pesky warthog

The Kidling came home from pre-school early this week complaining of a pain in her foot. For all of her kvetching about the terrible name of this ailment, she sure did like to say it: plantar warthog. Oh yes, The Kidling earnestly informed us that her teacher informed her that the funny looking thing on the bottom of her foot was one of two things:

1. A blister, or
2. A plantar warthog.

That’s right. Warthog.

_______________________________________________

At long last, another entry for The Dictionary:

Plan-tar Wart-hog: noun. A wart caused by a virus located on the underside of the foot. Plantar Wart + Warthog

solitary

The Mama went on a business trip, The Kidling went on vacation, and The Dada had Our House to himself.

Not a bad deal, really.

Upon The Family’s reunion, I asked The Dada how he enjoyed his time alone:

The Mama: (to The Dada) Did you like having a nice, quiet house?

The Dada: (nods)

Alice: Now there’s lot’s of chit-chat and stinky smells. (to The Mama) Toot in your own room!

Heh heh. Why, um… Kids say the darndest things…

how to win friends and influence people, kidling-style

“It doesn’t matter how tall you are or short you are or big you are. It doesn’t matter if you have long hair, if you have short hair. It doesn’t matter how much ear wax you have. It matters if you’re NICE! So, if Jameson is the first person who was nice to me, so he was my first friend.”

-Alice Munchkin Kidling
April 16, 2013
(If this statement had been made without faulty “if-then” construction, then it would have been perfect)

things that go **drip** in the night

The Kidling, bless her heart, is way ahead of the curve on virtually everything. Gross motor skills, language acquisition, charming people’s socks off… the list really could go on and on. I’m not going to bore you with the details, but suffice it to say that her list of positive attributes (a sense of humor, good hair…) includes easy toilet training.

That The Kidling is such a quick study is a beautiful and amazing thing; however, it has a downfall. I tend to be blindsided by backsliding. Because of The Kidling’s general pre-eminence and brilliance (and fabulosity and light and…), I forget that she will occasionally have incidents.

Or shall I say, accidents.

The Kidling went through a period a few weeks ago where, several times each week, she had accidents in the middle of the night. No surprise, really, except that it is. Add the 3 a.m. factor to the surprise factor, and The Mama can’t promise a lot in terms of her reaction.

My reaction. Who do I think I am, Bob Dole?

As I was saying. My 3 a.m. brain leaves a lot to be desired. This would be true of anyone, but it is especially true of a dripping wet child who wonders what the heck her mama, The Mama, is thinking. When The Kidling wet the bed one night, I started to get her out of her wet pajamas and moved on to stripping the urine-soaked bed. The Kidling, cold and wet, offered a swift rebuke, “Mo-om! Dry me off first! Persons are more importanter than beds!”

Oops. Stupid 3 a.m. brain…

prevention

You have probably heard this before, but The Mama loves her cruciferous vegetables.

And beans.

And green juices.

Which is all to say that I can be a bit… well… gassy. This should come as no surprise to regular readers. “Flatulence” shows up on my list of commonly used tags. And for good reason! See here and here. It should be a little embarrassing. But whatever. The Mama has a body to take care of. If that means I have to be stinky, so be it.

Yeah. Take that, olfactory glands.

Anyway…  I was particularly fragrant one recent evening (which is saying something), and Alice thought there might be a way for me to prevent some of the stinkiness I was inflicting on The Family.

I am indeed raising an optimist.

First, she commanded me to “Flip over on [my] back!”

The better to contain the stench, my Mama.

Then she had a more lasting solution, “Dad’s going to take a giant step. Like THIS! (stomps) Then it’s going to shoot you out of the house and you’ll toot outside!”

I can get on board with that.

public record

This post is for archival purposes only.

April 13, 2013. Crabby day. An apology from Mama to Kidling at snuggle time.

Alice: I always forgive you.

The Mama: We’ll see about that.

Alice: Even when I’m a teenager, if you do mistakes I will forgive you.

The Mama: Okay. I’m going to remind you of that.

Alice: Thank you!

memory

The Family had some conspicuous consumption to do this weekend (as discussed here), so we headed to the nearby outlet mall (and Costco, but that isn’t nearly as exciting).

As we were heading out of town, The Kidling asked where we were going. “The outlet mall,” we replied. But that wasn’t helpful.

She wanted names.

“Whartonville,” we told her, as we pulled into the parking lot. She said — No, she insisted — she had absolutely no idea what we were talking about. And she was adamant:

“I have not been here at all. Under any circumstances. At all.
(one minute elapses)
I remember I’ve been in this place, but I do not remember Whartonville.
(30 seconds elapse)
I do not remember this place at all. I can’t remember Whartonville.
(3 seconds elapse)
Now I remember it.”

Yeah, I bet you do. Stinker.

girl things

Whilst shopping this past weekend, The Kidling and I slipped into a handbag shop while The Dada was paying for a purchase at a nearby store. I looked at the offerings for a few minutes before telling The Kidling we needed to move on. My rationale being that, since we told The Dada we would meet him at J. Crew (yes, I am a yuppy), we had better actually be in J. Crew when he arrived, lest he worry.

Alice, however, took a different message from my declaration that it was time to leave the handbag store. She sighed, “You know how Dad is about girl things…”

Seeing as how I actually didn’t know how he is about girl things, I asked for clarification. “Dad would never have a purse!”

I guess he wouldn’t. But I didn’t realize she knew that.

Huh.