Classic quotes, Vol. 11

Here is the latest batch of quotes from around here, this time from my 4-year-old son D- and my freshly 2-year-old daughter M-:

M- (irritatedly, after kissing my cheek): You supposeda shave!

D- (not holding a cup...): I'm very thirsty, that's why I'm drinking the 'drink in my mouth'.

M- (pointing to my bare chest at the breakfast table, reviewing a recent lesson from J-): THAT'S not breasts...*

D- (after fearsomely growling and punching the shower wall): Hey! Wow, that hurts!!

M- (in a cute, timid voice, while J- is lecturing her): Ummmm... I can do... whatever I want.

D- (anytime he's truly frustrated at an inanimate object): That's just IDIOTS!

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* Yes, I'm aware that this is the second remark I've recently recorded of M- pointing at my bare chest, but what can I say? Shirts and socks are for people who leave the house.

Also, I want to note that it's good to know I'm still at least in good enough shape not to offer her any confusion on the breast issue.

Stories for the newly hearing impaired

Well folks, it's Friday morning, which means it's time for me to grab my ear plugs and head down to the library for M-'s story time, where we all get to huddle on the outskirts of the crowd gathered in relative safety about 15 feet away from the (very nice) ringleader herself.

The first week, a few of the other 2-year-olds understandably plopped themselves down right up front when things started, but, being creatures who act on instinct at all times without care for others' feelings, they unsubtley hit the deck when the volume dial broke off at 11 and didn't let up.

It came right as I was wondering how they could take it while I was struggling all the way in the back of the tragically tiny room-- all three kids simultaneously threw themselves backwards (in that way little kids do) outside the blast radius of this woman's voice.

Every week since then, that radius has been marked out by a field 2-3 cushions deep, which this lady must lay out in the vain hope that she's offering plenty of room and comfort to that one special boy --half deaf in his one functioning ear-- who will drift in from one of the nearby parks, as foretold in the prophecy, beckoned to the library by the siren song of a children's book read at a volume that finally allows him to turn off his hearing aid.*

Lest you think she's just one of those rare perky people who's raring to go first thing every morning, I assure you she is far from it. Rather, I believe she simply has to keep shouting as loudly as possible in an effort to keep herself awake, or possibly not dead. Kind of like that stupid Jason Statham movie Crank.

I'm thinking of asking the police department if they might be able to rig up their speed-monitoring trailer to instead measure decibels, so I could drag it into the back of the room like a scoreboard. I might be able to make some side money** wagering on this...

Hopefully I can make enough to cover the ear surgeries.

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* And then ask her if she might speak just a little more softly.

** By side money, of course, I mean my only money.

Developments at our house, Vol. 12

Here are more of the latest developments around here:

1. I've discovered that no matter how tasty a mangled Fannie May Buttercream found at the bottom of a box of Christmas toys looks, it should not be eaten a month after Christmas. Hint: It's no longer at all "creamy".

2. Recently, someone arrived here at the blog via the search "top reason to wash my hands". The top reason to wash your hands? How about so I can feel confident that you're paying enough attention to the many undesirable things your hands do and touch in a given day that I don't have to start retreating entirely from handshakes like Howie Mandel. I'd look as ridiculous giving everyone a Terrorist Fist Jab as I would having my head completely shaved.*

3. I found that if you're going to walk away from your two-year-old on the toilet, for the sake of your heart's health, it's best to remember upon returning that you had given her a down payment on her chocolate chip reward.

4. After gazing upon my bare chest at the breakfast table one morning, my daughter M- pointed and asked, "What's that nipple for?" Like the rest of humanity throughout history, I had to admit that I have no idea.

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* This is apparently the chosen method of my subconscious to let me know that I think Howie Mandel is ridiculous inside and out. Who knew? I don't even watch his show.

Or before G-H, as in "neighbor" and "weigh"

Now is the time on the blog at which I stop to mock someone desperately in need of mocking.

Some have expressed reservations about commenting here for fear of being viciously derided over spelling or grammatical errors, but I cannot stress enough how little you have to worry about that.

Unless you were to commit your errors in the course of making some cutting, accurate remarks taking me down a few pegs, then, yes, I might have to lash out in the easiest way possible.

Other than that, I will love you even if you write like whoever wrote up the error page for the Restricted Trailer site of the upcoming movie I Love You, Man.

It requires you to enter "your" name, age, location, and birth date before allowing you access, and it's apparently either broken or somehow smart enough to realize that Fyuck Eweman is not my real name.

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We're sorry, we were unable to verify your information at this time.

Please check the information you submitted and try again.

If you are receieving this page after re-submitting your information - we are unable to provide you with access to this section of the site and we apologize for the inconvenience.

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"Let's see... oh, man, I wish I hadn't slept through all of junior high...* I before E, E before I... why not both! It's genius! Now, I can finally get back to copy-editing Associated Press stories."

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* Or attended an American school after 1970.

A conversation with D-: The story of sugar

The following is an exchange I had with my son D- after he drank what is probably the second and near-to-last Capri Sun he's had in his 4 years:

D- (eyes wider than usual due to increased heart rate): Daddy, one day, I wanna make this kind of juice.*

Me: Oh yeah?

D- (looking at the front of it): Yeah... it's about "apples".

Me: Yes, it might be about them, but I assure you it's not made from them, so I wouldn't really call it "juice".

D-: (blank stare)

His word choice actually creates an appropriate comparison, since Capri Sun has as much of a connection to actual fruit as, say, The Very Hungry Caterpillar.

