How???

Some kids go through the "why" stage, but Story's new favorite word is "how." This is just a sample of every single conversation we've had this week.

STORY: Mommy, why is the stove hot?

ME: Because electricity goes through it and makes it hot.

STORY: How does electricity get in there?

ME: We plug it into the wall and the electricity goes through the cord.

STORY: How does eek-tris-tee get in the wall?

ME: There are wires with electricity in them that run to our house.

STORY: How did the wires go to our house?

ME: Someone made them go to our house. They bring power to here.

STORY: How do they get the power?

ME: From a power plant.

STORY: How does the plant get power?

ME: They burn coal.

STORY: (slight pause) Mommy, how do you know?

ME: Because I'm smart.

STORY: How are you smart?

ME: I'm smart because I listened in school.

STORY: How did you do that?

ME: (no speaking, just "the look")

STORY: Oh.

So far this week, I've explained how leaves turn colors, how toilets work, why I do laundry, and how cars use gas. And each conversation ends exactly the same way- with my daughter questioning my intelligence, and me administering "the look".

There's a bright and shining future for Story in law enforcement, I'm sure. Or maybe torture.

10 items of randomness for my 100th post

Whoo-hoo!!!

It's my 100th post! Can you believe that 100 blog-worthy things have happened to me? (okay, I'll be honest- probably only 47 blog-worthy things have happened...the remaining 53 are not very good).

So, in honor of my 100th post of nothing, I decided to compose 100 short stories about things that have happened to me lately...

And then I got realistic....and decided to post ten.

Here goes:

1. Story keeps wanting strange foods for breakfast...this morning it was mozzarella and oranges. Yesterday she wanted bananas and a hot dog. At least she's not mixing them up.

2. Abby (my dog) needs shaved. Badly. Every time I let her in the house, a steady trail of hair flows behind her, kind of like Pig Pen and his dirt from Charlie Brown. If she lays down on the rug, when she gets up, it looks like she's left little puppies all over the carpet. I have swept more the past week than I have in a year.

3. I did Zumba for the first time the other day....in addition to finding out that I still have the coordination of an adolescent, I also realized that I can't seem to move my hips...at all. Oh well, at least I didn't fall.....

4. Ivy's doing this annoying thing where she laughs all the time, even when she's in trouble. I'm not sure how to handle this, but it infuriates me!!! I find myself saying all those cliches my mom used to say to me....funny how that keeps happening.

5. I painted my fingernails hot pink for a wedding last weekend. And then I put on a red dress. (If there's a man reading this who's thinking, "What's wrong with that?"....that's tacky!!) Then I stole some sea shells from the reception for my hermit crabs...and got caught doing it by a groomsman.

6. Story's starting to get in to a good sleep routine again, but Ivy is being very resistant to going to sleep anytime before midnight...which is weird because it's usually the other way around! Methinks we need some Benadryl assistance.....

7. I should really clean the house...but I'm not too excited about doing that because in 4 hours, I'll just need to sweep it again. Why bother when the improvement is short-lived I say?

8. Story and I have had some interesting conversations lately as her vocabulary has improved and she's become more talkative. Too bad I still can't understand anything she says.

9. I'm trying to teach Ivy to give herself a shower...and it's hard! What makes it worse is she has no desire to do it herself either. I mean, I guess if someone offered to bathe me everyday, I'd probably let them, so I see her point, but, wow, it would be so much easier if I could say, "Ivy go take a shower" and 72 minutes later after much nagging and yelling, she's cleaned herself!!

10. Story's favorite new lullaby? Dynamite by Taio Cruz. I know, right?

Am I old?

Ivy and I like to have deep conversations in the car on our way to school. They include subjects such as why I have moles, how I'm almost really old, and whether I look pretty or not. Today's is about what will happen in twenty years:

IVY: Mommy, what do you think I will look like in twenty years?

ME: Well, you should be taller, your hair will be different, and you'll be just as pretty.

IVY: Mommy, what will you and Daddy look like in twenty years?

ME: Well, Daddy will have grey hair. And we'll have wrinkles.

IVY: Daddy will have grey hair?

ME: Yes.

IVY: You'll have grey hair, too, right?

ME: Nope.

IVY: Yes you will.

ME: Nope, I color my hair, Ivy.

IVY: Yes you will. You'll have long grey hair, and you'll wear it in a bun.

ME: No! It will not be grey, long, or in a bun.

IVY: Why not?

ME: Because I'll only be 53!

IVY: Really??? That's old!!!!!!!

ME: So, that's old, but I'm not old right now?

