Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Scenes from This Week
On Sunday, as she bounced, she stopped, bent down, picked up TB's baseball cap, and put it on her head. She announced proudly:
“Me a boy!”
You can read all the gender theory you want; that moment will still throw you.
At dinner yesterday:
The Boy: When you have another baby, he can have the crib, and The Girl and I can get bunk beds! I'll be on top, and she'll be on the bottom.
The Wife: I don't think we're going to have any more babies.
TB: But you're a Mommy. That's what Mommies do. Mommies lay babies.
TW: We don't lay babies. We have babies.
TB: So you'll have a baby?
TW: No, we're done with that. But someday you could have a baby.
TB: I'm not a girl!
TW: No, I mean you could be a Daddy.
TB: Daddies don't lay babies!
TW: Well, no, but someday you could be a Daddy. Don't you want to be a Daddy?
TW: When your wife has a baby, you'll be the Daddy.
TB: She'd lay the baby?
TW: She'd have the baby.
TB: EEEEWWW! Gross!!!!!
Bless his short attention span, he didn't ask the next question...
The Boy: “They call it Christmas because Santa's real name is Kris, and you don't want to miss it!”
Last night, as TB wrote his letter to Santa:
TW: What else do you want to ask for?
TB: Yeah, because mine aren't very good, and I don't want you to have to go shopping for new ones. You do too much around here now. I don't want you to have to do everything, so Santa can get me those.
That one got a hug from Mommy.
I think he'll get his mittens.
I hope Santa gets those mittens.
Totally darling. Thanks for telling us these stories once in a while, it makes everyone's day a bit better! I suspect that if we knew where you were, your kids would be spoiled by all their internet aunties and uncles.
However, after some hellacious time around the Dr's house as we go through what I refer to as "The Entitlement Years" (and I'm waiting for a network to pick it up as something *other* than normal), our own 14 year old boy and I had the following exchange last night.
Me: Ugh. Time for you to go to bed, and me too; I'm so tired. But I still have to clean up the kitchen, and ick; I just don't wanna do it today.
14 y/o Boy: Don't worry about it mum. I'll do it.
And he did.
Granted, he used too much counter cleaner so my WHOLE HOUSE smells of grapefruit, and my cast iron pot has seen better jobs, and I had *no idea* that one could replace the stove grates at such odd angles...
But, it was a damn sight better than I have seen many undergrads do with their own kitchens, and bless him, he offered.