Overheards: Star Trek Edition

Scene:  H and I are in bed reading.  Er..I'm trying to read and he's asking inane questions over my shoulder just to annoy the hell out of me.  Marriage is bliss, people!

H:  Ah, the prologue.  You are going to read the prologue? 

Me:  Um.. yes.  (Scoots a few inches away)

H:  And you'll read the epilogue, right? 

Me: (Sighing audibly) Yesss...  I will. 

H:  Is there ever just like, a log or something?

Me:  A log? Like the middle section?

H: Yeah, a log (he sounds it out, "log-ooh".)

Me: Sure there is, the middle part is "log-ooh" or just log.  As in, "Captain's Log:  Stardate..."

He flicks me in the ear. 

Overheards: Milk

Scene:  Breakfast table.  TD is headed upstairs to dress for school. The Comedian is still eating the last remnants of her cereal.  I'm packing up her lunch, picking up items off the floor, and putting dishes in the sink. 

The Comedian:  "Wash, wash, wash."

Me:  "What are you washing?"

The Comedian:  "Um. Myself."

Me:  "Good. You need to use napkins more. Good job!"

The Comedian: "Yesss. Wash, wash, wash. Washing with milk."

Me: "What?" 

I turn to look.  While I packed her sisters lunch The Comedian has stripped down naked at the breakfast table and begun smearing her cereal milk all over herself. 

Me: Loud, audible sigh.  "We don't wash with miiilllk. Ugh! It doesn't get you clean. It makes you smelly and dirty." 

I'm not even going to impart the possible beauty lesson milk has for the skin. I sense this is not the right crowd. 

Overheards: One of Us

Scene: RE and I are sitting at the kitchen table having a chat over our breakfast.

TD: Mommy, you are going to live longer than Daddy.

V: I am? Why do you say that?

TD: Beee-cawsz YOU are one of US! (as she looks across the room at her younger sister.)

Maybe all those Newsweek, Economist magazines and newspapers they pretend to read are actually infiltrating their young minds.

Overheards- A is for Axe.

Scene:  Bedtime.  I am reading the girls a story out of a Richard Scarry book.  As I read I point out objects on the intricately drawn pages and ask TD what each object is. 

V:  OK, and what is this?

TD:  A windmill.

V:  Good.  And this? 

TD:  An axe.

V:  Great! What do you use an axe for?

TD:  Um... cutting people up! 

V:  (I burst out laughting and look down at her sweet upturned face.I caress her cheek with my hand and squeeze her little chin. Tiny pin pricks of tears well in my eyes.  She is my child! I smile.) Well, yes you could use an axe to cut people up but it isn't very nice and would hurt them a lot.  Unless they are already dead.  What you really want to use an axe for is cutting and chopping up wood.


Should I even mention that The Comedian does a killer zombie impression?

Overheards- Porn

Scene:  TD and The Comedian are waiting for me to pop some popcorn for them.  Much jumping up and down in the kitchen is taking place.

TD: "POPCORN!! YEAH!"

The Comedian: "OPORN! OPORN!"

V:  "Are you trying to say popcorn?  Popcorn is oporn to you?"

The Comedian:  "Oporn!"

TD:  "What's Porn?"

V: "Oh geez... um.  How did we get from popcorn to porn in under a minute? (nervous laugh) She's just trying to say 'popcorn'.  That's all.

TD and The Comedian:  "PORN! PORN!" (More jumping up and down.)

V:  "NO!  It's Popcorn.  Pop-cooornnnn."


All need is for one or both these kids to go to someone else's house or school asking for porn.

Detachable Penis

Scene:  The breakfast table.  It is barely 8 a.m. and I am working on my first cup of coffee.  T.D. sits across the table from me.  The Fifth Element is in my arms.

TD:  "Mom?  How did The Fifth Element get in your tummy?"

V:  "What?  Oh, you mean how did I have The Fifth Element?"

TD:  "Noooo.... How did The Fifth Element get IN your tummy?" 

V:  (Nervous smile, shooting eyes heavenward, thinking, "It is too early! Where is H when I need him?!")  "Eeehh, in my tummy. Right.  Well...." Swig coffee likes it is bourbon. 