IVY: Oh...yes, you're old right now. But in twenty years, you'll be really old.

Thanks, Ivy.

Ivy's New Awareness of Stuff

Ivy is reaching a point in her life when she is becoming more aware of her surroundings and how things work.

She's also becoming aware of the stuff I listen to on the radio. Which is not always a good thing.

When you're driving your Kindergartner to school, you don't necessarily want to hear them singing from the backseat, "Put your hands on me in my skin-tight jeans, I'm your teenage dream tonight." Someone might take that the wrong way.

Last night, I was cleaning up some more hairball cat puke (thanks, sister!!), and I was spraying this carpet cleaner. Ivy picked up the bottle and said, "Oh, good, Mommy, you're using Oxy Clean." I grabbed the bottle and it did indeed say "Oxy Clean" on it.

I said, "Why is this good, Ivy?"

She rolled her eyes and said, "Come on, Mommy, you know it cleans with the power of ox-ee-gen, and it's not clean unless it's Oxy-clean!" So, now she's memorizing commercials.

And to distract her in the car last week, I showed her kudzu. You know, that vine-y plant that covers trees and buildings that's all over the south? I told her the story of how it came from China, and now it takes over because it grows really fast. I showed her examples of trees and buildings covered with it. It did the trick and she stopped crying and fighting with her sister.

But I never dreamed that she'd scream, "KUDZU!!!!!!!!! Look, Mommy, it's KUDZU!!!!!!" as loud as she could every time we passed some. Which is a lot. I'm lucky I haven't wrecked yet.

Conversations with Story

Story blows a raspberry in my face. I pretend to cry.
STORY: Mommy why you crwying?
ME: You hurt my feelings.
STORY: Mommy, it only a widdle spit.
ME: I know. Spitting can hurt my feelings.
STORY: No, spit doan hurt feewings.
ME: Yes it does.
STORY: No it doan. Spit to me.
ME: No, I don't want to hurt you're feelings.
STORY: Mommy! You can't not hurt my feewings! Spit to me! See, I spit to me.
**brief struggle as she tries to "spit to" herself.
STORY: See? My feewings no hurt.

ME: Story! Get down here for your bath!!! One....Two...
STORY: Mommy I coming I coming!
**I wait in bathroom, no Story
ME: Story! Come on, you have to take a bath!!! One....Two...

STORY: Mommy I coming I coming!
**she doesn't show up. I look, she's sitting on the top step in the playroom watching TV.
ME: Story! Get down here!!! One...Two.....
STORY: Mommy! Shew! I tole you I was coming!
**she walks down the stairs.
STORY: Mommy, why you so angwy to me?
ME: Because I had to tell you three times to get down here for your bath!
**She rolls her eyes (that's right, I have a three year old eye-roller!)
STORY: I not dirty.
ME: Yes, yes, you are!
STORY: No I not! See?
**she drops her pants, turns around, and bends over to show me her butt.
STORY: See? I no have poop on my butt.

**Story is sobbing uncontrollably. I pick her up.
ME: Baby, why are you so sad?
STORY: Ivy woan pway with me!!!!
ME: What do you want her to play?
STORY: I just wan her to be a mouse.
ME: A mouse? Why?
STORY: So I can sit on her.
ME: You're going to sit on her?
STORY: Yes. I'm an ewephant. See?
**She takes her arm and flaps it up and down saying, "wha-hoo! wha-hoo!"
ME: Well, maybe Ivy doesn't want to be a squished mouse?
STORY: But why? Why, Mommy?
ME: Maybe she wants to be an elephant too.
**She seems to ponder this for a moment.
STORY: Mommy, will you be my mouse?

**in the car....
STORY: Mommy, I want the whoa whoa song.
ME: The whoa whoa song? What's that?
STORY: I want the whoa whoa song!!!!!!!!!!!
ME: What whoa whoa song???
IVY: (translating) You know, Mommy, the song that goes, "Whoa, whoa, I wanna know!"
ME: OH! Well, it's not on the radio.
STORY: I want the song!!!!!!!!!!! WAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
ME: I can't just make a song play on the radio, Story.
STORY: Why? I want whoa whoa!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
ME: Because I can only play what the radio has.
STORY: Why? Mommy why? MOMMY WHY???????
ME: Because I'm not the boss.
STORY: Mommy, you are.
ME: No, I'm not.
STORY: You are. You say, "Sit down. Be qwiet. I'm the bossa you!"

My life is (on) a highway....

