Category Archives: Funny Stuff

The Internet is Magic + Valentines

Well. Clearly you guys possess some kind of magical powers, or somehow WordPress and Facebook are functioning as spiritual modulation amplifiers or SOMETHING, because the very morning after I posted the heartbreaking saga of how I was ruining my tween child’s every dream and hope of happiness, the very next morning I tell you, she walked up to me and said, “Mama? I have decided something. I will be ok with moving to Georgia, if – IF – you will set me up so I can Skype with Addie and Maya.” (You may recall that this was something I had already offered her as a sweetener. Several times. To no avail.) “Well, of COURSE we can do that, honey,” I said, waiting for the other shoe to drop. A smartphone? A pony? A magical flying rainbow unicorn? She must want more than this!!! “OK, then,” she said. “We can move.” And just like that, it would seem, we’re ok. 

I can now make references to the move without conjuring tears. Tonight we looked at houses and schools online to get a sense for what it might be like to live there. Eleanor reminds Sylvia that we’re moving whenever she thinks Sylvia has forgotten. We go outside and she says, “I sure will be glad when we don’t have SNOW anymore!” Be honest: did one of you switch my daughter with an amazingly lifelike replica? No? (Good, because if you’re going to switch her out I want the house-cleaning, non-smartass model, with available bartender/barista option.)

I can only attribute her change of heart to 1) pure tween cussedness, and 2) the incredible outpouring of love and support my post generated, here and on Facebook.  Social media can suck sometimes, making us feel inadequate or like we aren’t keeping up with the shiny happy lives we imagine our friends are living. But it can also be a real lifeline when you’re going through shitty times in your life, as I have personally witnessed on more than one occasion. If you’re reading this, know that you are part of my village, part of my family’s village, and you are for realz keeping us afloat. And that is a blessing, because my swimming skills are for shit.

OK, enough sappy stuff. Wanna see the AWESOME card Eleanor made me for Valentine’s Day? She really outdid herself this year. First, she drew this picture:

EllieValentine1That’s me in the lounge chair/swing, with Chad behind me either giving me the world’s worst back rub or possibly about to push my chair over? My two friends Greta and Amy are happily clinking wine glasses in the background, while my friend Jessy is kindly watching over all the collected children. (This is inaccurate. In real life, all the adults except Greta would be clinking wine glasses and Greta would be engaging the children in a lovingly handmade educational craft activity. Everyone should have a Greta in their lives.) A happy little scene, n’est ce pas? On the other side of the page, she wrote this glorious little note:

EllieValentine2It says (and I imagine this performed in a sort of school-girl public speaking singsong, for best effect) (all wonky punctuation and spelling reproduced from the original):

“Happy Valentine’s Mommy. I hope you have a great day today. I love you so much, and that’s what valentine’s are for. On the other side of this page, I Have drew a picture of all my freinds and all of your freinds. For I have loved you forever and nothing can break that bond between us. xxxxoooo love, your very speciel dauther, Eleanor R.”

I mean, come on. That’s a straight up kick-ass valentine. And it’s ALSO basically how I feel about you guys. Nothing can break that bond between us. Love, your very speciel freind, Elise R.

I’m actually surprised this hasn’t happened sooner

This last weekend, we’re all sitting in the girls’ room getting dressed in the morning, and the girls are doing their usual early-morning goofy thing making faces and noises at each other and laughing at the results. It’s pretty awesome, and at one point the Hatchling looks over at me, mid-laugh, and says, “That Sylvia is pretty damn funny!”

“WHAT did you just say?” I ask, unsuccessfully suppressing my giggles.

“That Sylvia is pretty damn funny, Mama!” responded the Hatchling, totally unaware that she might be saying anything at all inappropriate.

We decided just to ignore it. You know: Parenting for Cowards. And really – she IS pretty damn funny.

