Tag Archives: Those Conversations

Quote Me: The correlation between infant feeding behaviours and maternal mental capacity

Mother and Child

Breastfeeding. The most beautiful thing the world. Absolutely (once you and babe figure it out… but I digress). But it the things it does to your grey matter… To wit:

“Why can I not complete a coherent sentence?”

Jane, writing when Cinder was two months old

“I was working towards a salient, cohesive point here, but it’s just been sucked out through my nipples.”

Jane, writing when Flora was five months old

“I had a superbly well-articulated argument for what the real cause of this was and had to take a break to nurse tha’ baby and I think he sucked the idea out of my head.”

Jane, writing when Ender was six months old

Bernardino Luini - Nursing Madonna - WGA13767

And finally, she sums it all up:

“My brain is leaking out through my nipples.”

Jane, writing when Ender was nine months old

N.B. Ender is now officially a weanie. I need to start searching for new excuses…

Photos: Mother and Child by naturemandala; Bernardino Luini – Nursing Madonna.

More like this–I don’t write an awful lot about breastfeeding anymore, and I cringe a bit when I read what I used to write about breastfeeding, but Why Isn’t It Natural is still a pretty powerful post…

For funny nurslings-and-boobiesuckers stories, check out From the mouths of nurslings, The most important word and Nipple malaria.

For evidence-based information about “what’s normal” while breastfeeding and weaning and support, get thee to KellyMom or The Leaky Boob.

Quote This: “Do I Have a Booger In My Nose?”

The hands-down winner in the category of “Parenting Tip of The Week,” from When Crazy Meets Exhaustion:

Do I Have a Booger in My Nose? Asking this question works wonders when I need my kids to: look up while I rinse their hair (shampoo + little eyes = HUGE fiasco); look into the camera; lift their chin so I can wipe under it; and it’s even been known to squash sibling squabbles. They forget they’re mad at each other and just think I’m an idiot who can’t blow my nose. Whatever works.

The full post, which is a collection of “a list of (mostly helpful) parenting tips. Here’s hoping some of them work so you don’t think I’m a complete moron,” is here.

In keeping with the quote above, the winner in best picture trolling around on my social media feed:

As the creator of original content, I’m rather anal about giving credit where credit is due, but the best I can do in terms of tracking this back to its source is the Facebook page of one Trampus Egerton. Thanks!

And, let’s wrap up with a Quote of the Day from my House:

Cinder: Mom! Flora is being bossy to Ender!

Jane: I need you to focus on the big picture here, Cinder. Yes, Flora is being bossy to Ender. But the important thing is that Ender is not biting you in the butt.

Cinder: Or flushing tampons down the toilet?

Jane: Exactly.

Live. Laugh. Learn.

You’re the adult, Daddy

Child 1

This is a short and sweet one for all the dads out there who sometimes don’t want to be the adult.

November 28, 2005.

Cinder: You pick the book, Daddy.
Sean: I don’t want to pick the book. Why don’t you pick the book?
Cinder: You’re the adult, Daddy. You pick the book.

November 8, 2012.

Sean: Ready to read I Am Number Four?
Cinder: No. I want to read this.
Sean: I am so sick of reading Horrible Science!

(Now, if I was scripting this, the next line would be Sean saying, “I’m the adult. I get to pick the book.” But no.)

Photo (Child 1) by Tony Trần

I’ve filed my mega-beast of a story and and, because nature abhors a vacuum, I’m playing around in the blogosphere. I’m visiting the posts and blogs from the More Than Mommies Mixer. See you there?

MOST POPULAR POSTS

My current favourite: The Authoritative New Parents’ Guide to Sex After Children (of course)

Serious: When toddlers attack (surviving “That Hitting Things”) • Five is hard: can you attachment parent an older child •  The ultimate secret behind parenting: it’s evolution, baby

Funny: Floor peas • Mom? Have you noticed I’ve stopped…  • Poisonous Volvo

And, if you’re a homeschooling reader, you might want to check out our sister blog, Undogmatic Unschoolers.

Of boys and their toys

Ancient Egyptian goddess Isis, wife of Osiris....

I.

Jane: “…but Isis was such a powerful goddess, that she gathered up all the bits of her husband, and put him back together…”

Cinder: Except for his weenie, which got eaten by a fish.

Jane: Um… yes, actually, “…except for the dangly bits.”

