Yeah, you. It’s me, The Mama. Yeah, I know I look different in this get up. I didn’t think the horizontal stripes were flattering any more.

And yeah, I’ve got a new name. This isn’t a “the artist formerly known as” sort of thing. It felt right. Pretty sure it is right. I would definitely entertain an intervention, but mostly I just want you to stick around.

The Kidling is here.

The Mama is here.

Welcome to Kidlingville.


‘Tis the week before The Kidling begins Kindergarten. As such, I have determined this to be a weekend of “The Best of The Kidling.” TBoTK, if you will. But really, don’t.

I anticipate TBoTK weekend lasting longer than a weekend, so allow me to apologize in advance. Or not. It’s my blog and I’ll do what I want to.

Without further ado, I bring you a post from the archives…


the big question

Let’s start this weekend off right, shall we?

Friday afternoon, Alice asked me The Big Question. She did not propose, though she has done that before. No, she asked something far more difficult for me to provide a proper response. Without giggling, that is.

The Kidling was concerned about whether she is older than The Kidd-o, or whether The Kidd-o was actually born first. I told her that, in fact, The Kidd-o was older. Alice was understandably ticked.

Alice: But you told me I was older!

The Mama: No, sweetie, [The Kidd-o] was born ten days before you were.

Alice: Why?

And this, dear readers, is where it gets good. I began a windy monologue on how babies are born when they decide to. Babies come out, I told her, when their bodies are strong enough and they are ready to live in the world. Alice, delighted at her autonomy from a very young age, listened carefully. After a brief pause while she processed what I was telling her, she asked…

Alice: How’d you get me out anyway?

The Mama: Actually, Alice, you came out of my vagina.

Alice: (very long pause) Whoa. (giggles) That’s funny. (another long pause) Vaginas? (yet another very long pause) So I got peed out? In the toilet?

At this point The Kidling began verbally working her way through the details: home birth vs. hospital birth, toilet vs. bed… Surprisingly on-point insight was interspersed with a lot of “that’s funny.” I confess we were driving during this conversation, so I jotted her funniest utterings on the back of my “to-do” list when we were parked at stop lights. Unfortunately, I had to sacrifice some pretty funny stuff to the far more important priority of our physical safety. I know. I apologize.

Her final wisdom on birthing came with the observation that “you came out of Grandma’s vagina, then I came out of your vagina.”

The significant time lapse between these events clearly did not register. Which is why I love living with a four-year-old. And lucky for you, I write this sh*t down.

Happy weekend!

not-so-funny jokes, courtesy of The Kidling

A recent conversation with the director of Alice’s summer program yielded a verbatim recounting of The Kidling’s recent attempt at joke writing:

Alice: Why did the pig fly?
The Mama: I don’t know, why?
Alice: Because it had wings! (giggles)

Fair enough. But then:

Alice: Why did the potato jump over the moon?
The Mama: Why?
Alice: Because it was lonely! (erupts with laughter)

Hmm. Okay…

Alice: Why did the chicken cross the road?
The Mama: I don’t know.
Alice: Because it was crossing the road, then it turned its head and saw a ghost and it ran because it was scared!

Hell, if I thought I was just out for a little cross-road stroll and saw a ghost, I’d be pretty scared, too. I’ll go with it. I giggled at all of the jokes (perhaps more than the humor merited) and complimented Alice on her joke-writing. She was proud, if humble, telling me, “They all make sense! (pause) But the potato one doesn’t make sense.”

Sometimes the best ones don’t, munchkin…

the abyss*

Rumor has it if you have one of these little blog things, you are supposed to write.


Forgive me? I will be back in the morning… And I will try to stick around.


*Otherwise known as, the place from which I am returning.

ring ring ring

Phone calls with children are absurd. I have no idea, frankly, why I even try, as a typical conversation with The Kidling via telephone sounds like this:

Alice: Mommy!

The Mama: Hey Alice! How are you doing?

Alice: Good.

The Mama: What are you up to?

Alice: Playin’.

The Mama: Are you having fun?

Alice: Yeah.

The Mama: Tell me about your day.

Alice: Bye!

That’s if I’m lucky. Sometimes she gets bored after “Good.” and hands the phone back to a grandparent with nary a word of goodbye.

Occasionally, though, we have a real conversation. The Kidling recently spent some time with her grandparents in Nearby Town, which is about 75 miles from Our Town. When I called one evening, The Kidling was feeling quite talkative. This particularly detailed conversation included such gems as:

“Mommy, I feel badder than I’ve ever felt before.”

“Are you done talking yet?”

“Mommy, is it day time on your side of the planet?”