The Man I Love

Mr. Squab spent some quality time with the Hatchling this morning playing with her various and sundry stuffed animals and babies. The Hatchling is still at that sweet stage where all her play is about how much her animals love each other, and most of her time is spent posing them in hugs and snuggles, and making them give each other professions of undying friendship and bonds of eternal brother- or sisterhood. Which Mr. Squab totally went along with, except a) he made all her animals sound like Ron Burgundy, and b) when he was “talking” to the other animals, he gave all the dialogue a lewd undertone that was too subtle to be picked up by the three-year-old but just about made me pee my pants laughing. Sample:

Hatchling (as stuffed frog): Gimme a hug, bear.

Mr. Squab (as Ron Burgundy bear): Ooh, yeah! I looooove hugs. I never had me a REPTILE* before. (Makes bear do writhy dance.)

Hatchling (innocently): Oh, nice hugs!

Mr. Squab: Hey, Sheep, want a BEAR HUG???

Me (prostrate with laughter): Oh, god, that is so inappropriate on SO MANY LEVELS.

*Yes, apparently Mr. Squab thinks that frogs are reptiles. He’s a graphic designer, people, not a biologist!

Wednesday Video Upper

I have no idea why I’m laughing like Fran Drescher in this clip. Also, please note: the Sprout put the blanket over her own head to begin with. Peekaboo is her favorite game.


I realized the other day that the Hatchling’s awareness of standard fairy-tale tropes comes almost exclusively from the Shrek movies. Which, given the philosophical problems that I, as a post-millennial over-educated white feminist have with said tropes, is A-OK with me. Princess in need of rescuing? Fiona is a black belt in karate and does quite a bit of rescuing herself. Prince Charming? The Shrek version is a handsome, cultured, self-involved prat. All the Shrek movies nicely skewer the traditional folktales we grew up with, and if the humor is often sophomoric, well, certain members of our household consider that a bonus. Of course, I also grew up on and LOVE the traditional versions, philosophical problems notwithstanding. Which is all by way of saying: we watched Snow White* for the first time this week, and you know the scene where she cleans the dwarves’ cottage? You know, before they come home, so maybe they’ll let her stay? Because nothing makes this young girl happier than cooking and cleaning for a bunch of slovenly old men? Yeah … uh … so the Hatchling cleaned the entire living room during that scene. Like, picked up all her toys and put them away, picked up all the Sprout’s toys and put them away, and brought all the dirty dishes into the kitchen, all while singing a little song and doing a little dance. Just like Snow White.

FEMINIST QUANDARY, Y’ALL. I mean, fuck: the living room looked really nice!

*Which, can I just have a history geek-out moment here, because HOW COOL IS IT that I, in 2010, can sit on the sofa and watch the VERY FIRST EVER animated feature-length film with my daughters? I mean, that is cool! Sure, it looks dated, and yeah, the plot is totally dumbed down, but STILL. It was the very first of its kind, and I have it right in my living room. I dig that.

Kids Are Weird, Thursday edition

Recurring conversations we have had in our house of late:

During lunch (dinner, snack, breakfast, etc.) …

Hatchling: [BURP] Oh! Excuuse me! Tee hee! (She actually says “tee hee.” And covers her mouth coyly with her fingertips. My eyes could not roll any harder.) Mama, I said ‘excuse me!’

Me: Good job, honey.

Hatchling: [BUUURP] Oh! Excuuse me! Tee hee!

Me: (warningly) Honey …

Hatchling: (trying really hard to push another one out) [BEHHHP] OH! EXCUUUUSE ME! TEE HEE!

Me: Look, let’s not try to burp, ok?

Hatchling: But I say ‘excuse me,’ Mama! I have big burps!

Me: Yeah, it’s good to say excuse me, but don’t make yourself burp, ok? Just, uh, let them come out naturally. (Because that’s a phrase a three-year-old will get. Definitely.)

Hatchling: Okay, okay, OKAY, Mama. (Brief pause. Takes large, airy gulp of beverage.) [BUURRRPP] Oh! Excuuuse me! Tee hee! That was a big one, Mama!