Cinder: Does it really say that?

Jane: Yes.

Cinder: Ah, penis jokes. Never not funny.

Flora: I don’t get it. I don’t go around making vulva jokes all the time. And neither do my friends.

Cinder: That’s because you’re all girls. And it’s a well known fact girls are not funny.

Flora: Mom! Cinder’s being sexist!

Cinder: Okay, fine, girls can be funny. But it’s a well known fact that dangly bits are funnier than non-dangly bits. That’s just the way it is.

Ba-dum-bum.

II.

Cinder: I can’t wait to read more of Cleopatra and her Ass.

Jane: Asp! Cleopatra and Her Asp!

Cinder: I just love reading about Ancient Egypt. The ASS-yrians. The PARP-ians.

Jane: Parthians!

Cinder: Fartians. No matter how you pronounce it–hilarious.

Flora: Mom? Are all boys like this?

Jane: Like this? All boys? Well, not all boys…

Cinder: But most are. Isn’t it great?

Flora: Do they grow out of it as they become men?

Jane: Um, well, some do…

Cinder: And most don’t. Isn’t that great?

Flora: And suddenly, I think maybe getting married to a boy isn’t such a great idea.

Ah. Yeah. We’ve had a “If Flora ends up a lesbian, this is why” moment in the past (read about here). And here’s another one. It will be her brother’s fault.

III.

And just one more…

Jane: Ender, what the heck are you doing?

Ender: I protecting my penis so you don’t zip it!

Jane: Sweetie, I’d never–I never have!

Ender: You zipped Cinder!

Jane: Cinder! That was like eight years ago! Once! You told Ender?

Cinder: Hey, that sort of thing scars you forever.

Dangly bits. Funny. Yet vulnerable. Therein lies the humour, I guess?

Pharaoh, the king of ancient Egypt, is often d...

Want more?

There’s a vintage Cinder story on Unschooling Roman Numerals from earlier this week on our new Undogmatic Unschoolers blog you might enjoy as well.

Or do a search for anatomy talk.

Boys.

“There are no pee towels in the kitchen”

o1

Ender: Mama! I peed in the kitchen!

Jane: Just a second! I’m folding the laundry… I’ll be right there…

Ender: Mama! There are no pee towels in the kitchen!

Jane: I know! They’re all in the laundry! I’m folding them right now; I’ll be right down!

Ender: Mama! There are no good towels in the kitchen!

Jane: Folding laundry! Be right down!

Silence. Too much silence. Eerie silence. I grab a handful of unfolded pee towels and run down the stairs. And there is Ender. In the kitchen. Naked.

Jane: Why are you naked, Ender?

Ender: There is no pee towels. There is no good towels. But look–I took off my shirt, and I cleaned my pee up with it.

Problem solving, right? This is a good sign, right?

P.S. I hate laundry. Even when I’m on top of it and have a system that’s working… there’s just nothing fulfilling about it. And as I take Ender’s piddly shirt and pants and pound down the stairs into the basement to start another load going, I know precisely why.

P.S.2 Yes, I have a drawer of pee towels in the kitchen. What, you don’t?

Photo (Photo of the Week 44-2011 – Towel Day) by cheesy42

He’s so his mother’s son, part deux

English: M with Sponge Bob in Leipzig. Portugu...

I.

Jane: Oh-my-god-Cinder, have you been sneaking off and taking extra annoyance lessons or something?

Cinder: No. But I’ve been watching Sponge Bob again.

Jane: Well, that explains it.

Cinder: Or, it could be all-natural, courtesy of your genes. Hmmm. Probably the latter. Don’t you think?

II.

Jane: I’m going to go read the book now to Flora, you coming?

Cinder: What book is that?

Jane: You’ll love it. It’s called Butts and Asses of the World.

Cinder: Really?

Jane: Um…

Cinder: You’re the best mom in the world. Hey! This is The Mark of Athena!

Jane: You’ve been waiting for Mark of Athena since June.

Cinder: Well, yeah, but you got my hopes all up with that Butts and Asses book.

I’m so evil.

P.S. Rick Riordan’s The Mark of Athena! Finally!

Silver tetradrachm issued by the League of Ath...

If you’re as excited about The Mark of Athena as we are…

the next four journals

MOST POPULAR POSTS

My current personal favourite: The Authoritative New Parents’ Guide to Sex After Children (of course… what else.)