I was traveling home from my mom's house yesterday on a four lane highway.  We'd been making pretty decent time when I noticed in the rear view mirror (which is placed on my kids, not the road, ha-ha!) that Story started squirming and crying in her seat.

"Story! STORY!" (I had to scream loud over the Polly Pocket DVD) "What's wrong??"

"Mo-mom-mo-momma-mom-mommy!" (because she's in that stage where it takes her forever to get a word out) "My butt huwts!"

"Why?" I asked. I was met with only more wiggling and whining. So, I started looking around. I noticed a BP up ahead on the left, so I pulled into the lane, signaled, and drove in. Just because they spilled a bunch of oil in the gulf doesn't mean I can't use their bathrooms.

I got both kids and my wallet out. We walked into the almost empty gas station (which is good because lately Story has developed this thing where she likes to almost jump in front of cars and scare me to death). We walked past the guy at the counter and into the bathrooms. I put Story on first after I coated the seat with paper. She peed. I said, "Your turn, Ivy."

"I don't hafta pee." Which she would say even if she had pee running down her leg.

"I don't care." I grabbed her, yanked the pants down, and placed her on the toilet. She peed.

I sat down about the same time Story got really interested in the trash can. She started to touch the lid and I yelled, "Don't!" She diverted and touched a piece of chewed up gum stuck to the trash bag. I yelled, "Nooooo!!!!!!"

Now, some days you can yell until you're blue in the face at Story and she laughs at you. Other days you can look at her kind of sternly, whisper "no" and she collapses into tears and screams. You can guess what kind of day this was.

She looked at me with big eyes. The tears welled and spilled out over her eyelashes. She put her hands up to cover her face in shame and wailed. And I mean WAILED. I tried to comfort her as I washed her hands. She screamed louder. I thought about the guy at the counter calling social services. He probably thought I brought the kids in here to beat them.

Then I did the only thing I could think of to bring a halt to the tears. "Wanna treat?"

"Yes!!!" they both shouted with glee. I took them out into the store and looked around. I decided to get a cup of coffee. They decided to get blue slushies. We went to the counter and paid for them.

We walked outside and Story immediately jumped off the curb and out into where there would be cars if there were any cars there. I yelled, but fortunately she was so excited about the slushie that she ignored my mean voice and jumped back up on the curb.

I laid my wallet on the hood of the car as I buckled the kids in their seats. As I did it, I thought, "Shew, I'd better not forget this. It would be horrible for my wallet to be spilled all over the highway." When I have thoughts like that, I should really learn to listen to myself.

I hopped in my seat after trying to set Polly Pocket back to where she was when we turned the car off. We backed out of the spot, and I went forward. I had to wait about three minutes before I could pull out, during which I should have paid more attention to the hood of my car.

When I pulled out and got up to speed, something flew at my windshield. It hit with a thunk! and I ducked and looked into the rear view mirror (which is how I have to use it to actually see the road) just in time to see my wallet crash to the ground in an explosion of little white, plastic cards.

"*&@^$#!!" I said as I pulled into the median.

"*&@^$#? What's *&@^$#?" Ivy asked.

"Nothing you should EVER EVER EVER say again!!!" I screamed as I slammed the car door and ran back to where my wallet was sitting forlornly in the middle of two lanes.

I got the wallet before it was run over by a motorcycle. I waited out two cars and picked up my license. I started collecting bits and pieces of things that had flown out of my wallet as it crashed to the asphalt, leaving the receipts and *sob!* my ticket stubs from Eclipse.

I ran back to the car with what I could find amongst the trash that people throw out of their cars and did inventory. I had my license, my medical card, a couple doctor's appointment cards, and my cash (which had stayed in the zippered pocket- thank God I didn't put it where my cash actually should go!)

"Mommy, what is*&@^$#?" Ivy insisted.

"*&@^$#!! *&@^$#!!" Story yelled. Great.

I tried to explain what cussing was to Ivy, how it was even worse than saying "stupid." She kind of didn't get it, so I fully expect a call from her teacher or another parent tomorrow asking me just what I've been teaching my child. In the meantime, I'm sure Story will be teaching all the three year olds in her room that word tomorrow.

Miscommunication

I was in a hurry. It was a lot later than I care to say, and the children were smack dab in the middle of the bathing hour.

Story was sitting on the toilet, wrapped in her towel. Ivy was in the shower rinsing her hair. I was trying to dry Story off. When I reached into the shower to wash Ivy's hair, Story looked at the upper left corner of the bathroom and said, "Look! It's froggy." (Which actually came out" Wook, is fwoggy!) I braced myself and looked in the corner, scared that there might actually be a frog there. There wasn't. So I ignored her.

