Classic quotes, Vol. 35

Here are the latest memorable quotes from my 5-year-old daughter M-, my 7-year-old son D-, and my 1-year-old son E- that I've managed to remember or write down:

M- (referring to the snowman she was mentally designing, for her preschool homework): And his name will be "Ho-Wrecker"!

Kid at school (amazed, watching E- doing a victory lap with a basketball he found): Whoa! That baby can WALK!

M- (after being asked an obvious question, before I reached in to turn on the fan): ...No. I'm sweating, but I'm not pooping. ... I'm sweating!

D- (after we were talking about dogs and wolves eating grass): THAT'D be cool, to see a wolf throw up.


M- (approximately 10 minutes after first regretting asking me why February 29 is a special day): ...Oh..... 

Product review: Waxelene

Sincerity Alert: The following is an ever-rare, completely sincere post, inspired by my very positive experience with a new product I was lucky enough to sample for free (my only compensation).

I've been offered at least a thousand products for review in the last few years, most of them either not something I'd ever be interested in, or not something YOU'D ever be interested in.

But, thankfully for me, I dutifully open and read at least the first line of each offer, and because of this, I discovered a product called Waxelene, which does everything petroleum jelly does without being made from oil.

It was always kind of a mystery to me how products like Vaseline went from black sludge in the ground to that familiar colorless, odorless, impenetrable paste, despite my repeated review of the Wikipedia article on the subject.

But its origins seem clear whenever I get the stuff somewhere I don't want it, not the least of which is the tips of my fingers. I guess I'm funny like that, but I just can't stand that feeling of having sticky or greasy stuff on my fingers that I can't get off.

After using it for several months, and sharing it with my family and my wife's co-workers, it seems that Waxelene solves that problem. While it effectively seals your skin as you'd expect, it does so without feeling oily, so I don't have to get creative in trying to apply it without losing the ability to touch anything for an hour or two. On top of all the performance benefits, it's made from (among other things) beeswax*, so it smells a bit like honey when first applied.

I've heard it's also good for removing makeup, but obviously I have no idea on that score, and since my wife isn't big on most makeup, I haven't seen it in action there yet. Another important area where Waxelene definitely gets bonus points from me is that it's an all-natural and organic product, which even comes in a glass jar with a metal lid, instead of plastic.

Overall, my review would be 5 out of 5 stars-- I love it, my wife loves it, my kids love it,** and I haven't heard any complaints or criticism from anyone else so far, several months along.

Just like Vaseline, a jar of this stuff goes a long way,*** but with all the uses we've found for the samples I was sent, I'm sure we'll be looking for it in stores a lot sooner than I would have thought. It's currently available at Whole Foods, along with many other non-chain stores, as well as through the Waxelene Web site.


Editor's Note: If you've read this far, dutifully waiting for a joke, I hate to disappoint you. If you'd like, you can always pass the time re-reading my less sincere Book Reviews that seem so popular to Google searchers.

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* Don't worry, it isn't any of yours.

 ** They really do-- they now ask for it by name, most of all when they're lying in bed trying to think of a reason not to lay still and go to sleep, and they suddenly realize they have dry skin somewhere that needs urgent attention.

*** Our current Vaseline was bought during my college class in Ireland, spring 2003...

A conversation with M-: We're all important in our own way

Pretend I'm more on-the-ball and it's still Valentine's Day, and enjoy this then-appropriate conversation I had awhile back with my now-5-year-old daughter M-, when she saw just how many yogurts I'd picked up at the store while she was at school:

M- (joking, with an incredible amount of enthusiasm, while standing at the fridge): Wow! The Mom yogurts made a LOT of baby yogurts!

Me: Oh? All by themselves?

M- (without a trace of doubt): Yes!

Me (foolishly playing with fire, for my own amusement): Without any help from Daddy yogurts?

M-: No. (thinking twice) Well, a LITTLE help, maybe. They help do stuff like carry heavy things, and pack up the clothes for them, and stuff. (taking the opportunity to drop another hint of a present idea) Like their roooooooobes...

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You may enjoy my previous M- conversations, (7YO son) D- conversations, and (wife) J- conversations.

Things that amuse me, Vol. 11

Here's another selection of items that have been amusing me since the last time I posted a collection of these:

1. Within moments of telling us, with great emphasis, that the baby's head circumference is in the 97% percentile, my son E-'s doctor casually asked, while further inspecting him, if we thought he most resembles me.

2. I find the prompts alongside pages at Dictionary.com asking, "How many words do you actually know?" kind of insulting, or at least condescending. I don't need these kinds of belittling challenges-- I'll take my lucrative ad-ignoring eyeballs elsewhere, like a real book, maybe. THOSE don't judge me. Usually.

3. The kids are getting too smart... after my wife J- had a "candy for dinner" night while I was out of town last summer, they all declared it a success and she told them we could do it once a year. Five months later, a mere four days into January, my 7-year-old son D- said, out of the blue, "Hey, since it's a new year now....... can we have candy for dinner again tomorrow night?!?"

4. The other day, my now-5-year-old daughter M- pretty much hit the nail on the head in disgustedly describing a clown as, "Some weird guy... with a big red nose, and a really white face..."