And then I said the thing I swore I would never say because it is so cliched and so cheesy and as H put it 'wildly inaccurate because any two incestuous rednecks can make a baby!"  I said-

"Well, when a man and woman really love each other.."  Then I puked in my mouth.  OK, not really, but I wanted to.  "OK TD, let me start over. Men have sperm and women have eggs.  Sperm are a lot like little fish because they can swim.  The man gives the woman sperm to fertilize her egg, just like bees pollinating flowers. Got it?"

She nods, smiling.  I ask, "Are you sure you don't already know the answer to this?" 

TD:  "No.  Why?"

V:  "Just wondering. So the egg and sperm come together to make a baby that grows in the woman's tummy and that is how The Fifth Element got into mine."

TD:  "How did you get the sperm?" 

V: "Daddy gave it to me. It comes from his penis, which he puts in my vagina." 

TD: (Eyes wide, mouth hanging open) "He takes his penis OFF and gives it to you?!" 

V:  "Not quite.  We have to lay really close to each other to do this."

TD: "Oh. OK.  And some women have their babies through their vagina's and others get their stomachs cut open?" 

V:  (Can you tell she's been around a lot of pregnant women?)  "Yup.  That's how it works."

TD:  "When I grow up and have babies I want them to come out my vagina. No ones cutting me open!" 

Aren't you glad you came here for this sex education class today?

Overheards- Alone and Starving

Just when you think you are handling your business you have a moment like this-

Scene:  Target.  Do I even need to explain anymore?  I had bought a pair of basic, black pants on a whim the other day and picked up the wrong size.  I now needed to drag the kids right before lunch time to the store to return the small pair and get a size bigger.  Awesome, on all accounts.  TD had already lobbed a few hangers at me in the dressing room.  Apparently, Target is like, the most, um, boring place on earth and it is like, uh really impeding her life to be here.  Big Sigh. 

Right.

TD:  (Upon exiting the dressing room) "WHEN are we going to leave this place?!" (Insert big,  huffy sigh here.)

V:  "In a minute. I have to (struggle with pile of pants I've just tried on as I wrangle The Comedian in my other arm.) see if they have another size in this style."  I have to stop myself from screaming at the dressing room assistant who is smiling placidly at my struggles with both kids and pants.  Why isn't she taking the pants I'm proffering?

TD:  "I don't want to do THIS anymore!!!"  She turns to the oh-so-helpful dressing room assistant and says, "You know sometimes I am left home alone and starving..."

V: 

V: 

I had no reaction.  I couldn't at just that moment with an armful of toddler and pants. I was so stunned at this blatant lie that was coming from her four year-old mouth.  I wanted to run, scream, and hide.  I just looked at the woman in the dressing room, smiled and tossed the pants at her.  I grabbed TD and marched her to a corner of the jeans section and whispered in that stealth voice all Moms possess for public talking to's.  Where in the world does she get this? 

Then I remembered.  I was home alone with her this weekend while I lay sick in bed and she played near me.  I told her that she had to wait a few minutes until her Dad came home to get lunch.  I couldn't get out of bed. 

Ergo- she was home alone and starving.

I have never been so stunned by her in my life and at a loss for words than at that moment.  I felt like a big MOM=FAIL. 

Overheards- Clowns

Scene:  TD and I are out for a walk, just the two of us.  We pass by a house with the front door open so she can see inside their foyer.  A two foot high clown dressed in a green and gold lame costume is standing like a sentry in the corner.

TD:  OOOhhh, look at that clown.  I love that clown. I want that clown in our house.

V:  I don't know about that. I don't really like clowns. 

TD:  You don't like clowns?! (This cannot be!  How can someone not like clowns?)

V:  No, they creep me out. Clowns scare me.

TD:  They scare you? Why?

V: I don't know. They just do.  Some people just don't like clowns. (I shudder as I think of all the scary clowns from my life- the red, white and blue one that hung in my nursery as a child.  I can still recall it as I peered out at it from behind crib bars.  IT.  Poltergiest.  Need I go on?)