Serious: When toddlers attack (surviving “That Hitting Things”) • Searching for strategies for Sensitive Seven • Five is hard: can you attachment parent an older child • It’s not about balance: Creating your family’s harmony • 10 habits for a happy home from the house of chaos and permissiveness • The ultimate secret behind parenting: it’s evolution, baby

Funny: Floor peas • The rarest song of all • Sarcasm, lawn darts, and toilets  • What humanitarian really means  • The sacrifices mothers make for their children (Warning: grossness factor uber-high)  • It’s all about presentation  • Anatomy talk, now and forever  • Want to hear all the swear words I know?  • Of the apocalypse, euphemisms and (un)potty training  • Mom? Have you noticed I’ve stopped…  • Poisonous Volvo

“Mom? Were you cool when you were a teenager?”

(Post Number 200 on Nothing By The Book! Milestone! We’re celebrating it with a spin-off blog–more on that below.)

Jane: … And we’d come here late at night, and sit on those rocks, and look at the stars, and talk.

Flora: Cool… (Pause). Mom? Where you cool when you were a teenager?

Jane: Me? Geez–no. I was always, you know, kind of weird.

Flora: But isn’t weird cool?

Yup. But I think… I didn’t always know it back then. And I’m just so happy that you just know it, little munchkin.

Flora and I had this conversation just a few days after I had read Sarah Small’s wonderful post Are homeschooled kids weird, on Simplehomeschool.net. Pop over and read it yourself; but until you do, here’s the best bit:

Because 99.9% of kids (totally made-up statistic) are innately weird, creative, silly, funny, uninhibited, and terribly clever—if they are allowed to be.

 

AND NOW–AN ANNOUNCEMENT

And speaking of weird homeschooled kids–I’m splitting my blogging personality into two. Nothing By The Book will remain my primary blog, focused on Nothing By The Book parenting unadvice, stories from the trenches of family life, and “those conversations” from Cinder, Flora and Ender. I’m migrating the homeschool-specific stuff to Undogmatic Unschoolers, so that I can blather on enthusiastically about overt aspects of our unschooling adventure without boring or annoying those of my lovely NBTB readers who couldn’t care less (it’s okay not to care about homeschooling if you don’t homeschool. Really. My eyes glaze over when my best friends start to talk about PTA meetings, school fundraisers and homework. We don’t all have to be the same. That’s what rocks about being us). Those of you who are on a similar learning journey with me… well, I hope you come over and follow Undogmatic Unschoolers (look, another hyperlink, click now).

pause-08

Photo (pause-08) by Christopher Robbins

MOST POPULAR POSTS

My current favourite: The Authoritative New Parents’ Guide to Sex After Children (of course)

Serious: When toddlers attack (surviving “That Hitting Things”) • Searching for strategies for Sensitive Seven • Five is hard: can you attachment parent an older child • It’s not about balance: Creating your family’s harmony • 10 habits for a happy home from the house of chaos and permissiveness • The ultimate secret behind parenting: it’s evolution, baby

Funny: Floor peas • The rarest song of all • Sarcasm, lawn darts, and toilets  • What humanitarian really means  • The sacrifices mothers make for their children (Warning: grossness factor uber-high)  • It’s all about presentation  • Anatomy talk, now and forever  • Want to hear all the swear words I know?  • Of the apocalypse, euphemisms and (un)potty training  • Mom? Have you noticed I’ve stopped…  • Poisonous Volvo

Of boys, girls, oblivion, awareness and frustration; (or why women think men don’t understand them)

It goes like this:

I.

Flora: Sophia just can’t stand Cinder, she says. Remember that time we were all playing grounders, and Cinder kept tagging her out? She still remembers that, and she just hates him.

Cinder: Who’s Sophia?

II.

Flora: Tammy hates Cinder. She’s so mad about the time the boys stole our shoes–remember?–and buried them in the gravel. She’s sure Cinder took her boots. She just hates him.

Cinder: Who’s Tammy?

III.

Flora: I think Emily kind of likes Cinder. She says she doesn’t, but she’s always asking me what he’s doing and if he’s coming out and stuff. Yup, I think she likes him. What do you think of Emily, Cinder?

Cinder: Who’s Emily?

Meanwhile, Cinder’s not-quite-three-year-old brother has a different attitude:

IV.

