A conversation with E-: It winnertime, and the lyin' is easy

Being that my son E- is now firmly 2-and-a-half, the following is the nice version of most every conversation we have with him these days.

J-: Okay E-, it's bedtime.

E- (jumbling up something he's heard us tell ourselves as we serve dinner at bedtime these days): Nooo... it's winner-time!

Me: Did you mean "summertime"?

E-: 'Es.

J- (unmoved by this ingenious ploy): Well, it's night-night time either way.

E-: No it not... (looking out the window, for effect) ...It mornin' time!

He went to bed shortly afterward, under formal protest.

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You may enjoy my previous E- conversations, (9YO son) D- conversations, (6YO daughter) M- conversations, and (wife) J- conversations.

A conversation between E- and J-: Pleading the Fifth at Two

The following is a conversation initiated out of the blue by my 2-year-old son E- (who's lately been known to loudly demand to know "why you put me in trouble?!?" and to order us to "[not] talk to me again, ever!") with my wife J- one day after she got home from work:

E- (very seriously, as if honor-bound to tattle on me for an internationally recognized crime): Daddy yell, at me.

J-: Daddy yelled at you? Were you being naughty?

E- (mildly offended): I NOT, be... naughty.

J-: You weren't naughty? Then why was Daddy yelling at you?

E-: ...

E-: ...

E- (happily, aborting the plan and going for a distraction): I can jump, jump, jump around! I jump around your bed!

J-: Were you being naughty? Was that why Daddy was yelling at you?

E-: ... (runs from the room)

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You may enjoy my previous J- conversations, (2YO son) E- conversations, (9YO son) D- conversations, and (6YO daughter) M- conversations.

A conversation between E- and J-: Heaven in a handbasket

Now that my 2-year-old son E- is astronomically more verbal than he was just a few months ago, he can actually hold up his end of many straightforward (generally needs/wants-oriented) conversations. Of course, that doesn't mean he always chooses to do so.

Occasionally, he strikingly decides to barrel on in true LiteralDan form, hoping to wear down his opponent by sheer force of will. Exhibit 437 (of Thousands):

E- (to my wife J-, reaching toward his inconveniently hard-to-reach Easter basket): MY back-ket. My back-ket. MY BACK-KET!

J- ((patiently, while making dinner): Yeah, E-, that IS your basket. It's up high because you kept taking candy when you weren't supposed to.

E- (as if she hadn't said anything at all of import): ...My back-ket! My can-nee.

J-: Yes, it is your candy, but that doesn't mean you can eat it whenever you want...

E- (before she even finished her sentence, as if his point was too urgent to wait): Jehwy, beeeeeeans!!

J-: ...

E- (almost exasperated, trying to communicate with a simple foreigner): EAT! Can-nee! Jehwy beans!

Suffice it to say, he continued to be frustrated by everyone's inability to understand that, unlike most children, he quite enjoys eating candy, and would strongly prefer to consume it in place of, as well as alongside, any other foods he's offered. No one said it wasn't lonely being the outlier.

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You may enjoy my previous J- conversations, (2YO son) E- conversations, (9YO son) D- conversations, and (6YO daughter) M- conversations.

A conversation with M-: Count me out

After more than eight years of parenting, my wife J- and I consider ourselves pretty skilled at manipulating each of our three kids like puppets, using whatever tools fit each kid at a given moment.

Sometimes, though, they show flashes of the similarly wonderful parents they may become themselves, someday:

J- (wanting a favor from our 5-year-old daughter M-, spinning it with a reliable phrase): So M-, can I count on you?

M- (not in the mood to help, and looking for a loophole): Ummmm... well, no, not today. (walking out of the room) I don't want anyone counting on me today.

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You may enjoy my previous M- conversations, J- conversations, and (8YO son) D- conversations.

