Category Archives: Cute Kid Quotes

Where the hell is my invincible summer?

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“Mom!  It’s going to be hot outside!” Jake shrieked from the living room this morning, where the seven-day weather forecast was being shown on the “news”.  “Look!  It says it’s going to be sunny!”  I had to explain the difference between sunny and actual heat, but the conversation didn’t really take and I have to admit that my children are dyed-in-the-wool Calgarians and will one day be possibly jogging in shorts in sub-zero temperatures.  But it’s sunny!  So what if my legs are purple and my knees are shot?  The SUN IS SHINING!
I will admit the blue sky does look pretty.
This week is a typical one for January in Calgary, frigidly cold and windy.  I seem to be spiraling into the true definition of insanity as I keep checking the online weather forecast, only to find that it is exactly the same as when I last checked it thirty minutes ago.  Evidently I think that if I just refresh that forecast enough times, eventually it will be different.  Meanwhile I’m constantly wearing a coat that looks like a comforter with a belt and a hood, and I actually ordered – get this – SOREL BOOTS.  They’re cute Sorel boots, but still.  I can’t wait for their arrival as my current winter boots are just not getting the job done.  It’s fricking freezing , Mr. Bigglesworth. 
In other news, Mark asked me last night what the word “sperm” meant.  I’m glad I took a moment to reflect and ask him why he was asking, since the word was being used in conjunction with “whale”.  That was close.  Can you imagine the trauma?  One minute he’s talking about his new favourite animal, and the next minute his mother is talking about reproductive systems?  “And then when a mommy and daddy love each other very much…” “Gross!  What does that have to do with whales?”   
I’m not sure what’s going on, but since school started last week Mark has been permanently stuck on “chatter”.  The child will not stop talking.  Every single sentence starts with “Hey Mom!” and unfortunately that is repeated until I respond.  “Hey Mom hey Mom hey Mom hey Mom”.  Finally I will respond, remembering to be very kind in my voice and not at all show irritation because he is trying to communicate with me and I want to be a very good mother, even though he will not stop talking, and he will spew out a fact about whales, eagles, his toy tiger named Tigie and his imaginary trip around the globe, or Bakugan.  Alternately he will completely forget what he was going to say, only to start over again in sixty seconds or less.  It’s a bit tiring. 
But it’s nice too.  It’s nice that there is so much he wants to share with me, and I’m trying to remember to be present in the moment, even if the moment is filled with “Fun Facts” and pulling on layer after layer of winter clothing, eagerly awaiting the arrival of my Sorel boots.
Fun Fact: Did you know that killer whales are part of the dolphin family?  I did.

Conversation at the Breakfast Table

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Jake: Is today the day that Grandma is coming for a sleepover?

Me: No, that’s tomorrow.

Both boys, in unison: Awwwwww!

Me: Remember, Mom and Dad are going on Thursday, we’ll be gone all day Friday, then we are coming back on Saturday.

Mark: Can you come back on Sunday instead?

So apparently they are going to be just fine.

I got home from yoga practice at 6:55 this morning, and since that time, in addition to my usual morning routine (shower, breakfasts, get the kids ready, school drop-off) I have also accomplished the following:

Baked a cake.
Cleaned the kitchen.
Cleaned the bathroom.
Done a load of laundry.
Scheduled doctor’s appointment for Jake.
Freaked out.
Panicked.
Called husband and left terse message regarding doctor’s appointment for Jake.
Bought and put away groceries.
Washed fruit and put away in Tupperware containers for easy snacking.
Tidied up basement playroom where, apparently, a toy bomb exploded.

It’s only 10:15 a.m.

With regards to the latter job, last night the boys came upstairs from playing a loud and raucous game in the basement.  Jake informed me that they were playing a game entitled “Thomas’ Big Day”.  “But Mom”, he said, “His big day wasn’t his birthday or anything.  It was the day his engine exploded!”  I see.  That explains the state of the playroom.

So now it’s time to get things packed and, judging from the start of this day, continue on frantically performing semi-unnecessary domestic chores.  Enjoy your week, everyone!

No matter what, you probably did not consume sour milk.