TD:  Is it because they break into your house at night and crawl in through the windows and climb on your bed and dance on you yelling, "BOO!" (She does a little jig like a freaky leprachaun as she says all this.)

V: (I glance down at her with disbelief and a bit of frightened awe) Um... yeah, something like that.

I swear this kid has peered inside my nightmares.  I can't decide what is more frightening. 

And congratulations to Kristen on her new baby girl!  What an amazing birth story!!

Overheards- Conversations with a Four Year Old

Scene:  Making lunch and talking with TD the other day.

TD:  All dinosaurs are gone now.  There are no more dinosaurs. They are extinct. 

V:  That's right!

TD:  When I grow up I want to be a paleontologist.  Then a Mom.

V:  That is a great a idea. A really good plan.

TD:  Actually, I want to be President too. 

V:  Wow. Really? (Somehow I am not surprised. The girl is obsessed with Barack Obama aka "Rock O'Mama" according to her and she's named after another President.)

TD: Yup.  I want to be President first. Then a paleontologist, then a mom. 

V:  You are going to be super busy!  Good for you for having a plan.

TD:  Yes, I am.  I like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with honey too.  That's cause they are the sweetest.  When I'm President and then a Mom and paleontologist I'll have those all the time.

Two seconds later we are talking about Valentines and Strawberry Shortcake. 

Overheards- Queen Edition

Scene:  TD and I are heading home from a long, fun day at the pumpkin patch.  My iPod is blaring Queen in the car.

TD:  "WHAT?!  Another one bites the what?!"

V:  "The dust. Another one bites the dust."

TD:  "Blech! I don't want to bite dust.  That's gross!  Is there a song that is the opposite of that?  Is there a "Another One Doesn't Bite Dust" song?" 

V:  "No, there isn't one of those songs." I try not to laugh.

TD:  "Oh. (thoughtful pause) Because I would like that song." 

Overheards: Corn Hole

Scene: We are all gathered around the table eating dinner. From our table we can view much of our neighborhood street.

H: Looks like our neighbors are playing Corn Hole again.

TD: DADDY! Don't say that word. That word is a bad word! Corn Hole is baaad!!!!

I almost spew my food and snort with laughter as she continues to mutter under her breath about how Daddy shouldn't use such bad language.

Overheards- When I'm Older

All this week I have heard nothing but, "When I'm older...", "When I'm twelve..." and "When I'm a Mommy..." 

Scene:  My bathroom.  Both girls are crowded into it twirling around in princess dresses and throwing make-up, bottles of lotion and hairbrushes around the room with wild abandon.  It's a fourth floor loft and I'm beginning to heat up and lose my patience as I try for once this week to actually do more with my hair than put it into a pony tail. 

TD:  Mommy, when I grow up I am going to have different rules.

V:  Really? 

TD:  Yes, I am going to have very different rules than you and Daddy.

V:  Mmhm... like what?

TD:  In my house we will chew with our mouths open and no one will find it "disgusting" or bad manners.  We'll chew with our mouths open and we'll like it! 

V:  Really?  Well, we'll see. 

TD:  In my house we'll have purple and pink doors on all the rooms and the bath tub will be purple and pink too.  In my house I will pray to God that I will have lots of babies and also grown up kids too.  In my house....

V:  I find this fascinating and I'll tell you this one thing- when you grow up TD, I bet your rules will be very similar to mine. 

Standing with arms crossed and leaning against a closet door she says to me in a skeptical tone, "Well, you think that now, but I don't think so when I'm eleven..."

Well, OK then.

Overheards- Jail Time

Scene:  The whole family is in the car.  We've been out all day furniture shopping for the girls new room.

TD:  "How long is jail?"

H and I exchange glances while idling at a stop light. 

V:  "What do you mean, "How long is jail?"

TD:  "Just tell me.  How. Long. IS. JAIL?!"  She is already exasperated.

H and I exchange looks again.

H: "Why do you want to know?"

TD: "I just need to know is all!" 

V: "OK, pumpkin listen, jail has various times.  It's not just one set time. So again, why do you want to know?"

