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!!

Classic quotes, Vol. 32

Here's a selection of some recent quotes from my 4-year-old daughter M- (who's clearly very into music lately) and my 7-year-old son D-:

M- (referring to my new organization for all the outside toys): You are the Superman of balls, Dad!!

D- (when asked what was so funny while walking into the room, as if casually relishing a tasty morsel): Oh; M- told an UN-appropriate joke a minute ago... (chuckling some more)

M- (singing): There was a farmer who had a dog... whose name was Bingo... (slowly remembering, without much concern, that she 1) doesn't know how to spell things, and 2) didn't perfectly memorize the lyrics to work around this handicap) ...G-L...I-N!!

D- (trying to cushion the blow to the chef's ego on omelet night): THIS part I don't like? (pointing to the "egg" part) ...but everything else I like... (forcing an encouraging smile)

M- (emphatically, while eating "fruit on the bottom" raspberry yogurt): When you stir it all up and smoothen it out, D-, it's REALLY good. It's like a strawberry sur-VEY* or something. It's a really good strawberry sur-VEY!

M- (practically screaming, while strumming a toy guitar): I'm going to start a BAND!!! (after being asked if it will be a loud one) OH yeah!!!

M- (part of a much longer, and clearly very inspiring, song she was cranking out on her guitar and microphone): "We arrrrrre kiiiiiiiiids... but we will grow uuup one dayyyyyyy... and weeeee willll have a houuuuuuse... // And we will have to pay our mortgagggggge, eeeeeeeveryyyyyy dayyyyyyy..."

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* Maybe a cross between "sorbet" and "parfait"? Either way, it was said about 100 times in that snooty tone of voice people use when trying to authentically pronounce the only foreign loan word in a sentence.

Things that amuse me, Vol. 3

Here, as the title might suggest, are a few of the things that have been amusing me lately:

1. They should print the tags of children's clothing in the front, so my kids might accidentally put some on properly one day.

2. This is a scrap I found from at least a year ago, about a Camry radio commercial I'm absolutely certain they're no longer running:

Totally Sincere "Customer" Voiceover (the culmination of a series of praises about the Camry's dependability and consistent reliability, including "It's good to know there are some things you can still count on"): "When I'm stressed out about something, I sneak out to the garage and look at the Camry, and I feel better."

Well, I have a Camry, myself, and let me tell you, much as I've always liked it [and still do!], this has never worked for me.

3. With the way he's been behaving lately, my 5-year-old son D- sitting up alone in his room playing his harmonica makes me picture him rotting in a cell singing, "No-booody knooooows, the trouble I've caused / No-booody knows but my-teacher-the-principal-the-bus-driver-my-parents-other-kids'-parents-my-grandparents-their-grandparents-and-just-about-everyone-ellllllllse".

4. I feel like I need to hang an announcement around my daughter's neck, to cover me in case of my untimely demise, that reads, "She dressed herself today."

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Cool deal for April! Magazine subscriptions on Amazon - 2 Years for the Price of 1

Classic quotes, Vol. 23

Here are some recent quotes from my 5-year-old son D-, my 3-year-old daughter M-, and me:

M- (insistently, while I was singing "All You Need is Love"): No! You need food, too!

D- (to my mom, who'd asked him what the story was about his misbehavior at school): It's not a story... it really happened.

Me (caught off guard by maniacal children while preoccupied): Hey!! Take. it. easy! Or... it will be taken easy for you.

D- (quietly rationalizing with his crying sister, on her way to tell on him): Hey-- whatever I did... I did NOT do it.

M- (through the above-mentioned tears): D- was attackling me!

I think I've broken my kid

Aren't preschool kids supposed to be pretty imaginative, or at least relatively uncritical of the unknown world around them? Aren't they supposed to sit, slack-jawed, in an awestruck stupor whenever you turn on the TV?

My kids in particular are pretty deprived of television, other than watching I'd-guess-almost-weekly age-appropriate movies and playing the very occasional videogame, but here are just two revealing tidbits I heard from my 5-year-old son while we all endured a really quite awful* Winnie-the-Pooh movie recently:

"They shouldn't have put that in the movie... they should have cut it."

I let the kid watch deleted scenes on a DVD one time and now he thinks he's Martin Scorsese.

"Why do they keep singing songs??"

In his defense, the songs in this movie were undeniably painful, and completely unnecessary to boot. It really was like they had the movie finished, found it was too short, decided "kids' movies have songs, right?", and then went back to add some more scenes where everyone puts their stuff down and starts tunelessly singing some vaguely related song they all just made up on the spot.

And by the latter "they", I mean actual talking stuffed animals with cotton for brains. And redundant inner ear problems blocking their sense of rhythm or timing.

