Category Archives: Cute Kid Quotes

A Farewell to Foggy

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The boys and I had been planning a trip to the zoo today, with my mom, for the past week.  It would be our last zoo trip of the summer, and so Jake was especially excited to see his favourite animal, Foggy the hippo.  When I say “favourite animal”, I mean that Jake felt that he had a special bond with Foggy, and that Foggy communicated to him via telepathic signals, ear wiggling, and honking.  Every time we visited Foggy, the hippo would inevitably wiggle his ears and honk, and Jake was convinced that it was for his benefit alone.  Some of the things Foggy would say to Jake via these messages and the telepathic communications were “Hello, friend!” and “I love you, Jake!” and “You’re my favourite person!”.  I did nothing to discourage this; after all, Jake is someone does not believe in the Tooth Fairy or Santa Claus, and so believing that he was special to this hippo, the oldest zoo resident and also one of the oldest hippos in the world was magical indeed. 

Then yesterday, we heard the news that Foggy died.

Jake and Foggy, 2010

Jake and Foggy, 2012

You might think that the loss of a zoo animal, especially one who would be 47 in a few weeks – just two days after Jake’s own seventh birthday – would not be a huge deal.  But it really was.  I heard the news and then, thinking about our zoo trip, went to prepare Jake.

The Five Stages of Grief

Denial.  After telling Jake, he seemed unaffected at first.  He said he still wanted to visit the hippo enclosure.  It wasn’t until he saw the story on the six o’clock news that he seemed to think it was real.

Anger.  On the news, they explained that due to health complications stemming from his very advanced age (most hippos in captivity live to their mid-thirties, in the wild their lifespan is much shorter) Foggy had to be euthanized.  Have you ever tried to explain euthanasia to a child?  It didn’t go well.  “THEY KILLED FOGGY!” he yelled, punching the couch.

Bargaining.  After discovering that Foggy had fathered seven offspring, Jake felt that one of them should be brought to the zoo, at all costs.

Depression.  Predictably, around bedtime, Jake completely broke down.  “I just can’t stop being sad,” he sobbed.  “It’s okay, honey,” I said, “You can be sad as long as you want.”  The zoo trip started out all right this morning: Jake and Mark were happy showing their grandma the penguin display, the dinosaur park, and the Canadian Wilds.  Then we went to the hippo enclosure.  Jake refused to look at Sparky, the remaining hippo, and on leaving the enclosure he said that he didn’t care what animals we saw next, because no animal would ever wiggle their ears at Jake again.  He was fairly listless though the other displays, he brightened only a little when Grandma bought some soft-serve, and he was heartbreakingly uninterested in the three adorable tiger cubs we saw frolicking and playing with the mama tiger.  We watched the tigers and pointed out the cuteness while Jake looked at the ground, sadly.  “Can’t you SEE them, Jake?” my mom and I asked.  “I can see them.” he said flatly.

 
 



Acceptance.  After the tiger display, we went to the gift shop – not something we normally do on a zoo trip, but then, this was not a normal zoo trip.  Also, we had Grandma with us, and we all know how that goes (Grandma may or may not be a soft touch).

Not to be materialistic here, but the acquisition of not one but two hippos really turned things around.  Jake said “I will always remember Foggy in my heart, and now I can snuggle my own Foggy whenever I want!”

