Yes, me. Speechless. If you know The Mama in real life, then you know this is very nearly impossible. I typically have 100 words to get out for every 10 that are actually needed. But not today. Oh no, today I had no words.


While The Kidling and I sat in the waiting room at the chiropractor this evening, we reviewed some word endings. This week, her class is spending some time focusing on -ck endings, so we played a bit of a guessing game. I gave her clues, and she replied. It looked something like this:

“What do you put your groceries in?”
“A bag… No… A sack!”

“Where do you put your folders after school?”
“My backpack!”

“What do you do with a sucker?”

“What was your tricky spelling word last week that ended in -ck?”

Think you know where this is headed? So did I. Until…

“What do you say to someone who is picking her nose?”

Um… Well… I was sort of thinking… Ick. Ick, Kidling.


wrongly accused

The Mama: Don’t pick your nose. Do you need a tissue?

The Kidling: I’m not picking my nose; I’m just touching my boogers.

things i never thought i would say

When one takes the plunge and decides to procreate, there are certain things one anticipates saying at some point in the near future.  “Don’t pick your nose” almost certainly tops that list for the vast majority of breeders. Less expected utterings from The Mama have included:

“Don’t bite your toenails!”

“No, let me wipe your butt.”

“Don’t lose your underwear.”


“Leave your labia alone.”

I sense another post of this title in the not-so-distant future.

coach al

Alice, as you know, is one of the damn best kids on the planet. What you might not know, depending on how obsessively regularly you read the book of alice, is that she is not particularly fond of babies. While I wouldn’t use the word “hate” (which she reserves for brussels sprouts), I would not shy away from “avoids” or “dislikes” or even “can sense their potential for tears, spit up, pee, vomit, and general displeasure and thus stays far, far away unless forced to ignore her instincts.”

In short, babies are trouble. The only kind of trouble that my dear child religiously avoids.

But (you saw this coming, didn’t you, dear readers?), The Kidling recently declared exception to the “Avoid Those Smelly Little Troublemakers At All Costs” rule. Once a baby reaches the age of two, The Kidling—in all her benevolence—has declared them fit to receive her assistance.

The Parents view this as progress.

But Alice shocked the hell out of us last week when she decided to make nice with a 20-month-old child. Real nice. Genuine nice. And only twenty months? A full four months shy of the age of Kidling assistance eligibility?!

Color us surprised.

This darling little 20-month-old child is wee even for a wee one. As such, she struggled mightily when trying to climb onto a couch in the lobby of the restaurant we were patronizing. The Kidling, witnessing her struggle, proceeded to pick her up and put her gently on the couch.

Everyone was happy.

The girls continued to play nicely together, with Alice being a delightful little helper to her 20-month-old pal. After many minutes of play during which Alice helped as needed, she decided to switch roles from enabler to encourager. As her pal struggled with the couch-climbing, Alice sidled up next to her and cheered her on, telling her, “You’ve got to use your muscles!”

Coach Al is kind of hilarious.

thursday morning gross-out

“I just passed a soft toot.* That means I have to go to the bathroom.”

-Alice Munchkin Kidling

October 21, 2012


* Known vernacularly as a shart. I know. I am a horrible human being and Alice will refuse to clean the drool off my chin in old age as a direct result of this post.


Oh, Alice. Sweet, gross Alice.

Wednesday evening we were getting Alice ready for bed. At that moment between finishing getting her into her pajamas and choosing her bedtime story, The Kidling stuck her index finger up into that tiny little nostril of hers and extracted a booger. Her eyes, gleaming mischievously, didn’t leave my face for a moment as she placed that slimy booger into her mouth.

I was being provoked, dear readers. Provoke The Mama and she gives you… exactly what you want.

“Alice,” I admonished, “Don’t eat your boogers!”

She gave us a sly smile and stuck her finger back into that wee nostril. Then she smeared whatever she extracted onto that perfect little mouth of hers before declaring, “I’m lipsticking me!”

I wish I could say I kept a straight face and ignored this little bit of nastiness, but that would be a lie. No, The Mama giggled. And giggled, and giggled, and giggled. Once I finished giggling, I cracked up. The Dada looked at me disapprovingly, and I can’t say I blame him.


I do believe we will be seeing more of this repulsive primping.