, that's ok, I'll put it in MY pocket." She's too smart for me. But wait! I realize I haven't been outsmarted yet:
"Honey, you don't have pockets in your skirt!" I was proud of myself.
"Yes I do!" She exclaimed, in a very frustrated voice. Then out came the waistband of her skirt and down went the handful of change. Right down into her underwear. Oh well. What's the worst that could happen?
On the way to the store I started musing over that idea: the worst thing that could happen... Well, let's see...money's pretty dirty. I suppose she could get some kind of infection in her little girl parts and then I would have to explain to the pediatrician that it's perfectly normal for little girls to go around with pennies in their privates and no one did anything in the least unusual to her! That wouldn't be a big deal, right? Riiiiiight...
We arrived at the store and I shoved my fantasy aside, because regardless of how many times I've cleaned that area during the diaper season of her life and baths, I'm sure not fishing money out of it in the middle of the grocery store. That seems like a good way to entice a stranger to call child services.
Instead, I got busy with the shopping trip, went home, and unloaded in a hurry so that we could go on a previously promised bike adventure. I assembled the bike seat, strapped on helmets, whipped out our shades, and took off downtown to meet Mom. I didn't forget to mention removing the money from its cozy nest in my daughter's Dora panties. It didn't happen. I forgot about the change. Go ahead, judge if you want. I left pennies in my daughter's hoo-ha.
We reached Mom's office and the kid was thrilled to jump off the bike and run into the office to show off her helmet and sunglasses. It was only when mom questioned the sound did I remember.
"Gracie...why is your bum jingling?" Mom questioned.
"Oh, my Lord. Please tell me I didn't forget that change."
"I can't." He responded. "That would be a lie and I am not capable of lying."
When I returned from my silent prayer, this is the answer I heard from my child:
"My bum's jingly 'cause I got change in my pocket!!" She grinned real big and continued her run down the row of cubicles to Mom's office, jingling all the way.
"But you don't have any pockets in your skirt..." Mom started eyeballing me, probably judging me just like you are about now.
"Nope! Not in my skirt! In my PANTIES!!" She yelled down the hall for all the busy real estate agents anywhere in the building to hear. Awesome. We went on into Mom's office and closed the door. I proceeded to try to convince her to give up the loot, but she wasn't budging and I was already embarrassed, so I caved. I mean, heck, it's been there all day, what's it gonna hurt? The damage has already been done. So we went to lunch.
It was only after 30 minutes of her showing off for the ladies at the Sandwich Shop (or the "nice ladies' shop", as she refers to it) that real disaster struck. I asked her if she wanted to put some change from my wallet in the tip jar for the nice ladies that made our food. I thought it was a good teaching moment, but she proved me wrong again. She's awesome at that.
"No Mommy! I want to put MY money in!" she wailed. Everyone thought that was simply adorable. That's because they didn't know where she was storing it.
I tried to quietly insist otherwise, but I could see she wasn't going down without a real big fight. How quickly that teachable moment had changed. It also became clear while watching her try that she couldn't retrieve the coins herself. Seems every time she tried, her little arm was too short to reach the "pocket" in her sagging panties. Bending her knees, though try as she may, only drooped the pocket lower.
"Mommy! Please get it!" was her pitiful cry for help. I surrendered to my shame and very nonchalantly escorted her to the only corner in the small shop, which was made of a wall and the store front window. (Of course. Shops never have a private "retrieving pennies from your young daughter's privates" corner when you need one. I mean, I was lucky to find a nursing mother's room in public back in the breast feeding days.) As I reached down the front of my daughter's skirt and fished out all the money, I could only imagine what people walking down 9th Street must have thought as they looked in that window.
I was at least able to swap the money out for some of my own on our way to the tip jar, in case you were wondering.
Good times.
September 2009 (The Kid is 2.5 at the time of this event)
I finally went to the store the other day for the big "stock the new kitchen" trip, and I explained to the kid "we're going to the store and it's going to take awhile, so you're going to have to be a big girl and help mommy, no whining" etc, etc. My child, who has odd favorites for her age(including her preference for Captain D's over McDonald's), became OVER exuberant with the idea of going to the grocery store and immediately began excited preparations for the big trip. She was running through the house almost as fast as her mouth was running as it spewed a list of contents she needed to find.
"Wait mommy! I will help you! Let me find my list. Where's my keys? I need my phone in case Connie calls me."
"I have all that stuff, let's just get your shoes on and go."
So she ran back to the living room and pulled open a drawer in the end table where Brandon has been stashing change and exclaims,
"Let me get some money case I need to buy something at the store, ok?"
"Ok, give it to me and I'll put it in my pocket for you to pick out something if you're good." I couldn't help one last bribe.