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It’s been a strange week.  If you were to run an ultraviolet light over our house, doubtless there would be an offensive amount of germs and viruses squirming on the surfaces.  I myself came down with a weird 24 hour virus characterized by a high fever and narcolepsy.  After sleeping a lot I felt better.  Then Jake was up in the night vomiting.  There’s nothing quite like the night time vomit.  It puts you on edge the whole night, just waiting for the next episode.  The slightest cough or movement jolts you out of bed.  Then there’s the cleanup.  You strip the bed, you change the pajamas, you wipe down the bathroom, but since it’s the middle of the night and you are a zombie, and also you are comforting a very upset vomiting person, you tend to miss a lot of things that come to view in the harsh morning light.  Ew.  So I have been spending the day in an exhausted cleaning haze, except when I actually lay down on the bed I was remaking and fell asleep.  I woke up with Mark holding a Lego masterpiece right up to my face, talking about it in great deal.  I think he actually thought I was awake the whole time and was too amazed by his Lego skills to answer.
It was a pretty good Lego sculpture, after all.
Because of the vomiting, we decided to cancel our Thanksgiving trip which makes me a bit sad – I was looking forward to fresh grapes and apples – but also a bit relieved because frankly, I am just too tired to spend eighteen hours in the car this weekend.  I’m also a little confused, because I have no idea what to do for Thanksgiving dinner.  I mean, I’m not about to make a turkey or a pie.  But will the kids feel deprived?  Will my husband be deprived?  Should we just go out for dinner?  The pressure is on.  I did buy a butternut squash yesterday.  Maybe I could festively make some soup?
As I write this, Jake asked if we COULD have turkey, even if we are not going to Grandma’s for dinner.  Maybe, he said, we could go catch one.  Mark then joined the conversation by asking if turkeys available at grocery stores are already dead, or do you have to kill them yourselves?  I’m guessing soup might be a disappointment for them.
Further in the chronicles of Things I Would Rather Not Have Happened this week, I attempted, at my husband’s urging, to Keep Up My Strength by eating while sick.  One morning I poured skim milk on my cereal and started eating.  It tasted terrible.  “Everything tastes terrible when you’re sick” my husband admonished, “You just have to eat it and Keep Up Your Strength.”  So I did.  I felt kind of gross, and later I was mixing muffin batter and opened the skim milk.  Although the best before date was days away, it was completely sour.  I consumed sour milk for breakfast while sick. 
It’s been quite the week, but it’s Friday, it’s the long weekend, and with any luck we are all on the mend.  Happy Thanksgiving everyone!  I am thankful to have you all in my life.

Sports, honesty, and mating…what are those dinos doing?

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Saturday morning a loud buzzing noise filled my head. It kind of felt like a giant swarm of bees had invaded. I was puzzled; after all, I had only one glass of wine the night before and I didn’t feel ill or dizzy in any way. “Do you HEAR that?” I asked my husband hesitantly, somewhat worried that I was just going crazy or something. Turns out it was just the background noise, from the World Cup and those weird vuvuzelas.

I always thought my husband was a total sports nut, a junkie, but then I met some REAL sports nuts and not I realize that he is just a fan, someone who follows a lot of sports and could tell you who placed first and who choked and who set a record, for pretty much any sport from football and hockey to horse racing and Nascar. He only watches a few sports very closely: American football, which I enjoy watching to some degree, and golf, which I do not enjoy at all thanks to the monotone-voiced commentators (“…and here’s the chip shot out of the bunker. Oh. Nice shot. Now it’s a putt for birdie…”) and also anything international, like the Olympics or the World Cup.

Mark, perhaps due to his participation in community soccer, has taken an interest in the World Cup. “Do you think I could play in the World Cup one day?” he asked. How honest is too honest? It’s hard to find the balance between being truthful and breaking your child’s spirit. “Um, maybe if you practice really hard, you could,” is the response I went with.

But really, how honest are you with your children? My friend sent me this article, and I am not prudish, I don’t think, but I was absolutely creeped out by it. For one thing, Mr. Purple? That’s what you call it? For another thing, your child was touching your sex toy? Ew. I couldn’t even get past those two pieces of information. Maybe I’m more prudish than I think I am. Mark had gotten a dinosaur book from the library, and apparently it was meant for a much older child, as it had a picture of Allosauruses mating. Mating! What are those dinosaurs doing, Mom? Um, let’s turn the page and see! Look! Baby Allosauruses! I have a feeling this is not the last of it.

The Opposite of Toyland, or My Basement is a Recycling Plant

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In honour of Mother’s Day, posted on the wall beside Jake’s classroom is a list of all the children’s names and their response to the question, what makes moms special? I was happy to see Jake’s response, she gives me lots of hugs, as opposed to some of the children who said she buys me lots of toys. Whew. As a matter of fact I do not buy the children lots of toys, or really any toys, with the exception of birthdays and Christmas, but of course they HAVE lots of toys. I don’t know why we even have toys when we have cardboard boxes.

We just had some new furniture delivered: a new table and chairs, and a hutch, and it all came in cardboard boxes. Is this normal? I have no idea. In addition to three huge boxes which have turned into a spaceship, a clubhouse, and an airplane, Mark gathered together a large amount of packing material for his special project: a battle ship/ trap/ gigantic weapon. In other words, our basement looks like a recycling plant. I am torn between being happy that the kids are playing creatively in such an old-fashioned childhood way and also being somewhat distressed at the extreme visual chaos this has caused.

Speaking of chaos, before we sold our old table, my husband disassembled it for storage and transport.

Surfing!

I have to admit I felt completely overwhelmed when the furniture was delivered and the house was littered with giant heavy boxes and the kids were bouncing off the walls with excitement and the dog was howling outside at the commotion. I was surprised to see the table was delivered in a large, very flat box, so I asked the delivery man if the legs were inside. He replied that they were, and I would have to attach the legs myself. “Like, with a screwdriver?” I said inanely, to which he smiled and suggested perhaps I could get someone male to help me. I’m doing wonders for feminism over here, people. Wonders.


