Doug – “I need camping shirts, camping socks, *camping this and camping that as well as a new camera, a new hat, trekking poles, stuff sacks and a portable sink.”
Noah – “These Dockers are too small, so I’m packing them for my one pair of long pants.”
*I might have tuned out the specifics.
Noah: “I talked to the Mayor on Friday and today I met the Superintendent.”
Me: “How did you meet the Super?”
Noah: “Well, I didn’t know you pull the cord to make the trolley stop, so, I missed my bus stop and got to school late. When I went in the office, the Principal was talking to someone. The Superintendent came over to help me.”
Me: “What did you talk about?”
Noah: “I told him I was late because I missed my stop and had to walk.”
Me: “What did he say?”
Me: “How are you doing with your summer reading assignments?”
Noah: “I’m really enjoying The Prince.”
Me: “In what way?”
Noah: “The characters in The Prince are also in Assassin’s Creed. That’s pretty cool.”
Me: <- facepalm ->
girl teen: “Google it.”
boy teen: “My teacher says Yahoo is better.”
girl teen: “It’s 2011. Use Google.”
Six days after Easter and two days after the storms, I found an Easter egg in the yard. It wasn’t one of the four boiled eggs that were not found. Wild animals probably found those. Wild animals is not a euphemism for my children either. No, I found a small yellow plastic egg with candy inside. The candy was a foil wrapped Peepster. Peepsters are chocolate coated Peeps. Not entire marshmallow chicks or bunnies, but small bits of Peeps. Peep giblets dipped in chocolate and wrapped in foil that spent almost a week outside.
As I stared at it bemusingly, Noah asked me if I would be eating it. I delicately said, “Ew. Absolutely not.” Okay, maybe not so delicate, but Noah scooped it up and walked in the house with uncharacteristically swift speed. He turned down the hall as if he was heading to his room, but marched further into his little brother’s room.
“Ouch! Why did you hit me with an egg?”
“It still has candy in it.”
“Can I eat it?”
Nurse: “What grade will you be in next year?”
Me: “You’ve only been in school a week. I think she wants to know about THIS year’s grade.”
Noah: “She asked about NEXT year.”
Noah: “Dad? Mom just texted me asking where we are.”
Doug: “So tell her.”
Noah: “What do I tell her?”
Doug: <- looks around bewildered -> “We are on a dock.”
Noah: “But . . . that doesn’t tell her WHERE we are. I mean, that’s kind of vague and ….”
Doug: “Never mind Noah. I just texted her. Then, I sent her a picture.”
In the moment of stunned silence that I realized Noah outgrew the clothes that fit him a few days ago, I briefly visualized Noah as a large green Hulk in tiny, tattered clothing. I wonder if the misunderstood Hulk would have been so cranky if he hadn’t been stuck wearing Bruce Banner’s pants.
Me: “Tommy, do you want to spend the rest of your life just playing WoW in our basement?”
Tommy: “I don’t think you want to know my answer.”
Sarah: “I have NOTHING to wear. I HAVE to have new clothes.”
Noah: “Umm, yeah, I didn’t tell you, but, I, umm, lost a part of my snare drum that you rented.”
Amy: “Where’s the gum I was saving?”
Me: “Where did you leave it?”
Amy: “It was right there. Where Molly is napping.”
Evan: CRASH! “Ow. Ow. Ow.”
Me: pulling the shelf off of him “Where does it hurt?”
Two hours and one trip to Children’s ER later, we have been reassured that he will be fine. They decided against stitches on his cheek.
I can hardly wait for tomorrow.
Me: “How was the last full day of school? Anything interesting happen today?”
Sarah: “Fine. Nothing. Can I go out tonight?”
Noah: “Well, we played kickball outside during band. Ian punched Justin in the face and everybody was talking about it cause Ian’s a really nice kid. In health we played four square in the gym. We ate lunch in language class instead of the commons. Somebody pulled the fire alarm, but there wasn’t a fire. We did tessellations in math. I heard that some kids made the water fountain flood one of the hallways. I cleaned my locker out and backpacks aren’t allowed tomorrow.”
Amy: “I cleaned out my desk today.”
Isn’t there some urban legend that girls talk more than boys?