"No, that's ok, I'll put it in MY pocket." She's too smart for me. But wait! I realize I haven't been outsmarted yet:
"Honey, you don't have pockets in your skirt!" I was proud of myself.
"Yes I do!" She exclaimed, in a very frustrated voice. Then out came the waistband of her skirt and down went the handful of change. Right down into her underwear. Oh well. What's the worst that could happen?
On the way to the store I started musing over that idea: the worst thing that could happen... Well, let's see...money's pretty dirty. I suppose she could get some kind of infection in her little girl parts and then I would have to explain to the pediatrician that it's perfectly normal for little girls to go around with pennies in their privates and no one did anything in the least unusual to her! That wouldn't be a big deal, right? Riiiiiight...
We arrived at the store and I shoved my fantasy aside, because regardless of how many times I've cleaned that area during the diaper season of her life and baths, I'm sure not fishing money out of it in the middle of the grocery store. That seems like a good way to entice a stranger to call child services.
Instead, I got busy with the shopping trip, went home, and unloaded in a hurry so that we could go on a previously promised bike adventure. I assembled the bike seat, strapped on helmets, whipped out our shades, and took off downtown to meet Mom. I didn't forget to mention removing the money from its cozy nest in my daughter's Dora panties. It didn't happen. I forgot about the change. Go ahead, judge if you want. I left pennies in my daughter's hoo-ha.
We reached Mom's office and the kid was thrilled to jump off the bike and run into the office to show off her helmet and sunglasses. It was only when mom questioned the sound did I remember.
"Gracie...why is your bum jingling?" Mom questioned.
"Oh, my Lord. Please tell me I didn't forget that change."
"I can't." He responded. "That would be a lie and I am not capable of lying."
When I returned from my silent prayer, this is the answer I heard from my child:
"My bum's jingly 'cause I got change in my pocket!!" She grinned real big and continued her run down the row of cubicles to Mom's office, jingling all the way.
"But you don't have any pockets in your skirt..." Mom started eyeballing me, probably judging me just like you are about now.
"Nope! Not in my skirt! In my PANTIES!!" She yelled down the hall for all the busy real estate agents anywhere in the building to hear. Awesome. We went on into Mom's office and closed the door. I proceeded to try to convince her to give up the loot, but she wasn't budging and I was already embarrassed, so I caved. I mean, heck, it's been there all day, what's it gonna hurt? The damage has already been done. So we went to lunch.
It was only after 30 minutes of her showing off for the ladies at the Sandwich Shop (or the "nice ladies' shop", as she refers to it) that real disaster struck. I asked her if she wanted to put some change from my wallet in the tip jar for the nice ladies that made our food. I thought it was a good teaching moment, but she proved me wrong again. She's awesome at that.
"No Mommy! I want to put MY money in!" she wailed. Everyone thought that was simply adorable. That's because they didn't know where she was storing it.
I tried to quietly insist otherwise, but I could see she wasn't going down without a real big fight. How quickly that teachable moment had changed. It also became clear while watching her try that she couldn't retrieve the coins herself. Seems every time she tried, her little arm was too short to reach the "pocket" in her sagging panties. Bending her knees, though try as she may, only drooped the pocket lower.
"Mommy! Please get it!" was her pitiful cry for help. I surrendered to my shame and very nonchalantly escorted her to the only corner in the small shop, which was made of a wall and the store front window. (Of course. Shops never have a private "retrieving pennies from your young daughter's privates" corner when you need one. I mean, I was lucky to find a nursing mother's room in public back in the breast feeding days.) As I reached down the front of my daughter's skirt and fished out all the money, I could only imagine what people walking down 9th Street must have thought as they looked in that window.
I was at least able to swap the money out for some of my own on our way to the tip jar, in case you were wondering.
Good times.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Favorite Story: My child thinks she owns WalMart
Ok. So I know it's not Friday yet (and also that I missed like three Fridays since I declared "Favorite Stories Friday"...) but I just read this note on facebook and literally laughed out loud at my own self. So either I'm really conceited or truly hilarious. I'll let you judge. (And if you pick conceited that's fine-I'll still think I'm hilarious anyway so it won't matter a bit.)
I intended to edit and rewrite stories that I've previously written for this occaison, but I'm lazy at getting this started so I pretty much copy-pasted this one. Judge that, too if you want. Won't hurt my feelings; I already know I'm lazy.
*Eh Hem* Here goes:
Don't you love it when your children act foolish in public? I mean, they wouldn't want to act that way in private. No strangers would be around to hold up a "9.5" scorecard for the "Your Mom's Failure Rating" system.