Jane: For heaven’t sake, Ender! What are you doing?

Ender: I throwing gravel at that little girl. And I go push her over. Hee hee hee.

Jane: I know–I saw. Why? Why? Why would you do that?

Ender: Because she so pretty. (Pause) I do it again!

V.

Ender: We sit here, Mama. Come sit here.

Jane: OK, sure. Why are we sitting here?

Ender: So I look at that girl. See? She’s so pretty!

VI.

Jane: In the car, dude!

Ender: My friend Izzy! I go give her hug, ok? And kiss. And tell her she’s so pretty.

VII.

Ender: Where we going, Mama?

Jane: We’re going to see our friends Victoria and Elizabeth and Loch and Baby M…

Ender: Oh, I love Baby M. I hug her and kiss her, and wrestle her and hug her…

Jane: I know, dude. Go easy on the wrestling, okay? I don’t think she likes it.

Ender: Oh, she likes it. She so pretty. She loves me too.

And then, there’s this:

VIII.

Cinder: Mom? You know how Creeper and Paulo and all those guys keep on talking about girls and stuff now?

Jane: Um, yeah?

Cinder: Well, I’m not really into girls at all. But… I’m starting to think boobs are really cool.

Oh, boy.

Flora

MOST POPULAR POSTS

My current personal favourite: The Authoritative New Parents’ Guide to Sex After Children (of course… what else.)

Serious: When toddlers attack (surviving “That Hitting Things”) • Searching for strategies for Sensitive Seven • Five is hard: can you attachment parent an older child • It’s not about balance: Creating your family’s harmony • 10 habits for a happy home from the house of chaos and permissiveness • The ultimate secret behind parenting: it’s evolution, baby

Funny: Floor peas • The rarest song of all • Sarcasm, lawn darts, and toilets  • What humanitarian really means  • The sacrifices mothers make for their children (Warning: grossness factor uber-high)  • It’s all about presentation  • Anatomy talk, now and forever  • Want to hear all the swear words I know?  • Of the apocalypse, euphemisms and (un)potty training  • Mom? Have you noticed I’ve stopped…  • Poisonous Volvo

How you know he’s his mother’s son…

I.

Sean: Ugh, it’s time for this test tube full of Scope to go.

Jane: No! Not in the sink over the dishes! It’s got urine in it!

Sean: You let Cinder keep a test tube full of urine next to our wine glasses? For how long?

Jane: It’s not full of urine, it only has a little bit of urine in it–it’s mostly mouthwash. And isn’t the point here that I stopped you from pouring it over our dishes, which if you had done, would have had you rushing out to buy new dishes before our next meal?

Sean: You are so my son’s mother.

Yup. To that end, I offer more proof:

II.

Sean: Is this test tube in the sink the urine test tube?

Cinder: I don’t know. There are lot of test tubes in the house. Odds are good someone peed in one of them at some time.

Sean: Someone?

Cinder: Well, ,when I say someone, I mean me. But if it makes you feel better, I don’t remember peeing in any test tubes recently.

Ender: I do!

Sean: I want my own sterilized kitchen. And none of you can ever come in.

Well. This is why I didn’t tell him about The Floor Peas.

Line art representation of a Test tube

MOST POPULAR POSTS

Serious: When toddlers attack (surviving “That Hitting Things”) • Searching for strategies for Sensitive Seven • Five is hard: can you attachment parent an older child • It’s not about balance: Creating your family’s harmony • 10 habits for a happy home from the house of chaos and permissiveness • The ultimate secret behind parenting: it’s evolution, baby

Funny: Floor peas • The rarest song of all • Sarcasm, lawn darts, and toilets  • What humanitarian really means  • The sacrifices mothers make for their children (Warning: grossness factor uber-high)  • It’s all about presentation  • Anatomy talk, now and forever  • Want to hear all the swear words I know?  • Of the apocalypse, euphemisms and (un)potty training  • Mom? Have you noticed I’ve stopped…  • Poisonous Volvo

Ticklish warriors

Flora: I just don’t understand how I can be this awesome warrior and yet be so ticklish.

And what do you say to that?