So, I guess this is my way of saying two things. One, my children have absolutely no sense of magical awe or wonder at this world around them, thereby ruining them for religion or even normal human development, and two, Pooh's Grand Adventure: The Search for Christopher Robin is an unbelievably godawful movie.

Just stick with Pixar. Or, if necessary, smash your TV with a baseball bat and tell your kids that the spirit of Walt Disney briefly possessed you and sought both to save them from the horror his company has become and to punish them for asking to watch this movie. The End.

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* When I say "really quite awful", it's my way of being charitable, as my mom would call it. I do that only because when it's convenient to me, I declare that this is a family blog.

But down here in the footnotes? Oh, anything's fair game. It's kids that have trouble reading fine print, right? Anyway, doesn't matter.

This movie is so bad from top to bottom, start to finish, conception to execution, that I would only be mildly disconcerted to personally witness A.A. Milne himself rise from the dead to formally submit the notarized paperwork to have his name disassociated from the movie.**

** And adult-sized Pooh-related costumes. And Pooh underwear, cause that's just really confusing terminology for parents of toddlers.

Important Question: The greatest ridiculous song lyric?

It's time once again for me to turn the microphone over to you, the reader, to help me address a little quandary that has recently locked up dangerously significant portions of my brain space.

Which of the following can fairly be declared the greatest line in the history of love songs?

Bruce Springsteen in Thunder Road: "You ain't a beauty but hey, you're alright."

or

Justin Timberlake in Like I Love You: "Here baby, hold my jacket."

Cast your vote below!

If by some chance, you think you can possibly beat these two contenders, feel free to let me know, and I'll take your candidate under consideration.

Developments at our house, Vol. 14

Here are some of the latest developments around these parts:

1. According to a repeated bulletin my 2-year-old daughter M- broadcast through the car recently, if I liked it, then I should have put a ring on it. Oh-oh-ohhh, oh-oh-oh. Oh-oh-ohhh, oh-oh-oh.

I liked it better when she just sat back there spontaneously singing, "Far away, far away," over and over again.

2. I found a piece of note paper on the floor of the library with the word FART written on it in giant block letters, carefully filled in over the course of what must have been several very industrious minutes. I wonder what it means that I just might have found this more amusing than its presumably prepubescent author intended. You gotta admire dedication to a bit.

3. According to Google Analytics, Ft. Worth, Texas was the first city willing to send one of its favorite sons to my "robot ladies" post, after he accurately invoked the password, "i want to screw a robot".

4. When the lady at the library was checking out my (free!) movies the other day, she saw I was getting Hot Fuzz and enthusiastically told me that it was "a really funny movie". She then preceded to scan my other selection, Harold and Kumar Escape From Guantanamo Bay, and ominously passed on the chance to continue our conversation.

5. I'd like to note that this is yet another list post that does not have 5 or 10 items in it. That's progress, my friends.

My ridiculous rhinestone bow 'tis of thee

I had another post scheduled to appear here today, but I decided to pull it in favor of this one, since you all probably will care even less about it in a week or so (I've set myself up nicely to take it easy for awhile).

I had to do some serious digging to find a few articles discussing our recent inauguration, but once I found some, I was most intrigued by this one regarding Aretha Franklin's choice of headgear --or should I say her headgear's choice of host-- when singing at the event:

Requests flood in for 'Queen of Soul's' custom hat

Really? Really.

Am I the only one who saw this hat? Granted, it may have been hard to see anything else in a ten-foot arc behind her, but I'm pretty sure all 3 billion people watching saw the same thing I did.

To refresh your memory, we're talking about the hat shown below:

"We even have a lot of men calling to get it for their wives, mothers and grandmothers," Song said.

Ahhhhh, there we go, there's the answer-- men are f***ing idiots. And I say this as one myself-- my own brand of obliviousness and occasional lack of common sense was issued at birth, have no doubt, but rest assured, Mom, Grandma, Katie, and J-, it absolutely does not extend to thinking that anyone I've ever met, or will ever meet, would want to own, borrow, or even-be-willing-when-forced-at-gunpoint-to-wear this hat.

Gonna be a long Returns line at Mr. Song's shop next week, methinks. That, plus a lot of very unhappy-looking invalid grandmothers being wheeled about town with necks ready to give way under the sheer weight of those bows.

Name that tune!

At the behest of my wife J-, who conceived this post, I bring you a list of children's songs as identified by my extremely verbal 1-year-old daughter M- (who can sing most of them in their entirety):

• Din Dan Don

• Ants

• Ebbysee's

• My Son

• Weensy Eensy

And finally, the true tiebreaker:

• Tree-Ba's-ful

How many can you recognize? I would be floored if anyone who didn't know her got all six, and very impressed if someone got four.

Takin' care of business

As I reluctantly sat there in the grimy bathroom of a greasy spoon liquefying my insides (resting comfortably on my nest of toilet paper lining), I prayed for the sweet release of death to come only after the immediate banishment of Papa John* and his minions to the deepest circle of hell.