“Do you have anything else to say?”

“I found money at Monsters, Inc.! The round kind!”

Okay, so that first one broke my heart a little bit. Otherwise, this is why I endure monosyllabic conversation after monosyllabic conversation. When The Kidling becomes The Teen, I’ll be damn glad I did.

bad form

Sometimes Often, The Kidling is wiser than I wish she were expect. I mean, I am glad she is the most phenomenal human being I have ever encountered and could ever hope to interact with in this lifetime, but seriously. Can’t The Mama get away with something now and then? Case in point: doing odd things in odd places.

As you might have guessed, this wee blog is powered by many strategically placed notebooks. I have been known to make a dash for them in the middle of dinner, frantically yank them from my handbag whilst running errands, and enter near-panic mode when I cannot locate a notebook when genius or hilarity has recently ensued.

Thank goodness for the backs of cash register receipts.

So The Mama thought nothing of  my recent perch for jotting down The Kidling’s most recent flash of brilliance. Until…

Alice: Are you going potty?

The Mama: Yeah.

Alice: While you’re writing!?!

The Mama: Yeah. Isn’t that weird?

Alice: Yeah. And kind of gross.

The Mama: You think?

Alice: Yeah.

A better blogger than I might ask for your input. “What say you, dear readers?” or a similar question to solicit your thoughts on matters related to this particular story. But guess what? I don’t care. Because without frantic scrawling in marker on construction paper, in pencil on gum wrapper, and in the occasionally properly-placed notebook, the book of alice wouldn’t exist.

So there.

And yes, I wash my hands.

on saving… or not

Last week during the blog-cation that wasn’t, The Family made a trip to the mall to shop for new toys. Not for The Kidling; rather, for The Parents. You see, we still have flip phones, and it seemed about time to enter the 2000s… unfashionably late.

Alice put up with a lot on that outing. We went after pre-school and before dinner. That’s right, sometimes The Parents like to play with fire. On this particular evening, we managed not to get burned. Trust that we know we lead very charmed lives.

As a sign of appreciation for her ridiculously patient behavior, we gave Alice four quarters to ride one of the little rides near our mall’s food court. Oh yes, The Parents are magnanimous. Alice circled the area several times before choosing a race car. Face filled with expectation, she sat down− and then stopped.

“I want to put these in my piggy bank,” Alice declared.

Hiding my shock, I told her, “You may, Alice. You get to choose.”

“Can I have four more?” she inquired.

“No, just these four,” I told her. “You may choose whether to ride or save them for your piggy bank.”

As you might have guessed, several moments passed as The Kidling paused to consider her options. Alice is never quick to make her decisions. Ever. Even when the decision is as inconsequential as yogurt vs. cereal for breakfast, Dr. Seuss vs. Highlights magazine at story time, PBS Kids vs. Milo and Otis, or… any decision she has made in her 4.8 years. There are worse things than having a thoughtful child.

Still pausing, dear reader? That should be enough. We’ll carry on now.

“Okay, I’ll ride,” Alice decided. “And if I get four more, just because I’m special, can I put those in my piggy bank?”

Indeed. After thorough consideration, of course.

happy halloween, mr. president!

Please excuse this brief vacation from my blog-cation. Blog-cationvacation, if you will (i.e. a day on which one blogs when one is supposed to be taking vacation from said blogging). You see, I went home sick yesterday, and that morning Alice was, well… She was Alice.

When The Kidling stumbled downstairs in her typically groggy (and grumpy) fashion, The Mama tried to cheer her up by engaging in a little guessing game.

The Mama: Do you know what fun day it is today?

Alice: Saturday!?

The Mama: No, it is a school day. But today is a fun holiday where you go to school.

Alice: Fireworks day?

The Mama: Nope. It’s Halloween!

Alice: (disappointed) Awwwwwwwwwww.

Hmm. That didn’t go over quite the way I expected. Not to be deterred, I told The Kidling about all the fun things her teacher had planned: costumes, a parade, games, watching the big kids in their big kid costumes…

Not for lack of trying, The Kidling remained unconvinced of the merriment that was to be had on All Hallows’ Eve. So we went about our morning. When it came time to get dressed, Alice resumed her grouchfest.

Alice: Well, I want it to be Fireworks day.

The Mama: Sorry kiddo. I really can’t do anything about it. I’m not the boss of the world.

Alice: Well SOMEone has to be boss of the world.

The Mama: Actually Alice, there isn’t a boss of the world.

Alice: Yeah there is.

The Mama: Okay then, who is the boss of the world.

Alice: Barack Obama.

So Happy Halloween, Mr. President! You’ve just gotten yourself a promotion.