69 Days of Summer Vacation; Mark and Jake Are Going To Do It All!

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I was going to do a “Wordless Wednesday” and just post this picture of my kids on their last day of Grade One and Two:
But there is a reason I don’t do Wordless Wednesdays, and that is because I am much, much too wordy.  I want to tell you all about the last day of school and how I held my friend’s four week old baby boy today, and he was all curled up like a little bean on my shoulder and he fell asleep, and now my boys are all huge (see above picture for relative hugeness) and pretending to be hip-hop artists, apparently, and how sad I am that their favourite teacher is leaving the school and so Jake won’t be in her class next year, and how she whispered “I love you, Jake” when we were leaving, and how she described Jake as blossoming from a shy little boy in September to one of the leaders and role models of the class, and how happy she was to have Mark in her class for two years, and how she described Mark as having a huge love of learning, and how I came home and while thinking about fleeting time I missed a step going up the stairs and slammed my bare foot on the edge of the step and now it’s all swollen and bruised and how I’ve been home for two hours and still haven’t accomplished any of the tasks I set out to do, and how I’m wondering if a beer would solve these problems.
It might.
So I’m not going to think about my empty nest eleven years hence, but instead I am going to relate snippets of life around me over the past couple of weeks.
Overheard at the mall:
Girl #1: I think I’m going to stop dyeing my hair.  The roots are coming in too light.
Girl #2: What’s your natural colour, anyway?
Girl #1: Like, ash blonde?
Girl #2: WHAT DID YOU SAY?
Girl #1: Ash blonde?
Girl #2: Oh my god.  Ash blonde?  Your natural colour is ASH BLONDE?  Why in the world would you EVER colour ASH BLONDE?
Girl #1: I didn’t think it was that exciting.
Seen while driving: a billboard proclaiming “Look your Stampede best!  With BOTOX.”

Conversation between the kids, after watching Empire Strikes Back:
Mark: Mom, I thought you said that Princess Leia and Han Solo were in love.
Me: Yes.
Mark: They totally do not seem like they are in love.  They just bug each other all the time.
Jake: Mark!  That means they are going to get married.  Sometimes your wife is just a pain in the butt all the time!
Me: Jake!  Why would you say that.
Jake: No, Mom, it’s true!  That’s what being married IS. 
Me: I’m not a pain in the butt to your dad.
Jake: I didn’t mean you, Mom.  Sometimes it’s Dad who is the pain in the butt.
Conversation at my dinner table:
Husband: You look really nice today.
Me: Thanks.
Husband: No, I mean it.  You look great.  That shirt is great.  You should wear it more often.
Me: Thanks!
Husband: It’s so nice to see you in something colourful.
Me: This shirt is navy.
Husband: Yes, but it’s not black.

Slow Boat to Nowhere

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The kitchen renovation was slated to begin at 11:00 this morning.  Yesterday, I frantically cleaned out all the bottom cupboards and removed things from the countertops, pausing only to wonder when I bought Gorilla Munch, as its best before date was over a year ago.  All items are now in big Rubbermaid containers and/or on my table and/or under my coffee table.  I was ready to go!  And…now it’s 11:30.  I received information that they will start this afternoon, which is fine, that makes the lunch rush much less awkward, but I feel a little lost.

In order to assuage my lost little girl feelings, I decided it was time for a field trip to the garden centre.  Stocking up on plants prior to the long weekend seemed like a good idea, although I certainly will not actually plant them yet as it is supposed to snow.  Good times, YYC.  Good times.  I had full intentions of only buying a few plants for my containers, but ended up with a cart that looked like this:

I was powerless to stop myself.  Right now they are all on the deck, just waiting to be covered up before the snow flies. 

I just credit myself for not purchasing one of the many beautiful bird houses on display.  I almost put a very lovely one in my cart, but then I remembered: my dog likes to kill birds!  Wheee!  Perhaps a bird house would be ill-advised.

Speaking of my murderous dog, I almost had an experience that would strain neighbour relations in a significant way.  These neighbours, a few doors down, have very pampered indoor cats, one of whom likes to escape a lot.  I was working downstairs and came up to fill my coffee cup for the fourth time when I noticed the cat – whose name is, and I am not making this up, Beeps – in the backyard.  Barkley was also in the backyard.  I bolted for the door, just in time as Barkley took the opportunity to pounce.  He was mere centimetres away from the not-so-bright cat, when I called and collared him.  As I shuffled him into the house, I noticed my neighbour, standing on the other side of the fence, looking completely unfazed.  “That was a bit close,” I said to her.  “Oh, no.” she smiled at me vacantly.  “They were just playing.  They’re friends!” 