Through my confused haze of rage, agony, and relief, I somehow managed to detect a poorly tuned radio station's attempt to bludgeon me with the melodious strains of Bachman-Turner Overdrive's landmark hit, Takin' Care of Business.

As my business took care of me itself, I couldn't help but realize that this song was made to be played in 30-second snippets at the absolute longest. It has a clear message to communicate, it's catchy, and it's said pretty much all it has to say in about half that time.

To sit and actually listen to the entire song in one sitting, so to speak, is torture enough, but to have it coming in and out --crystal clear one minute, fading quietly into mild static the next-- is like forcing someone to work next to an unshowered, incontinent, alcoholic hobo at the Customer Service station of Wal-Mart the entire week after Christmas.**

Just when it seems that 35 additional iterations of the refrain is all that those many commercials and movies have been sparing you these past few decades, the radio signal comes back clear as day so they can do a quick 10 more before it fades back to lie in wait ominously.

If I tried to work as many hours of overtime as these guys claim they have, I'd have been converted to a salaried position before the single was even released. But I guess, "Takin' care of business / And continuing to work until everything is done enough for my boss, regardless of the number of hours worked vs. dollars paid, and without concern for the long-term effects on employee morale or efficiency / Work out!" doesn't make for such catchy lyrics.

Anyway, you'll be happy to know I've survived my ordeal so far, although the song is still firmly stuck in my head.

Just be glad you caught that instead of the other thing.

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* It can't be a coincidence that "Papa" John's last name is Schnatter. As in, "Oh my God, where's your Schnatter?!? I just finished lunch at Papa John's!"

** Having logged thousands of unhappy hours shopping at Wal-Mart in my lifetime***, I feel qualified to offer the following skit starring Clem, my generic hillbilly voice:

"Yeah, I got this here shotgun fer Christmas, but ever' time I try to shoot it, it won't DO nothin', no matter WHAT I's pointin' it at. I'm pretty sure Santa bought it here, wink-wink, so y'all need to take it back an' gimme one thut works when I go like this. ... Whoa, thar she is!! Nevermine, I guess. ... I s'pose you gotta go call somebody to have that looked at, huh?"

*** There are extremely few alternatives in Presque Isle, Maine, but now that we moved back out to Chicago, my personal visit count has likely stopped forever.

Beestallnacht

I now bring you a bulletin from a front-line soldier in the Bee Theater of the War Against Nature.

When my wife J- was walking through a park to eat lunch on a field trip last week, she found herself silently stalked by some of these honeymaking heathens. Whether any of them were going incognito in fly costumes is unclear, and completely unsubstantiated, but I just wanted to throw that frightening possibility out there.*

Her first notice of these hulking cretins might have very well been a few dozen stingers in the back, but for the selfless alarm of a student known for making Calvin Coolidge sound like the town crier.

A chill must have ran down her spine as she heard, "The bees... the bees! Mrs. Copperbottom**, the bees!"

This girl then bravely laughed as J- flailed about in desperation, confused as to why these bees were unrelentingly targeting her no matter what she did or where she ran to.

You and I don't need to wonder why poor J- was being roughed up (and not for the first time) by these hired goons, but at that moment, fighting for her itchy-bump-free life, my hard-hitting blog exposés were the furthest thing from her mind.

Having tried everything she could think of, she finally tossed away the tote bag holding her precious, well-deserved lunch, and thankfully that was enough to satisfy these opportunistic idiots.

Wouldn't their precious Queen be pleased to know they were so easily thrown off their quest?

After consulting with an expert, my theories were confirmed that there's no way my new arch-nemesis would plan this hit merely to separate my wife from her lunch.*** This was incompetence in the execution of a much more malacious plot that, despite my gratefulness for regaining my wife relatively intact, I know will be rightfully punished as severely as a grotesque, miniscule insect with no arms can manage. I've got to at least respect Her Majesty's dedication and strict adherence to her fiendish ideals.

But regardless of the intent of this assault, I received the message loud and clear. And listen up, "lady"-- you've got a problem with me and my soon-to-be-Pulitzer-Prize-winning investigative journalism, you come to ME, or preferably someone only tangentially involved who I don't care much about. You don't threaten my family.

It's on now. And this time, we won't waste any verses duping ourselves into believing our Mommys would be proud of anything but a bee-colored smear on our palms.^

---

* Associated Press, are you reading?? I think we'd be a good fit.

** Was this name changed for privacy? You decide.

*** Unconfirmed reports suggest these may have actually been neutral bees attracted to the large quantities of dried banana bread batter my wife forgot she had dripped all over the side of her tote bag the previous weekend.

^ Because I have various issues making this specific act undesirable to me, I'm much more likely to be bringing home those bee-colored smears on pieces of mail, other people's belongings, or my shoes.