A conversation with J-: Sleeping the sleep of the wrong

The following is a conversation I recently had with my wife J- (while she was resting on the couch) and our 8-year-old son D-, about our 5-year-old daughter M-:

Me (asking D- and a dozing J-, wondering if M- was in the bathroom or off playing somewhere): Where's M-?

D-: She's in the playroom

J- (oddly forcefully, as if we're all fools to have forgotten about this while she lay there resting, secretly wide awake): No, she's out getting her hair done!

Me (trying to take her at face value, since she's usually the authority on things like this): What?? Where?

J-: Nevermind.

M- (from playroom): What do you neeeed?

Me: ...Did you just have a dream that M- went out to a hair salon?

J-: Yes.

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

A conversation between M- and J-: It is risen

The following conversation between my 5-year-old daughter M- and my wife J- took place during our multi-state car trip right before Easter, during which my wife indulged in many of her Rhode Island favorites from childhood, including "Easter bread", a very sweet, iced treat:

J- (concerned that the kids have buried and/or crushed the loaf we were taking home, somewhere in the van): Where's the Easter bread?

M- (immediately jumping in, with a "Magical Storytime" voice all cued up): He stays in a nook, faaaaar under the ground...

J- (interrupting, totally confused): What??

Me (realizing the disconnect): No, the Easter BREAD.

M-: OHHHhhhhhhhh!

J- (cutting through the visions of candy and gifts, to the most important matter at hand): So... you don't know where the bread is?

They were definitely very happy to have the Easter Bunny himself leave his beloved nook to visit shortly after this, though he didn't leave us any Easter bread. Just lots of what I could only assume were jelly beans...

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You may enjoy my previous M- conversations, J- conversations, and (8YO son) D- 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 between M- and J-: They call me MISTER Princess!

The following short but sweet conversation between my wife J- and my 4-year-old daughter M- speaks volumes about what we face these days with our little "senior in preschool".

J- (obviously quite serious, calling her over a second time for a reprimand): Excuse me, ma'am!

M- (pointedly referring to her ongoing game, to explain her previous lack of response): Do you mean, "Princess"??

J-: No, I do NOT mean "Princess"!

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* She'll have put in two and a half years before kindergarten!

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

A conversation with D- and M-: Santa awards half points for honesty

This is a conversation my wife recently had with my 3-year-old daughter M- and 6-year-old son D-. M- only touched on the tip of the iceberg, and D- is learning the benefits of spin in public relations:

D- (sweet as sugar and twice as pure): Mom, how many more days until Christmas?

J- (as innocently as he wishes he was): Why?

D-: 'Cause then we get presents!

J-: Oh, yeah, right. Well, 19 days, bud.

M- (helpfully chiming in): D-, we'd better start being good, 'cause I really want presents!

D- (nodding): We have been good...

M- (shaking her head in disbelief): No, no, we haven't!! Remember I drew on you with a marker today??!

I wish you all the best of luck in restraining your own baser natures just long enough to trick Santa into giving you everything you want, but little that you need!

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

A conversation between M- and J-: Victoria's open secret

While I'm ashamed at my lack of posting there in general, and especially lately, I'm glad they'll still have me over at Hot Dads, where you can read my latest post.

I'll just let the post title do all the teasing for me-- now click on over there!

A conversation with J-: She could make that happen pretty easily

My wife and I have recently been looking wishfully at houses that are pretty far from Chicago, out where prices are lower and space is more plentiful. Being as disorganized as we are, we know that whenever this happens, it will mean a huge disruption in one or more areas of our lives.

For instance, if we bought one of the houses in a particular town we've been scouting before that $8,000 tax credit offer expires on December 1, J- would be looking at either a 3-hour daily commute each way, or some kind of other temporary living arrangement for 6 months, until the end of the school year.

After considering for awhile yesterday (on the phone during J-'s already long commute) all the many paths our lives might take in the coming months, I accidentally signaled the end of our discussion, as I often do, by clashing in tone with my much more earnestly speculating wife:

J-: I mean, it'd be really hard on both of us. You'd be alone with the kids all week, day and night... you'd basically be a single parent.