Now, I am the first to admit I don’t know much about cats.  However.  I am aware of the saying “fighting like cats and dogs” and also I am aware that the cat is much, much smaller than my dog and is declawed.  If I have to bring a cat corpse over to my neighbour’s house one day, I am not going to be happy on a number of levels.  My friend suggested that should there be a cat corpse in my backyard, perhaps it should be BURIED in my backyard, in order to keep neighbourly relations.  Not a bad plan, although it makes me feel a little bit like I would be starring in a less-interesting version of Rear Window.

Perhaps I should have purchased one of these at the garden centre:

Animatronic owls! 

I just got off the phone with the plumber.  I am going to be without a working sink until FRIDAY.  Friday of the long weekend.  Anxiety is looming.  It feels like SO MUCH could go wrong.

I will take my mind off this.  Cute kid anecdote: my kids were playing Star Wars before school this morning, and the characters they were portraying were Anakin (Mark) and Luke (Jake).  Now, Anakin DID chop off Luke’s hand, but it was by accident and it was to save him because he was trapped.  Luke forgave him.  Then they went to Planet Hoth to go snowboarding!  Good times in Utopian Star Wars.

I felt I had to share this cute anecdote as I have been talking so much about my dog lately that I was starting to feel that I was portraying myself as a crazy dog lady.  Which…I might be.  Dammit.  I should have bought that owl.

The fashion police are coming.

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“Hey Mom!” Jake said, out of nowhere, “I’m sexy and I know it!”

I never quite know how to respond to such inappropriate statements. It’s like when two-year-old Mark told my mother that he had no money, so he couldn’t get no ho’s. Or when Jake informed my mother, in one afternoon, that a) he wasn’t going to be a chump, he was going to get a prenup, and b) “penis” was another word for “dink”. My poor mother. One would think that the solution to this problem would be for me to stop listening to such inappropriate music. Alas.

 


Also, have you actually listened to “I’m Sexy and I Know It”? It is one of the funniest songs I have ever heard. I mean really: “I work out!  I work out!”  I have no idea if this was meant to be ironic or not, but I kind of love it.



Speaking of being sexy and knowing it, I received my O Magazine the other day – do NOT judge me, we all have our vices – and there is a whole section on how to wear the new trends in denim.  Now, I have recently adopted jeggings as part of my wardrobe, which I had previously decried as a plague upon society, so I will tread lightly here.  Still, the first trend described was – wait for it – coloured denim.  Adam Glassman, I am deeply disappointed in you.  COLOURED DENIM.  The question posed was “What do I wear with the new pastel jeans?”  Here’s my answer: not applicable, since seafoam jeans are a travesty.  Some of you might raise your eyebrows in a what does she know, she lives in black and throws in charcoal for colour, but seriously.  It is not a good idea to don lilac and/or seafoam and/or peach pants of any fabric, unless you are in a retirement home and you are coordinating those with floral nylon blouses and plastic jewellery of the same colour family.  I may be biased, but I’m only trying to save others from the fate that I suffered in the early nineties, when I wore purple and/or forest green jeans to the bar, along with a black bodysuit – remember bodysuits? – and my spiral permed hair. 

Adam then goes on to recommend ways to wear coated jeans, which, for those of you not in the know, as I was prior to reading this magazine, coated jeans are a substitute for leather pants. 

Sorry, I needed to take a break for a minute, just from typing the words “leather pants”.  I don’t want to get into any rock star/ I am the Lizard King kind of discussion.  Let’s just agree that putting tight, super-shiny materials on your thighs is not a good idea, not if wearing flattering clothing is of importance.  We should have all learned this lesson in the eighties.  And even if you can pull off wearing leather pants, the question is, should you?  I mean, if you are lucky enough to be in the 1%, it is guaranteed that something else would look much better.  Just say no to leather pants or, apparently, coated jeans. 