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* This means he wants to buy some but knows I'll say, "No, we don't need that," which I of course do quite frequently. He figures that by suggesting we make some ourselves, like the good, old-timey Americans we are, he might stumble through a back door to getting what he wants.

Classic quotes, Vol. 10

Here is the latest batch of quotes from from my wife J-, 2-year-old daughter M-, and 4-year-old son D-:

M- (after sneezing): Bazoontight!

D- (when asked his favorite sport): Ummm... running around in circles.

M- (beaming, after being told she's a big girl): And you're a big daddy!

J-'s physical therapist (while J- was on her stomach doing "gluteal clenches"): Very good! You're doing much better with those-- you look like you're getting a really good squeeze there!

M- (after glimpsing a single raisin I earlier submerged in her cereal, with a tone, pitch, and volume not unlike a new Publishers Clearinghouse winner): Ooh-a-raaaisinnn!!!*

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* I can't publish a quote like this without acknowledging the existence of the greatest source of raisin-related child enthusiasm, Steve at The Sneeze's gifts of raisins to his son on Christmas for the past three years.

Tossin' around the ol' groundhogskin

In honor of this most somber of all major holidays, I'd like to set a moment aside to recognize the sacrifices of the many brave groundhogs who have fought and died for this country over the years, gnawing tiny paths to the heart of freedom so that its light might shine upon the darkest corners of the world.

Or, wait... let me read that page again... Nevermind.

In other news, congratulations to the Pittsburgh Steelers for coldly robbing the Arizona Cardinals* of their one triumphant moment in the accursed half-century since they turned tail and abandoned Chicago.

Sorry as everyone may feel for them right now after a remarkable postseason and a fantastic championship game, they knew what they were getting into when they hit the bricks for St. Louis (before moving on to retirement in the desert).

Regardless of all this ancient history, I was still a neutral fan this year, nursing a broken heart since my team, the Giant Foam Cowboys, didn't go all the way:

And now, to instead honor the other Groundhog Day, you should read this post again, ad infinitum, until you Learn Something Important.

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* My condolences, of course, go out to Renee, beth, and any other Arizona residents/Cardinals fans reading out there.

Corporate intelligence, Vol. 6: Walgreens

I've been hearing the following Walgreens radio ad quite a lot here in Chicago lately:

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With Medicare Part D, you pay the same co-pay everywhere. So now that there's no hassle of comparing prices everywhere, come join the millions who fill their prescriptions at Walgreens!

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Allow me to translate this into laymen's terms for you all:

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Now that our usurious markups don't matter to you directly, come on over and go through the different hassle of changing your prescription to Walgreens for no apparent reason!

After all, as an old company ourselves, we understand how much old people love changing things, especially --as we just established-- when there's no tangible financial or other advantage, and when they're virtually guaranteed to have "millions" of people ahead of them in line whenever they choose to endure venturing out and about!*

Sorry Gen-Xers, this sweet deal isn't for you! You'll have to keep paying those clearly exorbitant Walgreens prices for at least the next several decades, until the government can foot the bill for you!**

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I wonder how big last year's bonus was for the marketing executive who approved this ad?

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* "Swollen knees and back trouble from standing too long? We've got handy racks of not-inexpensive OTC pain pills lined up along the pharmacy wall, free from the price restrictions of Medicare Part D!"

** In all fairness, someone has to cover the cashiers' overtime pay while each of those seniors counts out $10 in pennies with nearly useless arthritic fingers.

One-item lists, Vol. 1

We all know I like me a good list post. Because my unfinished list-post backlog is reaching critical mass, I figured we could start the year off by purging some of these in one largely child-centric meta-list:*

Child-Themed Game Shows
1. Oatmeal or Vomit?

Reasons Child Services May Pay Us A Visit
1. My 4-year-old son D- says things like, "I'm holding my lip because you punched me there" after practically leaping into the way of my unrelated hand gesture.

Life Goals Met At 15 Months (note that M- is now 2 years old)
1. Find Out What Sand Tastes Like. If pleasant, chow down! Note to self: It was extremely pleasant.

My New Favorite Sites
1. This one.

Reasons I Love Hanging Out With Kids All Day**
1. Tossing out a line like, "Not by the cereal on your chinny-chin-chin!" while wiping off a toddler's chin at breakfast will cause the whole room to lose it for a good 2 minutes.

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* Note that publishing this post itself was delayed several weeks for reasons unknown even to me.

** Unfortunately, immersing oneself in this for too long can have a severely detrimental effect on one's ability to write blog posts that amuse adults, as well as one's ability to conduct a normal, polite conversation with other adults.

A conversation with M-: The wipe that shakes the barley

This is the epitome of a conversation I have with M- at least once every day, proving she's definitely my kid:

Me: Hey, are you stinky?

M- (shiftily): No.

Me: I beg to differ. (as supportively as I can muster) Okay, we have to change your diaper now. (while beginning to change her) You have to tell somebody when you have to go to the bathroom, rememb...

M- (eagerly, in a Notifying Tone): I have to go to the bathroom!

Me: Yes, I know you did, that's why I'm here changing you-- you have to tell somebody BEFORE you go in your pants, so we can help you get to the toilet. And if you go in your pants by accident, you need to tell somebody that, too, so we can help get you cleaned up, right?

M- (same tone as above): I made poop in my diaper!

Me (with one final wipe): Yes. Just like that. Thanks.

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You may also enjoy the other (4 YO son) D- conversations, (2YO daughter) M- conversations, and (wife) J- conversations.