English: Happy face

The great thing about being a crappy housekeeper…

I slop dinner on the table–noodles in colander, sauce in the pan it was cooked in, cheese on the grating board it was grated on. Flora spreads the plates. Cinder searches for forks. “Success!” he hollers. “I’ve got five. Although, really, Flora and Ender would be just as happy eating with their fingers.” To prove the point, Ender grabs two handfuls of green beans and stuffs them in his gob. I don’t so much sit down as collapse into the chair. Sean joins us. Looks at the table. At us. And says one of those things for which I love and adore him.

“You made us supper! With the Ender! Oh, thank you!”

“Thank you, Mommy, for wonderful food!” says Ender.

“Supper is brought to you by Cinder,” Cinder announces. “There is no way Mom could have made supper if I hadn’t had a bath with Ender. And I don’t know if you heard what he was doing to me in the bath, but I’m covered with scratches in places no one should ever touch.”

“Thank you, Cinder,” I say, wearily. This all is really funny. A part of me knows it. The rest of me is just too tired.

The assorted slop is well-received. Everyone munches.

“I sorry,” says Ender suddenly. We all look up at him. “I sorry,” he repeats. “Me sit on table.” And indeed, there he is, sitting on the table. I sigh. I suppose I should parent.

“Where should you be sitting, monkey?” I ask. Wearily. I be tired. Is been a long day…

“On chair,” says Ender. “Tee hee hee.”

“I think he’s sitting on the table so he can see what’s in his bowl,” says Sean. “You know, so he can spear the stuff he wants?”

“I’m just happy he’s not throwing it at me,” says Cinder.

“Me too,” I agree. “Let him sit on the table.”

“Can I sit on the table?” says Cinder, starting to levitate his bohunkus.

“No,” I don’t even think about it. I have standards. I do.

“Thank you for wonderful supper, Mommy!” Ender sings out. He knows he’s getting away with something. Gives me a beatific smile.

“And you put away all the laundry too,” enthuses Sean.

(The great think about being a really crappy housekeeper: the least effort on your part is appreciated in spades. Do your kids celebrate when they have clean pajamas in the drawers and clean cups in the cupboard? Mine do. Ha!)

“I did,” I say. I intercept Ender as he tries to stuff two noodles simultaneously into his nose. “Want to know why?” No one really wants to know why, that is clear, but they love me, so they will indulge me.

“I was in the bathroom.” Peeing. I have to pee, you know. And I like to do it alone. Sigh. But it has a price. It means I leave him alone. Just long enough… “And Ender opens the door and comes in. And says…

Mama? I find laundry basket on landing. I throw it down the stairs. Then I jump on it and pee on it. Are you angry?

And so… I folded and put away all the laundry.”

And this is how you know that I really am a crappy housekeeper, because Sean’s immediate reaction:

Um… was it my laundry? And did you fold  and put away the peed-on laundry without re-washing it?

You’ll never know, darling. You’ll never know.

Photo: Woman doing laundry in Chennai, India (Wikipedia)

English: Woman doing laundry in Chennai, India...

Why I blog

I.

Cinder, upon returning inside from a nerve gun fight:

Mom, I just shot Ender in the balls. Now, under normal circumstances, you’d probably be mad at me. But as he was peeing off the balcony at the time, you should just say, ‘Good job.’

II.

Meanwhile, apparently unharmed by the attempted nerf castration, Ender is hiding from me under the kitchen table.

You can’t see me.”

Sure I can. You’re right there.”

You can’t see me because I’m not wearing any pants.”

And that, in a nutshell, is why I blog.

Couch Full of Nerf Guns

Photo (Couch Full of Nerf Guns) by animakitty

MOST POPULAR POSTS

Serious: When toddlers attack (surviving “That Hitting Things”) • Searching for strategies for Sensitive Seven • Five is hard: can you attachment parent an older child • It’s not about balance: Creating your family’s harmony • 10 habits for a happy home from the house of chaos and permissiveness • The ultimate secret behind parenting: it’s evolution, baby

Funny: Floor peas • The rarest song of all • Sarcasm, lawn darts, and toilets  • What humanitarian really means  • The sacrifices mothers make for their children (Warning: grossness factor uber-high)  • It’s all about presentation  • Anatomy talk, now and forever  • Want to hear all the swear words I know?  • Of the apocalypse, euphemisms and (un)potty training  • Mom? Have you noticed I’ve stopped…  • Poisonous Volvo

Growing scientists, or, why it rocks when kids love dinosaurs

Ender discovered dinosaurs a few months ago, and unlike revisiting potty training for the third time (yuck), revisiting dino-mania for the third time just really, really rocks. Regular trips to the amazing Royal Tyrrell Museum of Paleontology in Drumheller are back on the family agenda. Our last trip had Cinder and Flora sharing a lot of “Remember when I was obsessed with dinosaur stories.” Here’s a few of my favourites, from when Cinder was six and Flora three-and-a-half.