This is not the first time I have been disappointed by Adam Glassman, nor, likely, will it be the last.  Remember a few years ago when he announced that the majority of shorts for women were hideous and unflattering and wearing them was akin to fashion suicide?  I privately agreed with this sentiment, but later he bowed under intense pressure from Oprah’s shorts-loving fans and amended his statement.  STICK WITH IT, ADAM, I thought.  I realize this is contrary to my hypocritical adoption of jeggings, but still.  Most shorts for women are hideous and unflattering.  It’s about time we realize this and demand better looking shorts for all women.  Power to the people!

All of which is to say: just say no.  Say no to coloured denim.  Say no to leather or leather-look pants.  And for the love of fashion, just say no to mix-and-match denim.

My 400th Post!

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This is my 400th post!  Four hundred posts!  I certainly have had a LOT to say.  Maybe I should start writing something meaningful, like those people who spout nothing but inspirational sayings.  After all, the other day I was having a cup of Yogi brand tea, and on the teabag it said “The only tool you need is kindness.”  I thought this was beautiful, somewhat flawed, and also Ha!  You said Tool!  So maybe I have not evolved enough to the point where I will be writing and/or quoting inspirational sayings.  Although, here is a lovely quote from the painter Bob Ross:


“Just a little bush, and here’s another one. This one hangs right over the edge of the cabin. He’s watching everything … make up little stories about the plants and think about the little creatures that would live in here. There’s probably all kinds of little squirrels and rabbits and just a multitude of things that you may never see, but they’re here. They’re here …”
Again, maybe I’ll just stick with my regular programming.
Here we are in November, with the excitement of Halloween behind us.  The kids went out trick-or-treating with their dad, and came back with an enormous haul of candy.  Do you have rules about candy consumption?  When it comes to Halloween, what works for us is the tried-and-true rule that there are no rules, also known as gluttony is self-regulating.  I essentially let my kids go to town on their candy and I find that within a couple of days they are not interested in it.  The problem is, we often have Halloween candy last us until Easter.  I am going to follow in the footsteps of some of my friends and freeze the little chocolate bars and/or chop them up for baking.  I also encourage the spirit of giving and sharing with others, which is how my friend ended up with those horrid little toffees that only she likes.  “Are these the gross candies she likes?” Mark said, holding up the orange and black wrapped toffees.  “Let’s put them in a special pile!” Jake encouraged him.  Also on the way out: Cheezies for their grandpa and for a friend with Celiac, plain potato chips for their teacher, and Wunderbars for their dad.
Check out our spooky decorations!  They managed to lure in eleven trick-or-treaters, which is high for our street. 
Jake with his booty.  Am I the only one who kind of dislikes when the kids get miniature Play-Doh?  Also, notice that Jake got Old Dutch Salt and Vinegar chips and I DID NOT steal them.  I think I deserve a reward.  He also got one of these: 

It’s a hard-core Christian tract!  Hey, I don’t have a problem if someone has a good relationship with old JC, but I WAS a little startled to find this in the candy bag.  Also I am dying of curiosity as to which neighbour was handing these out. 
I was at my parents’ house on the weekend and made off with some old pictures, notably of me in Halloween costumes.  Here is me at age six dressed as a gypsy:
Check out the crock pot and mug tree in the background!  Not to mention the dark brown fridge.  Remember the days of making costumes out of household items and ending up as a gypsy or, in the case of my husband, a hobo?  The days of dressing up festively as itinerant fortune tellers and/or the homeless are gone, I guess.  Gone with the days of having ceramic frogs to hold SOS pads.
This is the first year I have ever purchased a costume for my children.  Normally, my mother – who is handy with the needle, whereas I am decidedly NOT – makes them, but I felt kind of sorry for her with Jake’s request to be Spider Monkey from Ben 10, and so I bought them.  It felt a bit like the end of an era.  
Here are the boys trick-or-treating together for the very first time.  They are one and two years old.  CUTE. 
How was your Halloween? 