Shortly after moving back to my hometown last year (too bad no one I know witnessed this-that adds points to my Fail score), we were at WalMart buying some more things off the "I thought we owned this but can't seem to find it since we moved even though we're completely unpacked" list. (I like to give my lists very long titles. Saves me money since it takes up so much space on the paper, because there's barely room left for actual items.)
Anyway, I'm chatting with the super nice lady that checked us out last week (because it's my full time job to go to the store now. I can't just do it once a month anymore. Crap.) I had given Gracie a few things to throw on and was putting the last items on the belt, still chatting with the cashier. Grace began tell the elderly lady behind us what a big girl she was for helping mommy and continued to sweet talk her for a few more minutes (which of course the lady was eating with a spoon). But THEN...the lady inched up her buggy...didn't even REACH for the divider bar or THINK about placing items on the belt (which would have been acceptable, since I was already signing my check.) and my sweet little child went Jekyll and Hyde on the old lady.
"NO NO NO! STOP! It's not your TURN!" she wailed.
"Oh Lord," I prayed silently, "please tell me I bought dog food on this trip. I need an excuse for why I'm now ducked under the grocery cart."
The lady looked rather shocked. I can't say I blame her.
"GRACIE!" I hissed from my safe haven rack under the cart.
"Mommy! She's pushing her buggy and it's not her turn!" Really? The lady was like 70...I think it was her turn before either of us or WalMart even existed!
"Gracie! It IS her turn! Stop that!"
"Mom!" I think I forgot to mention that she stated to me the other day that she was too big to say Mommy. I told her if that was the case, then I was too little to fix her food, wash her clothes, etc.
Anyway, I made MUCH haste in finishing my transaction (the cashier turned her light off...I wonder, was it already break time, or did my child drive her to break time?) gave all appropriate looks of "gee I'm really embarrassed that my kid's being a turd. sorry about that!" and put the buggy in fifth gear.
Needless to say, the kid got the full name followed by many "unacceptables" on the way out the door.
I got all the groceries in the car and started to put her in the car seat when she reminded me that in our last aisle of shopping she had told me she needed to potty. I had forgotten during the fit. Now I'M the bad guy. She always wins.
.
I intended to edit and rewrite stories that I've previously written for this occaison, but I'm lazy at getting this started so I pretty much copy-pasted this one. Judge that, too if you want. Won't hurt my feelings; I already know I'm lazy.
*Eh Hem* Here goes:
Don't you love it when your children act foolish in public? I mean, they wouldn't want to act that way in private. No strangers would be around to hold up a "9.5" scorecard for the "Your Mom's Failure Rating" system.
Shortly after moving back to my hometown last year (too bad no one I know witnessed this-that adds points to my Fail score), we were at WalMart buying some more things off the "I thought we owned this but can't seem to find it since we moved even though we're completely unpacked" list. (I like to give my lists very long titles. Saves me money since it takes up so much space on the paper, because there's barely room left for actual items.)
Anyway, I'm chatting with the super nice lady that checked us out last week (because it's my full time job to go to the store now. I can't just do it once a month anymore. Crap.) I had given Gracie a few things to throw on and was putting the last items on the belt, still chatting with the cashier. Grace began tell the elderly lady behind us what a big girl she was for helping mommy and continued to sweet talk her for a few more minutes (which of course the lady was eating with a spoon). But THEN...the lady inched up her buggy...didn't even REACH for the divider bar or THINK about placing items on the belt (which would have been acceptable, since I was already signing my check.) and my sweet little child went Jekyll and Hyde on the old lady.
"NO NO NO! STOP! It's not your TURN!" she wailed.
"Oh Lord," I prayed silently, "please tell me I bought dog food on this trip. I need an excuse for why I'm now ducked under the grocery cart."
The lady looked rather shocked. I can't say I blame her.
"GRACIE!" I hissed from my safe haven rack under the cart.
"Mommy! She's pushing her buggy and it's not her turn!" Really? The lady was like 70...I think it was her turn before either of us or WalMart even existed!
"Gracie! It IS her turn! Stop that!"
"Mom!" I think I forgot to mention that she stated to me the other day that she was too big to say Mommy. I told her if that was the case, then I was too little to fix her food, wash her clothes, etc.
Anyway, I made MUCH haste in finishing my transaction (the cashier turned her light off...I wonder, was it already break time, or did my child drive her to break time?) gave all appropriate looks of "gee I'm really embarrassed that my kid's being a turd. sorry about that!" and put the buggy in fifth gear.
Needless to say, the kid got the full name followed by many "unacceptables" on the way out the door.
I got all the groceries in the car and started to put her in the car seat when she reminded me that in our last aisle of shopping she had told me she needed to potty. I had forgotten during the fit. Now I'M the bad guy. She always wins.
.
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