On the couch, crawling out from under all the pillows and blankets:

Flora: Where am I?

Cinder: Congratulations! You made it through the mass-extinction!

Flora: But I don’t remember anything about it. Where are my mom and dad?

Cinder: Well, they’re all under the mud over there, see? They thought they were lucky because they survived the asteroid, but ah-ah―the mudslide got them.

Flora: So all my ancestors are dead?

Cinder: Everyone’s ancestors are dead. That’s what makes them ancestors. The important thing is you were born. And look, there are your cousins!

Flora: So some of my family survived!

Cinder: Don’t get comfortable yet―there may be more asteroids coming.

On the floor, playing with K’Nex:

Cinder: Here, Flora, build the Jeep so it can race with my dragster.

Flora: I don’t want to build a Jeep. (Flipping through instruction book.) Oooh! Look―a butterfly. It’s beautiful. Ooh! Stegosaurus. I’m going to make a stegosaurus.

Cinder: Make the Jeep, then we can race.

Flora: I want to make the stegosaurus, so he can play with me and be my friend.

Cinder: Why would you want to make a dinosaurs when you can make something with wheels? Look, see? It’s really cool.

Flora: I have an idea, Cinder―why don’t I make the stegosaurus, and you make two cars, and then my stegosaurus can watch you race? How about that?

Stegosaurus stenops, a stegosaur from the Late...

Back on the couch:

Flora: I forgot how I survived the mass extinction again.

Cinder: Stop asking that―I’ll tell you one more time. You were buried by some rocks during an earthquake. But you managed to crawl out. Now you have to search for food. It shouldn’t be too hard―because of the mass extinction, see?

From Life’s Archives, May 19, 2008, Mass Extinctions and Drag Races

The rarest song of all

I.

One day, we will remember why it is that we don’t go out for dinner much. But inevitably we forget, and we have a, “Hey, we haven’t been out for dinner as a family for weeks–months, actually. Shall we go?”-“Oh, yes, darling, what a great idea!” conversation. And about 10 minutes in, as one of us restrains Ender, while the other apologizes profusely to the waitstaff–or the poor unfortunates seated next to us–and Cinder and Flora clean up the mess, we swear–never again. We are never, ever going out with the toddler, ever, ever again.

(Do not, by the way, share your “Eating in restaurants with toddlers” tips with me. I don’t need them. I had two civilized, distractible, entertainable toddlers who were absolutely amazing in restaurants. Now I have Ender. This, incidentally, is karma, for every time I cast a superior glance at the mother with the freaking out toddler and wondered why she didn’t just bring books, crayons, and funky toys into the restaurant to amuse her child with.)

(The answer to that last query, if you’re eating out with Ender, is that there is no toy that cannot be turned into a projectile, with the right–er, wrong–motivation.)

Anyway–it happened again. We forgot, we were hungry, we went to the restaurant. I’ll spare you the theatrics (although if I could do justice to the spectacle of Ender standing on his head on his chair and then wiggling his butt left-and-right while making farting sounds, I would)–the end-tail of the meal featured Sean putting the Ender into a full-Nelson and manhandling him out of the restaurant while I ordered the desert promised to Cinder and Flora “to go” (sigh),  and Nana paid for the meal, clearly thinking we should be saving our money for therapy. While we wrapped up the meal (tip for dining out with Enders: leave huge tips. Huuuuuuggggggeeeee TTTTIIIIPPPPSSS), Sean occupied Ender in the parking lot of the restaurant. Which meant, of course, playing in the van. Or so I thought.

And you needed all of the preceding so that you could understand this:

Ender: Mama! You back! I peed in the van!

Jane: Oh, that’s great darling. We’re all here, let’s load up and…

Sean: That’s great? He tells you he peed in the van, and you say that’s great?

Jane: I thought he said he played in the van… Oh, Ender, you peed in the van? Where?

Ender: On the seat. Right here! Now I have no pants. You pack more pants for me?

