“Boys have buttcracks. Girls have butts.”
– The Kidling
August 20, 2014
“My brain’s kind of quirky right now. I can’t think that well.”
-Alice Munchkin Kidling
July 4, 2013
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!
The Kidling loves ice. And superheroes. And penguins. And she’s pretty darned confident. So to The Mama and The Dada, this chilly declaration last week wasn’t entirely out of left field:
“I won’t even froze like an ice cube if I’m in Antarctica. Just. Because. I have, like. Superpowers.”
The Kidling is very good at losing things. She is especially good at losing marbles. Specifically, losing marbles under very low-to-the-ground and near-permanent fixtures.
Case in point, the stove.
Yes, last week, Alice lost a marble under the stove. We tried several kitchen tools to no avail. None was quite the right size to retrieve the lost ball of glass. Then Alice had an idea. She pointed to the space under the stove and observed:
“If Clifford’s leg was smaller than that and it could fit and he was real and could come out of the TV, then he could get it out.”
Indeed, Alice. If only…
I just want to get that out there right away, because otherwise this post might make you insanely jealous of how sweet my child is when yours kind of sucks a little. So, to answer your question, no. The Kidling most certainly is not always this sweet. But when she is, it sounds like this:
“When you give love to me, I keep it for a few days. I keep it until Christmas, then I give it to all the kids. To every single kid so they all have love in their hearts so they can all be so happy!”
Is that a collective sigh I hear?
I love to cook. Less so for the process and more because I love food, love to eat, and don’t have the time—and let’s face it, the money—to dine out on a regular basis. As much as I love food and cooking, I am not particularly fond of those wretched restraints known as recipes. No, The Mama prefers to wing it. This can be a beautiful and brilliant thing, and it can also be downright disastrous. I would say the score is six of one, half a dozen of the other.
Imagine, then, my delight Saturday evening when my bizarre idea turned out to be delicious. A caprese-inspired risotto, but with brown and wild rices rather than arborio. I have no idea how it ended up being creamy, but it did. Suffice it to say, I was smug beyond belief at this bit of culinary voodoo.
Until Alice tasted it.
“It’s disgusting, Mom!”
She spat out the words. It was, quite clearly, an indictment of my horrid cooking (and my hubris). A micro-second later, she sensed my dejection and cheerily declared, “But still, thanks for the dinner!”
The Dada and The Kidling were watching the Olympic trials last week. When the divers mounted the 33-foot platform to execute their death-defying back quadruple layout straight pike tuck somersault gainer twist dives, with no baulk and perfect rip,* The Dada was understandably awed. The Kidling? Not so much.
The Dada: Isn’t this impressive?!
Alice: I’m not impressed.
The Dada: Really?!
Alice: Well… if they did somersaults under water, then I would be impressed.
No wonder she isn’t impressed by my yoga moves. This kid’s got high standards.
* I don’t have a damn clue what any of this says. Thank the blog gods for this olympic diving glossary.