But, Story has this really bad habit of not letting you ignore her. She repeats herself over and over again until you repeat what she just said correctly. So, 3 seconds later, "Mommy! It's FROGGY."

I said, "Where's the froggy?"

Ivy said, "Mommy, does Story have a frog?" She tried to peek her head out of the shower curtain to see.

I pushed her head back in. "No, there's no frog."

"MOMMY IS FROGGY!" Story said again in her satanic voice.

"Are you saying Mommy IS a froggy, Story?" I asked.

"Ha! Ha! Mommy is a froggy!" Ivy sang.

"Noooooooo!!!" Story yelled. "Mommy, is froggy!!!!!" She gestured up to the same corner.

"What's she saying, Mommy?" Ivy asked.

Good question, Ivy, I thought. "Maybe she has an imaginary friend that's a frog?"

"Story do you have an imamaiginary friend that's a frog?" Ivy tried to ask. Story just looked at us.

"FROGGY."

Ivy and I were sold on the imaginary friend idea. I stopped the shower and wrapped her up in the towel. "Hi, froggy!" I called, waving to the corner.

"Hi, froggy!" I said. "That's so cute, Mommy."

Ivy and I asked Story all sorts of questions about her froggy. She looked at us like we were stupid, and just kept repeating, "No, it's froggy!"

I sat Ivy up to brush her teeth, and then picked Story up to look in the mirror as I brushed her teeth. She gestured emphatically to the mirror. "See? it's FROGGY."

I looked at the mirror...and it was steamy. It was foggy. "Story, the mirror is froggy?"

"Yes, is FROGGY."

"No, that's foggy. The mirror is foggy."

Story pondered this for a moment. "No, I say froggy."

The Tooth Fairy Tale, as told by Story

This is Story's version of the Tooth Fairy, as she told it to me last night.

I has toofs. (Opens mouth, shows me)
Dey wiggul wiggul wiggul. (shakes her hips back and forth)
Faw out!
Puddem unner da piwow. (raises imaginary pillow)
Go sweep. (closes eyes, lays head on hands)
Toof Faiwy fwies. (she flaps her arms like wings)
She take dem, weave monies!

I turned to Ivy and said, "Where did she learn this?"

Ivy said she and Story learned all about the tooth fairy from Yo Gabba Gabba. Ivy also says she'd like to just keep the teeth she has, thank you.

Reverend Ivy

From 7:15 p.m. until 8:00 p.m. this evening, Ivy was moved by the spirit.

She added, "In the name of the Lord," at the end of all of her sentences.

Here's a sampling:

Mommy, the refrigerator's closed...in the name of the Lord.

Story is making fun of me....in the name of the Lord.

I have to pee...in the name of the Lord.

I want another bagel...in the name of the Lord.

Mommy, do you love me...in the name of the lord?

Story pooped in the potty..in the name of the Lord!

Watch this....in the name of the Lord!

Tomorrow will be better...in the name of the Lord.

Can I have cake for dessert..in the name of the Lord?

It sure is raining...in the name of the Lord.

Abby ate my food...in the name of the Lord!


It's almost like that fortune cookie game......almost.

SURE

Ivy's new favorite word? SURE.

She uses it in place of the word YES, which can make her intentions very confusing.

Ivy, would you like to wear this? SURE. I mean, you could wear this instead. SURE.

Ivy, do you want chicken nuggets and ketchup for dinner? SURE. Well, we could have something else.

Ivy, would you like a sucker? SURE.

Ivy, did you hit your sister? SURE.

Ivy, did you eat your lunch? SURE.

Ivy, did you brush your teeth? SURE.

Do you want to play Candyland? SURE.

Will you let the dog out? SURE.

I'm not sure about people who don't teach middle school kids, but everytime I hear someone answer a question with the word "SURE," I think one of three things.

1. They really don't want to do/eat/wear that.
2. They are upset that I asked the question.
3. They are being a smart aleck.

It was entirely possible that Ivy just thought SURE meant YES. So, tonight when I asked if she wanted a Happy Meal, and she responded with the now regular SURE, I said, "Ivy, did you mean 'yes'?"

"Sure, Mommy." Ugh.

"Ivy, SURE doesn't mean yes...it means...um, I don't care or I don't really want to but I will."

"Mommy, it means YES."

"Well, I know it does, but when you say that I don't really know if you really want a Happy Meal."

"Oh."

You know what's exciting? All evening, when we ask her a question, she says, "Su- I mean yes, Mommy."

Score one for the Mommy!!!!!