Jake also really enjoys playing with eggplants. Bizarrely, he calls them his little doggies. I was slicing one up and he was shocked. No! Don’t eat my doggie!

The Sun Came Out!

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This was the view from my back door yesterday morning:

Spring!

It’s mostly melted now, but it was snowing and grey for most of the day until about 6:00 pm, when the sun festively came out. Jake’s mystery illness presented itself as a nasty headcold, and I just could not face bundling him up, running through the snow and howling winds, dropping Mark at school, and doing it all over again two and a half hours later, so I decided to keep Mark home yesterday. “If I let you stay home, we need to do some schoolwork”, I said sternly, to which Mark replied, “Oh boy! Okay! What’s my first assignment? This is going to be great!” So evidently my nerdy and bookwormish tendencies have been passed on to the next generation. In fact, the entire day was spent pretending our house was a school. Mark kept asking which “centres” he could play at. “Is the writing centre open? Is the dinosaur centre open? I’m going to set this book aside for the reading centre. Okay? Okay Mom? Okay?”

The other night I was premenstrually sobbing to my husband about the passage of time and how the boys are not going to want to spend time with me as they grow and how I’m just going to be the horrible bitchy mother-in-law everyone complains about and in a couple of years Jake is NOT going to want to grocery shop with me and woe is me, I’m sad. My husband replied cheerily that, not to worry, Mark will likely always want to do math puzzles and crosswords with me, which seems apt, after yesterday’s events. (“Is the science centre open?”).

Ah, it’s all good. Of all the characters in The Breakfast Club, I have always secretly identified with the character played by Anthony Michael Hall – “In the physics club, we talk about physics, properties of physics” – although I had a huge crush on the Judd Nelson character. Ooh, the bad boy. It’s funny how all of the most attractive movie characters are also the ones who would be the worst to be in a relationship with. Take the Ralph Fiennes character from The English Patient, for example. Ralph Fiennes, so yummy, so intense, and yet, imagine being married to the guy. It would be terrible! The guy hardly ever smiles, and forget about lighthearted conversation. “What do you want for dinner, honey?” “I HAVE BEEN WALKING. FOR THREE DAYS.” I know this is controversial, but it would be much more amiable to be married to the jovial Colin Firth character than the sexy Ralph Fiennes character. At least he remembered their anniversary.

Huh. I meant only to write today about the snow, and my bookworm of an older child, and Jake’s miraculous recovery today and how I have a very! exciting! weekend! ahead of me, but somehow I got on the topic of attractive movie characters who would be hell to be married to. So, that sounds like a great game for a Friday! What movie character do you find terribly attractive and yet, you know would not be good relationship material? Ooh, just thought of another one: John Cusack in Say Anything. I know. I know. Controversial. But really, wouldn’t that lack of ambition get to you after a while? Okay, weigh in, this should be fun!

Bitch, we’re coming for you.

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Mark has largely recovered from his recent mysterious illness, but, in an incredible twist of misfortune, my husband is now ill. Let us all take a moment of silence on receiving that information. Not only that, but Jake – who was fine when I dropped him at school this morning – was runny nosed and headachy and exceedingly irritable when I picked him up a mere 150 minutes later. I can almost see the mystery illness pointing its slimy, germy fingers at me. “Bitch, we’re coming for you.” I am tired although I’m trying to convince myself that I’m tired simply because of all the sick people in my house keeping me awake at night.

Speaking of visualizing the mystery illness, I had a very disturbing conversation with friends who told me that a) seatbelts on airplanes have very high levels of fecal matter on their buckles, and b) headrests on airplane seats squeam them out because of the possibility of lice transfers. The next time I fly I am going to have to explain away the plastic bubble that I will have encased myself in. That, and the disinfectant that I will be using to clean all touchable surfaces.

Also? That commercial for automatic liquid soap dispensers that shows all the viruses and germs on the pump of a regular liquid soap dispenser should be outlawed. That is information I did not need, nor did I need to see it so clearly.

In other, non-freakishly-germ-phobic news, I volunteered in Mark’s class today, which I love. “Mark’s mom is here!” one of his classmates exclaimed upon seeing me. I almost corrected him with my actual name, which is MarkandJake’s mom. But I do love going to the kindergarten; the kids are so cute and enthusiastic, and I know the day will come when Mark will not happily tolerate my blowing him kisses and waving to him while he rotates through various class centres. I was helping to make bird houses out of milk containers, and in a fascinating turn of safety violation events, I sliced first one finger, then another, on the scissors while cutting out perching holes. Kids, be careful with the scissors, she says whilst holding her dripping finger and darting for the medical supplies.

So my sore fingers and my overwhelming tiredness are not being helped by the current weather conditions: a festive spring snowstorm. It is, as I write this, snowing sideways. Well, we need the moisture, as my cheery elderly neighbour says. The upside to this is that perhaps, just perhaps, soccer will be cancelled tomorrow night. Which will be fortunate if I succumb to mystery illness. Which I’m not going to. But just in case.