All the Queen's bees vs. all the President's boys

On the way home from preschool yesterday, D- began chanting a somewhat disturbing song I only vaguely recalled hearing before-- The Baby Bumblebee Song.

Like any red-blooded American, my first thought was that I needed to call the ACLU to organize a protest against the teaching of this song that clearly incites violence against innocent bees, but then I thought, you know what else incites violence against suddenly-less-than-innocent bees? Those panicky little f***ers themselves stinging people without having the decency to give them a little honey first.

I guess I run hot and cold like that, so it's good to know that the kid is being sent off somewhere two afternoons a week to study at the feet of more level-headed people who understand we need to begin training our anti-bee army* as early as possible, to protect America at home and abroad in our uncertain future.

In case you haven't yet had the honey-soaked veil lifted, don't feel too bad when singing happily about slaughtering their young-- all these bees are steadily leaving for more profitable positions overseas anyway, so they can jack up their already obscene profits by avoiding taxes while exploiting our insatiable appetites and not giving a bit back voluntarily.

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* An important special unit in our overall War Against Nature.

Developments at our house, Vol. 9

Here are some more recent developments around these parts:

1. M- has taken to singing along with our cell phone ring tone, which is the Super Mario theme song. She figures with the icy knife of cuteness that is a 17-month-old saying, "Doot, doot, doot, doot-doot-DOOT!" she can control us like marionettes. She's probably right.

2. I realized while briefly lecturing D- on something that he has no basis for understanding what air quotes are supposed to signify, so I'm left wondering whether he gets a vague understanding from their context or if he's totally lost. I'd love to see the world through his eyes for just minutes at a time.

3. The shampoo I'm currently using is made to smell like a Fresh Berry Smoothie. It smells good, but I'm not sure how they arrived at this particular flavor of shampoo. I think flavor has got to be the right word, because that's what they seem to be going for, rather than having people just smell like something clean. I think I might submit the idea for a "Fresh Cheeseburger" flavored shampoo to all the major players, to see how many million-dollar offers I get.

4. After a handful of experimental instances over a couple of days, D- very solemnly declared one evening over a game of Cariboo that he now has new names for us-- "Dad" and "Mom". I don't think it's possible to type out how deliberately he pronounces these truncated names for us, so I won't even try, but each time he says them I'm struck with the reassurance that it will soon pass, at least for five more years.

I'm thinking of starting a pool with J-, and anyone else who wants in on the action, as to how long this will last before he forgets all about it. I'm also thinking of starting a separate pool with everyone but J- on whether her obvious irritation with this will make it stick before he can forget*.


* Properly pronounced "free-get" if you are a 4-year-old, it seems.

Classic quotes, Vol. 1

Here's the inaugural collection of random quotes from around our house:

J-: I hate when people are generous with my time.

J-: (on phone after a bad day at work) And I was just thinking, "What's going on, and who turned on the vacuum switch to my soul?"

D-: Do you have any more of those tasty nuts?

D-: We should have a boy-girl next year, that would be fun, wouldn't it? We should grow that next year.

D-: (after I picked up a Lincoln Log) That's my hammer stick! Don't drop it in the box or I won't be able to tell which one it is!

D-: (very pissy) Is it helpful that they give me a bunch more little tiny ones [Lincoln Logs] so I can't build a garage for this house? No, it's not helpful.

D-: (sternly) Daddy, there is no drink in the refrigerator for me, and I'm very frustrated. (now very pointedly emphasizing each word while seeming to look over imaginary glasses) There's no drink in the refrigerator, and I'm very frustrated.

D-: Look how much I can fit in my mouth!

D-: (posing with his guitar at his microphone stand) This is a song about 'bisheradda'. I don't know what that means, but I'm gonna sing it.

Me: [Something insanely witty and hilarious-- I'll pause for laughter]

M-: (after being told her crackers are all gone, placing her finger on my eyelid and holding it there in a vaguely threatening manner) Eyyye.

Songs from the bunk beds

As I popped into my son's room to put some clothes away the other day, he was laying in his bed out of view, casually singing his own version of Old MacDonald's Farm.
(If you can't pick up the rhythm from these lyrics, don't feel bad, because there was none.)

"Old MacDonald had a farm... and on that farm he had a cow, named Crap-pee-oooo...

This was not said with the intent you might think-- just a random set of syllables he threw out there, hence I let it pass without comment.

And then, a few random lines later:

"Old MacDonald knew how to maaake a baaaaaybeeee cowww"

I'd figure that kind of knowledge has to be pretty fundamental to run a successful farm for very long, but never having run one myself, I can't say so with certainty.

I was waiting for the follow-up question that would usually come when he accidentally says something like this, but thankfully he couldn't stop freestyling long enough to ponder it.