Me: (slowly bangs head against table)


Before nap or bedtime …

Me: do you want to wear your socks to bed?

Hatchling: One sock. (sticks out foot)


Hatchling: Take-a off, Mama.

Me: You just want one sock off?

Hatchling: Yes. Take-a off DIS one.

Me: (takes off sock) Really?

Hatchling: Yes. There. ALL better.

While we’re at it, I’d also like a chalet in France

Recent conversation with the Hatchling:

The Hatchling: Mama, I want some CAKE.

Me: We don’t have any cake, honey.

The Hatchling: But I want SOME CAKE.

Me: Honey, you only want some cake because you just saw it on Sesame Street. And we don’t have any!

The Hatchling: But I NEEEEEED some CAKE! Can you get me some cake?

Me: Well, I need a million dollars. Can you get me a million dollars?

The Hatchling: TEN million dollars.

Me: Sure, that would be even better! Can you get me TEN million dollars?

The Hatchling (walking up to me, putting her hand on my shoulder, and looking at me solemnly): Now, Mama. Do you really think that’s a good idea?

Bedtime Stories

Last night. Bedtime. Had battled various bugs in the bedroom earlier in the day and Mr. Squab had to get rid of a spider on the ceiling right above the bed just before we got in. I have a bug phobia.

Me: Can I snuggle with you? (Mr. Squab lifts arm to make the snuggle niche available.) Ummmm … can you tell me a story?

Mr Squab: (rolls eyes) What are you, five? Why?

Me: I don’t want to dream about bugs!! I need some other images in my head!

Mr. Squab: (pause) Once upon a time there was a little boy named Harold who liked to poop in people’s yards …

Me: (snorting with suppressed laughter) What the hell kind of story is THAT? I don’t want to dream about poop, either!

Mr. Squab: You asked for a story.

Me: (pause; can’t help self) Well, what happened with Harold? Why did he poop in people’s yards?

Mr. Squab: If he liked you, he’d leave a log in your yard.

Me: But what did the neighbors say?

Mr. Squab: They didn’t say anything. (long pause)

Me: But … that’s not a story! What happened after THAT?

Mr. Squab: Harold died.

Me: Of what?

Mr. Squab: Constipation.

Me: (nearly helpless with laughter, as is Mr. Squab) Oh, my god. That is the worst story ever. There is something wrong with you.

Mr. Squab: Sweet dreams.

Funny. Gross, but Funny.

So the Hatchling is, for all intents and purposes, potty trained. Which: THANK GOD, because if I’d had to keep her home from preschool for still being in diapers, we both would have lost it. But I must say, it’s engendered some interesting conversations. For one thing, poop is now, like, the funniest word/concept/joke EVAR. Asked what her baby doll’s name was this morning, she responded “Poo-poo!” and laughed like a maniac. Oh, the hilarity.

And then there was this gem: she’d gone #2 in the downstairs porta-potty, so after we wiped and pulled up her underwear, I went to grab the potty so I could go upstairs and empty it in the toilet. The Hatchling, however, was not having any of it. SHE would carry the poop. Only SHE could do it. So, okay, we go to the stairs and I have several heart attacks as she precariously makes her way up, but she does it, and then she goes over to the toilet, dumps the poop in, leans over, looks down, and says, “THERE! Now you can swim!”

I don’t even want to KNOW the mental process, y’all. I don’t even want to know.

Preschoolers: adding surreality to every waking moment.

This morning, the Hatchling was playing with a friend in the friend’s backyard, which is dominated by a very large maple tree. “Oh, wookit,” said the Hatchling, gazing fondly up the enormous tree trunk. “Monsters.

“Wow, there are monsters in that tree?” I reply. “Cool. How many monsters are there?”

“Dey up inda TREE, mama. Wookit. Dere’s some bones, and dere’s some bodies, and dere’s some healthy snacks!”