H: "It depends on what you have done.  If it is a small bad thing it isn't for very long. If it is a big bad thing it is for much longer."

V: "Right.  Sometimes jail time is for the rest of your life too, if you have done something really, really bad. Even short times in jail are much longer than your time outs."

TD:  Sits thoughtfully in her car seat for a moment and still looks frustrated.  She throws up her hands and runs her fingers through her wild mane of hair and throws out her arms once again saying, "Well, I just need to know!"

I glance at H and say, "I get the feeling that if she knew the phrase, "hypothetically speaking...." we would be getting further with this conversation. H nods and says, "As in, 'hypothetically speaking, if I were to shiv you both for making me spend a day furniture shopping..."

Overheards- The Candy Fairy

Scene:  TD, my mother and I are riding in the car on the way home from running errands. 

TD:  "Mommy, do we still have that church chocolate bar?"

Me:  "Erm, nooo. That's all gone."  I know full well that my mother ate it the other day while TD was allegedly napping.  We have a whole bag full of them in the pantry too. I just forgot to replace it.  Alright! You got me. I was hoping she would forget all about that chocolate bar from Sunday. The kid does not need more candy after the Pixie Stick rampage she went on at Saturday's birthday party.

TD: "Where did it go?  Who ate it?" 

Me:  "The Candy Fairy ate it."  My mother stifles a laugh.

TD:  "Mommy, the Candy Fairy?" 

Me:  "Yes, the Candy Fairy. She comes into our home sometimes and eats our candy.  She works with the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy."

TD:  "Mommy, I think you are making that up."

Sigh. Already. She hasn't even lost a tooth and she has already decided that that Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy do not exist. 

They Have Computers in Jersey, Don't They?

Scene:  I am on the phone with TD.  Me in my CA hotel room, she at my parents home.

TD:  "Where are you now Mommy?"

V:  "I'm in California, pumpkin."

TD:  "Are you going to New Jersey next?"

V: "Err..no.  Not New Jersey."

TD:  "Is that because there are no computers in New Jersey?" 

Man, I really miss that kid.  That other one too.  What's her name again?  I mean what mother that works or travels for occasionally for work actually misses their kids, right? Heh.

You're a Bad Mommy

Scene:  In the girls bathroom, brushing TD's hair.  We are in get ready for school mode.

TD: (frowning at her reflection in the mirror. A permanent scowl has been on her face all morning.) "Mommy, you are a bad mommy."

Me:  (Stifling a sigh and the urge to rip through her hair because all morning has been this way. The frowns. The whines. The cries. The dissatisfaction.)  "I'm a bad mommy? Hm..." 

I wait a beat as she nods in confirmation.

Me:  "TD, if I was a bad mommy I wouldn't care that you said that.  It hurt my feelings.  If I was a bad mommy I wouldn't be combing your hair or helping you get dressed or feeding you breakfast. Would you like it if I said you were a bad daughter?" 

TD: "Nooo...."

Me:  (Feeling overwhelmed by sadness and guilt at that moment) "What do you say then?"

TD: "I'm sorry, Mommy."

Truth is, I'm sorry too. I am feeling harried and just a bit guilt-ridden lately.  I just had a two day work trip last week and while that isn't a long time it is the first of five trips that I have this month.  I leave again this week and after that I won't see the girls until almost the end of the month.  The tiny itch of doubt about my mothering skills is there now, no matter how hard I try. Being told by my own kid that I'm a bad mommy doesn't help.  Even if it is because she doesn't like me combing the knots out of her hair. 

Overheards- Totaled

Scene:  I'm cooking dinner, sipping grapefruit juice and fielding complaints from the peanut gallery.  Spaghetti frittata isn't a gallery favorite.  Then the phone rings.

H:  "Sooo... what kind of new car do you want?"

Me:  "What?! Why?"  Thoughts drift towards our earlier emails regarding his car's prowess.  As in, it has none. It's a '98 Corolla. 

H:  "The Corolla just got totaled."

Me:  "WHAT?! Are you OK?"  Inwardly I am screaming and thinking in short circuits of, "FUCK!" "DAMN!" "Whew!"  "Crap... we just got rid of our only car payment in December...FUCK!"