Me: Does that mean I could date?

J-: ... No.

Fellas, I highly suggest you try this one at home yourself next time you're tired of being taken so seriously as an adult having a serious conversation at the end of a long workday. It's totally worth it!

A conversation between M- and J-: A taste sensation

Because I am horribly disorganized*, here instead of something more substantial is a conversation between my wife J- and my 2-year-old daughter M-:

J- (to M-, less patiently than the previous two times): Stop licking me!

[less than 2 minutes pass]

M- (between new licks): I'm tasting you!

J-: Stop tasting me!

M-: Why?

J-: Because I'm not clean! I haven't showered yet.

M-: Oh.

J-: But even still, it's not usually a good idea to go around tasting people.

M-: Okay.

Don't be fooled by her earnest response... I promise you we'll be right back here again within a day or two.

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* In my defense, I at least spent much of my Sunday organizing old kids clothes into bins, so that has to partially counteract my disorganization in blogging, writing, and other things. Right?

A conversation between M- & J-: We're not talking to him anymore

Head on over to Hot Dads to read my latest post there, a little conversation between my wife J- and 2-year-old daughter M-.

Maybe now I'll finally get some of that hate mail I've always wanted!

A conversation with J-: Manic Monday

To give you a sense of how a quite-anxious J- and beyond-tired I passed the time while waiting for her to be wheeled into surgery two weeks ago, please enjoy the following conversation I later recorded on a notecard I just found in my coat pocket:

Me: You know, you'll be sleeping the whole time-- I'm extremely jealous.

J- (immediately, giving me a blank look): I'd trade places with you in a second.

Me: I would, too ... (makes Movie Magic sounds while wiggling fingers between us)

J-: (just blinks in confusion and resumes fretting)

Me: We'd better make sure not to touch any potentially magic inanimate objects at the same time. If we do, though, we definitely can't lose it, because I do not want to have a period. Or teach special ed.

J-: Whyever not?

Me: They both involve a lot more involuntary bleeding and discomfort than I'm willing to accept.

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Click to read past conversations I've posted with my wife J-, my 4-year-old son D-, and my nearly 2-year-old daughter M-.

Driving: A love story

While I was driving us home from the mall the other day, J- selfishly decided that she and her throbbing brain wanted a time-out from the glorious wonder that is Arcade Fire's Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels), but being a sane person, I reiterated my insistence that it be played at full volume at all times from now until I close my eyes.

So, to compromise, she reached for the Balance knob to push the sound over to my side of the car. We all know how horribly this ruins the acoustics, so you can recognize my level of sacrifice in allowing this.

Then, as her inexplicable treachery was almost complete, a brief insight into the plans of whatever force put us on this Earth was revealed to me, as a clear reward for my Job-like patience and tolerance of the weaknesses of others.

As she rolled through the 7 levels of Balance, for a brief second, a word flashed in my peripheral vision that promised to make the whole ordeal worthwhile. I nearly slammed on the brakes, but instead I continued driving while choking out, "Gobackgobackgoback!!!" In confusion, she complied, and I stopped her when the Balance was towards the Left at level 5.

Sure enough, slicing through the dark night in bright blue capital letters, flashed the word BALLS.

And I love my car more than ever.

A conversation with J-: The third child

Here is a revealing conversation I recently had with my wife, J-:

J- (using cartoonish parent voice): M-, did you get a treat for making pee on the toilet? Was it chocolate-covered raisins??

Me: No, just a couple chocolate chips.

J-: Then why were there chocolate-covered raisins on the kitchen floor?

Me: That was me... I had an incident.

J-: (rolls her eyes and doesn't even bother asking a follow-up question)

In my defense, she just happened to find the two I had missed picking up (and through some miracle, the kids missed eating) hiding alongside the fridge, so it's not like I just left the whole bag dumped all over the floor.

After all, they're mostly hers and I wouldn't want to call attention to how many I've eaten already.