Classic quotes, Vol. 34

Here's a selection of quotes from the past few months, from my 4-year-old daughter M-, my 7-year-old son D-, and my infant son E-:

M- (excitedly, pointing to a Bud Light truck parked near us at the gas station): Daddy, I see the waaater botttttle truuuuuuck!

D- (drawled slyly, while doing his homework, as if idly asking about the weather, or some other not-remotely-related topic): Hey Dad, what's forrrrrrty-three plus thirty-six?

M- (using her Important Announcement voice at the dinner table): This hot dog BUN is too hot! (asked if she's sure) ...No... the thing that's inside it. (asked, "You mean the hot dog??") Yeah, the hot dog.

E- (whenever he deliberately pushes or drops things off his high chair, with the detached tone of an innocent bystander): Uh-oh.

M- (very matter-of-factly, about a song she made up): It's a very long song... I can't sing all the words in ONE day...

Me (after our shared laughter at my wife apparently stopped by quite so funny): No, no, I'm not being mean-- I'm laughing WITH you, as we both laugh at you!

M- (very excited, and distinctly unfazed, regarding the corpse of an unfortunate mouse, victim of our cats): We should save it, and when it turns to bones, I can study them! Because when I grow up, I want to be a vegetarian, and help animals!!

Internet blackout

By way of issuing the latest "Happy New Year" on record, I'm gonna opportunistically hop on a rolling train that I will simultaneously claim to have pushed out of the station myself.

That's right-- I am the sole pioneer of the Internet Blackout of Wednesday, January 18. I'm so far ahead of everyone else on this, I've already been holding strong for 17 days!

So go ahead, all you late-coming, fair-weather bandwagoners-- I've been keeping the seats nice and warm for you*, grab whichever one you like! ...Except for that one, that one's for my feet.

Here's to registering our support for defeating all freedom-destroying laws (SOPA) and decisions (Citizens United)!

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* Don't ask how.

A conversation between M- and D-: He's got a soft spot for them

Now that my son E- is officially 1 year old, hopefully he's sturdy enough to not require conversations like the following to take place between his 7-year-old brother D- and his 4-year-old sister M-, with D- giving his best approximation of my explanation of the fontanel:

D-: No! Don't touch his head! Remember there's a part on top where he has no head bone, and if you touch it, you're touching his BRAIN, and then he'll be crazy forever?!

M-: Crazy?

D-: Yeah, you know, like....

M-: Like he says, "Uhhh, spaghetti is macaroni, ummmmm..."?

D-: Yeah, just crazy; like his brain doesn't work right. So just don't touch his head.

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You may enjoy my previous M- conversations, D- conversations, and (wife) J- conversations.

A conversation with M-: Away in a manger full of presents

Here's a revealing conversation I had with my 4-year-old daughter M-, when I absentmindedly vented my brain of the potentially hazardous buildup of Christmas songs stuck in it:

Me: "I don't want a lot for Christmas / ..."

M- (interrupting with an important point, while gesturing slightly to herself): I do.

Me: Oh you do, do you??

M-: Yes. Do YOU want a lot for Christmas?

Me (really overselling my angelic virtue): No. I just want everybody to be happy.

M- (brow furrowed in earnest reflection): ... Well, I want a lot for Christmas.

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You may enjoy my previous M- conversations, (7YO son) D- conversations, and (wife) J- conversations.

A conversation with M-: Ready to leave the nest

The following conversation took place when my wife J- was fixing up my 4-year-old daughter M-'s hair one night before bed, as she and M- both complained about how tangled it was:

Me (pointlessly defending myself): We were running late, and I forgot to bring a hairbrush with me this morning, so her hair looked like a rat's nest... I had to just comb through it with my fingers and pull it back into a ponytail.

J- (about to share a story of mild mortification under the firing-squad gaze of Other Mothers of Daughters, after she'd had an "all-ready-to-go" daughter in a tutu packed into the car by her husband): Yeah, I could tell, at dance class...

M- (cutting in, as she realized we were talking about her): Don't call it a rat's nest!

Me (realizing it didn't sound very nice, after she'd uncharacteristically decided to pay attention when adults speak): That just means how it looks-- it wasn't your fault.

M- (not comforted at all): Don't CALL it that.

Me: Would it be better if I called it a (dementedly happy voice) "squirrel's nest!"?

M- (probably more frustrated): Don't call it a nest at ALLLLL!

Note: I made no promises. I calls 'em like I sees 'em.

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You may enjoy my previous M- conversations, J- conversations, and (7YO son) D- conversations.

A conversation with M-: And "Eeyore" is in the Top Names list every year

This is a bizarre, but typical, conversation I recently had with my 4-year-old daughter M- as I was preparing lunch for the kids:

M- (after I'd opened the floor for lunch-plate requests): I want the We-need-the-Pooh plate!

Me (since this wasn't the first time I'd noticed this, I figured I'd ask): Why do you keep calling him "We-need-the-Pooh"?

M- (blankly): Because that's his name.

Me: No, it's "Winnie". "Winnie-the-Pooh."

M-: ...... "Winnie" is a strange name.

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You may enjoy my previous M- conversations, (7YO son) D- conversations, and (wife) J- conversations.