Sean (moaning): Right on the seat. We are never, ever, ever going to sell this van.

(Mostly irrelevant aside: we’re trying to sell the van. Live in Calgary and want a 2009 Pontiac Montana? Have I got a deal for you! Freshly shampooed and everything!)

Ender: Never, ever, ever ever going to sell this van! Because! I! I! I! Peed! On! The! Seat!

II.

So we drive Nana home, scandalize her neighbours by having half-naked Ender prance down the street to her house, and spend a little time letting Ender vandalize her house while Cinder and Flora watch the last part of The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers on Nana’s nice big television screen. And then it’s time to go home–with the Ender partially panted this time, sporting a fashionable doo-hickey fashioned out of a swimsuit. Now, Ender’s not great in the car–that whole restrained-while-sitting-down-when-he’d-rather-be-climbing-on-the-roof thing just doesn’t go over very well–so we generally need to take turns entertaining him, singing with him, playing games with him, and otherwise trying to distract his attention from the fact that he’s strapped into the receptacle of torture (aka the car seat) and, once he kicks his shoes off, unable to pelt anyone with anything for the duration of the ride.

And the preceding (as well as the entire earlier vignette) is all a build-up just for this:

Ender: Can you sing me the P & C song, Mama?

Jane: What? I… I don’t think I know that song, Enderini.

Ender: Oh, it’s a very rare song. I sing it. I! Peed! In! The! Seat! I! Peed! In! The! Seat!

And that, ladies and gentlemen, why we love him beyond all pale of reason, despite everything.

Photo: Ender’s latest potty

2006-2009 Pontiac Montana SV6 photographed in ...

(I know there have been an awful lot of pee stories lately. I apologize. Tis the season, and soon it will pass, and I will never, ever have another potty story to inflict upon you.)

How toddlers share

Ender: Oooh, one more chocolate croissant, yum!

Jane: Oh, yeah, one more. Do you want to share it with Flora and Cinder?

Ender: No. I want to share it by myself.

Ta-dum.

chocolate croissant

The obvious correlation between crying over spilt coffee and potty training

Sean: Ender! Why did you spill Mama’s coffee?

Ender: I not spill coffee. I pour coffee out.

Sean: The question stands: Why? Why? Why?

Ender: I have to pee.

Sean: Of course. Let’s go.

Ender: No. I pee in coffee cup. That’s why I pour coffee out.

it's potty time!

Uh-oh…

Cinder Hey, Mom, know what I just realized? Creeper and I are finally getting to that age where we will be doing all sorts of nutty things and getting into trouble and stuff. Isn’t that great?

Jane: Not quite the adjective I’d go for. And I think you’re a couple of years short of “that age,” myself.

Cinder: But isn’t it great that we’ll each have a buddy to watch our backs as we do the nutty stuff?

Great.

Busy Buddies (film)

A handful of those conversations

I.

Ender: Mama-mama-mama! I peed-peed-peed on the floo-ooor!

Jane: Oh, Ender, I’m going to cry. Why? Again?

Ender: Oh, don’t cry my-mama-mama. I love you! And pee easy to clean up. Not like poopie bum.

II.

Cinder: Mom, [X] needs a secret name for the blog for when you write about him and me. Hey, dude, what do you want your name to be?

[X]: Umm… Farty McFarty.

(This is how you know [X] is a nine-year-old boy.)

Jane: Seriously, you want me to call you Farty McFarty?

(I’m rethinking the strategy of letting the kids pick their own aliases. Flora is pushing Emerald for one of her friends. “Um… how about Emma? Or Emmy?” I counter-offer. No. Emerald or nothing. Fortunately, “Emerald” doesn’t figure in most of my stories. She doesn’t talk much… And if I have to call her Emerald, she won’t ever say anything memorable. It just won’t happen. I try to explain this to Flora. Meanwhile, in the far back seat of the van:)

[X]: What’re you called?

Cinder: Cinder.

[X]: Huh. That’s cool. Cinder. Hmmm. OK, I know. I’ll be Creeper.

Cinder: Yes! Cinder and Creeper! Those are epic!

Epic.

III.

Sean: Jesus, Ender, what are you doing with Mommy’s razor?

Ender: Shaving the whales.

I could explain… but I think you’ll have more fun trying to guess the context.

Shave the Whales

IV.