A conversation with D-: Sleeping with one eye open

Here's a little conversation between my wife and 4-year-old son that I found recorded on a scrap of paper from the pocket of some shorts I wore during my recent vacation in the Minnesota wilderness:

D-: Can I have a burrito?

J-: ... You mean Doritos?? No.

D- (runs to the chip box and returns with a visual aid): I mean these!

J-: Those are Cheetos, and no, you can't have those right now.

D-: OK, I'll save them for later, then.

J-: OK.

D-: ...And just hold them in my hand all day.

This may be his way of telling us that he's on to our scam of letting him forget about treats he acquires and then occasionally devouring the evidence once we feel like he'll never miss them.*

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*I swear that little wave of guilt is a kind of perverse reward to make candy taste even sweeter long after the theft, whenever he happens to see a bag of M&Ms at the right moment and says something like, "Hey, remember that time when it was all snowy outside and I got a bag of those candies from that lady we saw at that store? I never ate those..."

A conversation amongst all of us: St. Noodle

The following four-way conversation took place one day while J- was feeding M-, D- was milling about after lunch, and I was in the next room typing up some blog posts for the week I spent working.

J- (to M-, continuing some murmured back-and-forth they'd been having): Tell Daddy!

M- (barely intelligible through a mouthful): Ahluvoodoo!*

Me: I love you, too!

J- (in a teacher's gentle correcting voice): She said, "I love noodles."

Me: Oh.

D- (announcing reassuringly while approaching from the dining room): I love noodles, too, Dad.

Me: Okay... good to know.

It's touching moments like these that really make the whole parenting shebang feel worthwhile, you know?


* If you think she may actually be pulling the wool over both of our eyes (pun intended, in my case) and actually professing her love for voodoo, you're probably right. The other day she was hugging her teddy bear and I swear it was getting hard to breathe. This baby will be a Black Magic Woman if I ever met one.

A conversation between M- & J-: A duel of clones

I believe the following conversation sums up most of my wife's (J-) and daughter's (M-) personalities and habits.

To set the scene, J- was sitting on the couch feeding M- some cottage cheese and peaches. Immediately after receiving a bite, M- jumped the gun on opening her mouth and saying, "Ahhh!"

J-: You don't have to show me your mouth is full-- I just put a spoonful in there, so I already know that.

M-: "Know datt!"

M- then turns to wipe her face on J-'s sock, which she had left on the coffee table the previous night... don't ask why, it's just part of J-'s mysterious charm. Or at least that's what she tells me.

J-: No, that's my sock.

M-: "My ghock!"

J-: Listen to this little parrot!

M-: "Pare-rett!"

And on it goes, all day, every day*.


* "Evree day!"

A conversation with J-: Momma's watchin' her stories

I figured since I published conversations with D- and with M-, I might as well be fair and do some conversations with J-. So consider this number one of an as-yet undetermined number.

I found this a fantastic example of our very makeshift style of parenting, while J- was watching TV and casually sharing pieces of her pretzels with M-, a bolder beggar than any terrier I know:

Me: (looking over just as M- is reaching for more pretzels from J-'s plate) Don't let her have any more-- she's still got some in her mouth.

J-: No, I haven't given her any in a few minutes, she should be fine now.

Me: No, J-, she has actual pieces of pretzel sticking out of her mouth. She's gonna need another minute...

J-: Aww, why'd you have to ruin my fun?

Me: With a choking baby?!?

J-: Yeah!

Disclaimer: Despite the implications of this conversation, I must state for the record that J- is almost always way more responsible than me. When it comes to the kids, anyway... not cleaning, maintenance, organization, or finances. There's a reason I'm the stay-at-home parent.

Disclaimer disclaimer: I realize the above disclaimer will still get me in trouble, so I'll further state for the record that J- is generally awesome and definitely my best friend. She's good at lots and lots of things, like cooking, teaching, and knowing what I'm thinking most of the time, but they're just not as amusing to me at the moment.