I live in my house with little individuals. I used to say little monsters, but that was unfair to them they pointed out. (I still whisper it sometimes when they aren’t in earshot, but they always seem to hear me!)
But these little
monsters individuals that Ron and I created are at that age where they are actually becoming little grown-up people. They can make their own breakfasts, shower themselves (and get clean), fold/hang and put away their own laundry (yay for me!), and make a whole tableful of people laugh so hard they choke!
See it’s mainly my daughter who has the gift of one-liners. She’s so good with a zinger that I can’t wait until she’s old enough to come up with the one-liners for my books.
Case in point, this morning Ron was running late for a web-ex, thus pushing back their coffee date to this afternoon. I had the unfortunate task of telling her the bad news. She turns to me with kind of crabby face only a six-year-old can pull off while still looking adorable and says, “You just ruined my date with daddy!”
Oh and my son, who has anxiety and lots of it, decided the night before the last day of school that he wanted his hair purple for the last day of school. About halfway through the dying process, he starts to panic. Yup, half his head is purple. And not a cool half like trying to do a purple mohawk kind of way… like the right half of his head is purple while the rest is still dirty blond. Yeah, parenting
win fail. (In case you are wondering, we did get his whole head done… see the evidence provided…)
Oh, yeah, the girl is upstairs brushing her teeth right this minute after eating lunch and hollering at me, “MOM! I’m brushing my teeth!” Okay, I’m as happy as any mom when a kid brushes their teeth without me telling them to, but my curiosity got the best of me, so I asked “Why?” One harmless little question. Not with this kid. “Because I have a date with Daddy today. And I want to smell good for my date with Daddy. You know, I can’t talk about this all day, right? About my date with DADDY!”
Mmmhhmmm. Rub it in kid. The last date I had with daddy, we spent an entire dinner conversation talking about you and your brother, then didn’t want to go home before you
monsters darling children were asleep, so we drove around aimlessly listening to music in the car for over an hour. RUB IT IN! And for those of you wondering if a romance writer can really have that lame of a date with her leading man, the sad but true answer is yes. But, the flip side of that evening was, we laughed like teenagers who were late for curfew. It was awesome. Probably because we used to do that kind of thing when we first started dating. Driving around with nothing to do, just listening (me singing along to) music just having fun and being late for curfew.
Oh and how about the time I had read a blog earlier this week (by single dad laughing) about boys and farts being a bonding experience. In the blog the author mentions women possibly not understanding the bond created with flatulence. I mentioned to the little (girly) stinker sitting across the table from me with the big brown eyes, that a boy wrote an article saying that girls might not understand how funny farting can be. To which she laughed, squeezed one out and said, “I’m queen of the toots!” Yup, girls get fart humor too.
Oh, and the conversation at lunch today between my two kids…
Boy: I want to go to Raleigh.
Me: You used to live in Raleigh.
Girl: Did I?
Me: For about a month and a half.
Girl: Then we died? Right?
Boy: Al, when you die, you’re dead… unless you have a life potion.
Girl: (thoughtful introspection for less than a millisecond) If there’s ever zombies trying to chase us, I’ll run back and throw Grandma into a wheelchair and run with her in the chair so the zombies don’t get her because you know she’s too slow and zombies might want to eat her brain. (finally taking a breath) Yeah, zombies really like brains.
Grandma: At least she wasn’t going to feed me to the zombies.
Yeah, this time she wasn’t going to. With that little monster, ahem sweetheart, you just never know. Although, she’s decided she wants to be a witch. Why you ask? Because in my hierarchy of paranormal beings, werewolves beat vampires, vampires beat zombies, and witches beat werewolves. So, she wants to be a witch. That toots. Maybe that’s how she flies… hmm, I feel a kid’s book coming on.
“I’m brushing my hair, Mommy! Because I want to look pretty for my date with Daddy…”
Just got that memo. Just now. As I’m typing. Why? Because it’s summer break and the kids can find me anywhere!!
Ahhh! the boy just rushed in to sniff his blanket. I kid you not. He has a sniffing compulsion with his favorite baby blanket. It’s practically in tatters so he can’t have it regularly, but I keep it handy for when his anxiety overwhelms him. Or for when he needs a hit. Of his blankey. That smells kinda like maple syrup no matter how often I wash it. Yeah. I guess that’s better than street drugs though, so I’m chalking that one up as a parenting win. I take ’em where I can get ’em.
Okay, I’m off to be productive. If you don’t hear from me soon, send a search party because the chance is good that the little
monsters lovlies killed me and didn’t have a life potion to bring me back.