Why we can’t ever give strangers’ rides in our van:

Cinder: I have a weenie. I have a weenie. Oooh-oooh-oooh, I have a weenie…

Sean: Cinder, I’m very easily annoyed today, and that song is beyond annoying me right now. You have to stop.

Cinder: Just one more time?

Sean: Fine. Just one more time. And then–silence.

Cinder:  I have a weenie. I have a weenie. Oooh-oooh-oooh, I have a weenie… tooooo-niiiiiiiteeeee…

Ender (waking up from a nap and immediately bursting into): I have a weenie. I have a weenie. Oooh-oooh-oooh, I have a weenie… tooooo-niiiiiiiteeeee…

Cinder and Ender in tandem: I have a weenie. I have a weenie. Oooh-oooh-oooh, I have a weenie… tooooo-niiiiiiiteeeee…

Sean: Wow, did Ender ever just save you.

Flora: Why is cute when Ender does it and just obnoxious when Cinder does it?

Jane: Evolutionary survival mechanism.

Flora: What?

Cinder: She means toddlers have to be cute no matter what they do so their parents don’t kill them. One more time, Ender?

Ender: I have a weenie…

V.

No place is safe. Not even Ikea.

Cinder: Hey, Mom? What do you get when you take the “I” out of “AS IS”?

Jane: What do you get when you take the I… Cinder!

Cinder: Aren’t you going to say it?

Jane: No.

Cinder: But the whole purpose of me reading that sign and telling you I could read it was so that you would say “ASS” really loud in a public place. All that reading, for nothing.

Jane: You read four bloody letters.

Cinder: Just say it. Or would you rather I said it, in my loudest voice ever?

What would you do?

When weird unsocialized homeschoolers go to summer camp…

Jane: So, baby, report. How was it?

Flora: Well, it was ok. There were some good parts.

Uh-oh. We’re talking about dance camp, which she’s been looking forward to passionately. She loved drama camp. Cried when horse camp was over. “It was ok” for what she was expecting to be “the best camp ever” is a lukewarm review. What’s up?

Flora: But the teacher’s kind of mean.

Aha. My blood boils. A mean teacher. I’m ready to rise up and do battle on behalf of my little girl right now! But first, a little due diligence:

Jane: What did she do?

Flora: Well… like, she said we could only go to the bathroom on break. At 10:15, and at lunch, and at 2:30. And I was like, but how does a clock tell you it’s time to go to the bathroom? Shouldn’t your bladder tell you to go to bathroom? And what if you have to go pee at 10:45? Do you pee your leotard?

Um…

Flora: So another girl asked, what if we really have to go in-between breaks. And the teacher said, we have to raise our hand and ask permission. In front of everyone! How humiliating is that? I don’t want to whole class to know I have to pee or poop! Shouldn’t that be private?

Jane: Well, yeah,  but…

Flora: Anyway, I’ve got a plan. I’m going to pee right before I leave home, and then I’m not going to drink anything all day, and I should be okay until the end of camp. Cause that rule sucks.

Oh, my Flora.

Dancer

(The post title is a nod to the blog Weird Unsocialized Homeschoolers (first prize for “Best Name for Homeschooling Blog Ever,” right?), which I like to visit once in a while although blogger Kris’ life and learning approach is quite different from mine. But it’s good to “hang out,” virtually and in real life, with people who challenge your assumptions and make you stretch your horizons, right?)

World War II explained, by seven-year-old

or, why I’m a terrible history teacher…

Flora: OK, I think I finally get why you don’t think the Nazis are ever funny.

Jane: Good.

Flora: There’s just one problem.

Jane: What?

Flora: It’s the name. Nazi, Nazi, Nazi. Rhymes with Patsy… and Klutzy… and… Batzi… it’s just a really funny word. Why did they pick such a funny word for their organization of evil?

Jane: It’s short for National Socialists.

Flora: Well that’s just utterly ridiculous. OK, National, whatever, but socialists? They so clearly weren’t properly socialized. I mean, if they were, they wouldn’t just go around killing people. And I bet that they never even said hello or anything before killing people. They just killed them. Socialists. Ha.

Jane: (Speechless.)

Cinder: Would it make it better, Flora, if they said hello before they killed people?

Flora: I guess not. Nothing would make it better. Not even if they offered cookies.

Cinder: Especially if they were poisoned cookies.

Help.

English: Plateful of Christmas Cookies