H: "Can you pick me up? Or wait. I'll call you when the tow truck gets here."

Me:  "Ok... I'm so confused.  What happened? Was it your fault?"

H: "No. The other driver."

We hang up.  I stand in the kitchen completely confused.  I turn off the burners for dinner and just stare at the ingredients on the counter before me.  Tears well in my eyes and I try to remain calm.  I look out the window at the darkening sky and the drizzle falling on the pavement.  Figures.  It rains a drop around here and people drive like morons.  I don't know exactly what to do.  I call my Mom.  I talk to H again. I load the hungry, annoyed girls into the car and head out to pick up H.  Thoughts bang around in my brain as I try to remain calm.  It could have been so much worse I tell myself. He could have been hurt.  The other driver could have been hurt.  We'll figure out the money/new car issue later. He's fine. He's fine.  A Statey (a State Trooper to you non-Rhode Island folks) didn't come to your door.  Everything is fine.

I turn onto the main road and someone cuts me off.  In just the same way that someone did only an hour before to H.  I slam on my brakes.  I breathe. Nothing happens. The driver didn't even hesitate. The rain continues to fall.  My phone rings.  It's H. He has another ride home.  We are all safe. I take the girls back home. 

I need a drink.

She's Four and Getting Married

I guess I should be happy. She has good taste in er, boys.  A few weeks ago a mother to a boy in TD's class informed me that TD was her son's "Lady Love" and that they were "betrothed".  "Don't freak out." She said.  "We've been reading Robin Hood and that is how they talk and how the book refers to Maid Marian." OK, then.

They hold hands going into school.  They have playdates and in general, are similar and just genuinely like each others company.  It's a match made in preschool heaven when you find someone who eats the same organic snacks and hates loud noises like you do.  Right?

But TD might be two-timing her man.  Today she told me, "I'm marrying Reilly.  I'll hold flowers and then we'll hold hands after we're married because that is what you do when you are married."  "Oh really? Reilly?" I asked.  "Yes, Reilly.  Can we have a playdate so we can get married?"  I told her we would wait on the playdate since this was the first I had heard of this Reilly character. "OK. FINE." She said with a bit of an exasperated edge to her voice.  "Just don't tell anyone about us getting married.  I'm just telling myself right now.  It's still a secret."

I sort of feel for poor Reilly now.  He has no idea what is going on. 

Overheards- The Old Bra

Scene: I am getting ready for bed and H, already snuggled under the covers, peers out at me.



H: Wow that must be an old bra.

V: Excuse, me? What are you talking about? I've worn this bra, like, twice. Ever.

H: Well, it's all see-through and worn out looking.

V: Oh geez. (I snort) You poor man! This is not an old bra, I just never wear it and it's not the super-nude or basic black ones I normally sport.

Two things people. One, even when I play things up with my bra I rarely choose see-through for daily use as it just isn't practical to me. I like a smooth line and not something that is going to show how cold it is or the exact shape of my areola, you know? Since this third pregnancy, I've discovered a great need for pretty underwear on a daily basis. I want coordinated, colorful, sexy pieces so I can feel less like an effin' breeder who should be quarantined to a nearby farm (organic only, please!) and more like me. Second, how sad is it that H can no longer decipher women's underwear?!

Then again, maybe that is a good thing.

 

Overheards- I'm Huge

Yesterday, I took the girls out for some play time with friends at an indoor play area.  While there a young woman struck up a conversation with my friend and me.  When she found out I was having my third she looked at me and said, "Wow! You are showing already!  You are going to be HUGE!"  I smiled through my teeth and laughed it off thinking, "Sweetie, I'm still smaller than you.  And ten years older."

Cut to this morning when H said to me, "You're my hot wife."  I smirked and jokingly asked, "Even though I'm already SO HUGE?"  He replied, "You're not that huge."

Excuse me, what?

He then said, "Wait. No, wait! What?! I didn't.  I'm so confused. It's still dark out, it's too early.  Don't get mad at me already...."

Well, if I'm huge now then wait until after this weekend when I become ginormous from all the candy I'll be enjoying.  Heh.