And now we are six

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“This is the greatest day of my life!” Jake said this morning.  “I got Finn McMissile toys and I learned how to button up my pants!”  He stood on one foot for a minute and added thoughtfully,  “I don’t really feel older though.  I could still stand like this when I was just five.”



Don’t it make my brown eyes bluuuuueeee.

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So I’ve been blue, due to a number of factors, the most pressing being disappointment over not being offered a writing contract that I had my heart set on.  I’ve been in mourning about it, wallowing and eating all manner of bad things, and reading my most favourite comfort book, Diary of a Provincial Lady.  That book never fails to cheer me up.  It’s like chocolate cake and macaroni and cheese for the mind.  It is possibly the wittiest book ever written, and contains such gems as:

Move about after dinner, and meet acquaintance whose name I have forgotten, but connect with literature.  I ask if he has published anything lately.  He says that his work is not, and never can be, for publication.  Thought passes through my mind to the effect that this attitude might with advantage be adopted by many others.

Right?  Mark said “I’m sorry you’re sad you can’t write for those people.  But you can still write at home!  On your computer!”  True. 

Do you have a comfort book?  I once dated a guy who had a comfort movie.  Whenever he was feeling ill or down, he would watch Rudy.  The thought of it makes me snicker, and not in the kindest way.  Remember the scene – if you ever had the misfortune to watch said film – when all the players brought their jerseys to the coach.  “It’s for Rudy, Coach.” 

It just occurred to me: maybe I’m like Rudy.  I do have a lot of heart.  That’s depressing.

It also occurs to me that perhaps I just need an excuse, at this time of year, to have an emotional breakdown.  Remember last year?  When I had a complete breakdown at the fact that my printer wasn’t working and ended up sobbing, on the phone for hours with the Dell representative who kept speaking in soothing tones and asking if maybe I should get myself a drink of water and not to worry, he was going to to take care of everything?  I’m a mental case.

Not helping matters is the fact that we are all a tiny bit sick.  Nothing full blown, nothing major, but the boys both woke up Friday morning with slight runny noses.  Two things: a) that was fast, normally the first cold of the year occurs within the second week of school, not the second day, and b) five years old is NOT too young for a man-cold.  Jake became completely indignant that he was going to go to school, despite a tiny sniffle and slightly watery eyes.  “I can’t BELIEVE this,” he said, “This is the SECOND TIME I’ve gone to school like this!”  I related this amusing anecdote to my husband but ended up having to explain the concept of the man-cold to him, which was somewhat awkward.  I tried to make the explanation as general as possible.

And how was the first day of school?  It was excellent.  Both boys are, as anticipated, in the same class at school.  The benefits of this arrangement far outweigh the negatives, not the least of which is that I don’t have to be room parent for two separate classrooms and, with any luck, I will only receive ONE copy of all the notices that come home from school.  Also the boys are ecstatic to be together, and their teacher is fabulous, one in a million.

On the way home from dropping the boys at school, I saw a woman with a very small boy, standing on the sidewalk watching a wood chipper at work.  That brought me back, intensely.  I don’t know how many hours I spent watching various large machinery at work, boys in tow.  I don’t know how many times I would take them outside to watch the garbage truck pick up the trash, or watch sidewalk repairs, or to the nearby construction site where a large office building was being built.  “Diggies!  Diggies!  Happy!  Happy!” one-year-old Jake would say from the stroller, clapping his hands.  A gas station in our neighbourhood was demolished, and believe me, I spent days watching the machinery tear down the buildings and dig out the contaminated soil.  It got so that the crew would wave when they saw the three of us walking up the street.  My jeans would be caked with mud from carrying Jake, his muddy rubber boots bumping against my thighs.  I would be tired, so tired, but would stand there with my fascinated boys, daydreaming about other things.  And now we’re in a whole new chapter.

  

“What grade are you guys in?”