I love to keep track of the things my kids say. Here is our quote wall, from 2011–the present. At the bottom of the page, you’ll find the links to previous years. I hope they make you smile.
“Boysies, you’re SO lucky to have a sister who’s a princess,” said Kya, who was feeling quite secure in her royal status after receiving a diamond tiara for her birthday from Nana.
The boys looked at her solemnly and nodded while Micah proudly exclaimed, “Yes, we am!” No wonder she loves them.
I was working in the kitchen when Micah came in from playing. He grabbed my leg and gave me a tight squeeze.
“Oh, Micah! What a nice hug!” I said.
“Thank you,” he said. “I was outside and I said, ‘I will make Mommy happy.’” He smiled up at me. “So I gave you a HUGE hug, ’cause you like hugs.” Just like that, he ran back outside. I am very happy indeed.
“I just let my imagination wander.” –Jonathan, 8, on the inspiration for his sidewalk chalk art. It just so happens I am a big fan of letting imaginations wander.
Micah was swinging around a hard toy by its cord, dangerously close to Paul’s head. “Micah, stop!” I yelled. “You’re going to hit Paul in the head!”
“It okay, Mom,” Paul interjected. “I was closing my eyes.”
“Paul, you’re still going to get hit in the head, even if your eyes are closed.”
Revelation: Closing your eyes is not an effective method of injury prevention (unless, of course, someone is trying to poke your eye out).
“You can’t just THINK what you’re going to do today, you have to DREAM what you’re going to do today!” –Kya, age 5. Sometimes, she knows just what to say.
My “triplets” were playing horses. Kya explained to Micah and Paul that her horse always comes when she calls it. “Why?” asked Paul.
“Because it has ‘come-ability!’” she said.
HOLD THE PHONE…what is this amazing ability and why do none of my children have it?!?!
Maybe I need a horse.
“Micah, do you need to go to the bathroom?”
“No,” Micah says firmly while doing the potty dance.
“Are you sure?”
“Because it looks like you really need to go potty.”
“Okay. Then go ahead and sit up at the table for lunch.”
“Yes, Mommy!” He sits up at the table. Two seconds later he yells, “I weally, weally need a go potty!” and zips up to the bathroom where he yells, “Mom! I went a widdle pee-pee in my pants!”
Sigh. Why can’t boys be more like girls and just accept the fact that going to the bathroom is something that’s going to happen multiple times a day FOR THE REST OF THEIR LIVES. Just give in and consider it a chance to check your make-up. Or whatever.
I was tucking the twins into bed one night while Jeff had been away for an extended period of time for military duty. Micah heard someone in the garage. “It DADDY!” he yelled.
“No, sweetie, that’s just Kya,” I said. “Daddy won’t be home for a little while yet.”
His bright blue eyes got teary. “I weally, weally wish it was Daddy,” he said.
Then he looked at me and said, “It okay I cry about that Daddy?” I could tell he was trying not to.
“Yes, baby, sometimes we just need to cry about Daddy.”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “We do.” And he tucked his head into my arm and cried.
Sometimes ten more days seems like too many.
“Mom, I took my beautiful doll out in PUBLIC and no one said she was beautiful!” Kya lamented.
“Your doll is very beautiful.”
Kya giggled. “Thanks, Mom,” she said happily.
May all your daughters’ emotional crises be so easily diffused.
Missing: One creative writer. Last seen with Little Motivation along the Implausible Plot Line. May be traveling with some one-dimensional characters. Return to fiveintow.com. Reward.
“Mom, you’re the best one to come along.”–Paul, age 3, when I got him out of the shower and snuggled him in a towel. There’s nothing like a night of the flu to make you happy to see your mommy.
Kya was on the couch yesterday, feeling quite sick with a bad stomach bug. “Mommy, my tummy hurts!” she cried.
“I know, sweetie.”
Looking as pathetic as possible, with real tears and everything, she said, “Mom? Can I have a little…chocolate?”
Truth: There’s nothing a little chocolate can’t cure.
This second pot of coffee is dedicated to the dinosaurs and tigers who were trying to eat my son at 3 o’clock this morning.
Today, Kya trained the twins to bring her shoes to her on pillows so she could choose which pair she wanted to wear. Hide your sons! This girl’s going to be ready to date in about 30 years and I am already praying hard for that poor boy.
I was teasing Kya about growing too fast and she said, “I have a secret password whenever I want to stop growing.”
“Really?” I said. “What is your secret password?”
She leaned in and whispered, “STOP.”
They just don’t make secret passwords like they used to.
I have been without phone and internet for a day and a half because my modem went out. I took the kids to the computer store where a Middle Eastern man helped us. When we got back to the car, my five-year-old said, “That man wasn’t Spanish like us.”
We all looked at her. Faith said, “But Kya, we’re not Spanish.”
Kya was stunned. “We’re not?!”
I guess the family secrets are out.
The kids were finishing breakfast while I was upstairs making my bed. “Uh-oh!” I heard from downstairs.
“What was that?” I asked.
“Oh, I just spilled a little goat milk,” Faith replied.
“Okay, clean it up…” I started to say when I heard Paul shout gleefully, “A waterfall!” and the older kids say, “Shhh, Paul!”
And I knew it was Monday.
Due to unusually high volume, the Complaint Department is on strike. Until further notice, complaints can only be processed if they are submitted IN WRITING. The Complaint Department expects a significant decrease in the number of complaints filed for the rest of the afternoon, especially since they cannot accept anything written in crayon, submitted while screaming, or scribbled on the wall.
I am going to the craft store with the SINGULAR purpose of purchasing paper to make invitations for a bridal shower I’m helping to host. IF I am gone longer than an hour, or if the credit card company calls to verify an unusually large expenditure, someone come and get me.
Paul wants me to make “pup-cakes.” I think that’s kind of inhumane.
Child comes to me crying. “What happened?” I ask.
“I stepped on my finger!” my child says.
“How did you do that?” I ask, trying not to laugh.
“Well, I put my finger down on the ground, and then I stepped on it.”
I can no longer control my laughter. I laugh and laugh and laugh until the child walks away looking wounded and muttering, “I didn’t know it would hurt.”
Be forewarned: Stepping on your own finger hurts. That is all.
The checkout lady was enthralled with my children and offered them each a sucker for their good behavior. “I wish I had one!” I teased after listening to them slurping loudly and talking about how tasty they were.
“You…you…you…you can have… Jonathan’s!” Micah offered.
Such a giving boy. It warms my heart.
I told my son I would save every bent nail, special rock, bottle cap, piece of wood, used sticker, clothes tag, and random bits of matter I found in his room. He was happy about this. I said I would save it, and when he is gone, I will dump it in a big pile in the backyard, climb up it, and from way up high, I will be able to see him no matter where he goes on the face of the earth.
He conceded that I could, perhaps, throw away a few things.
“They don’t understand that silence is part of the success.” Faith, 9, on why the twins always lose at hide-’n-seek. I don’t know. All the giggling, talking, and shouting “Come FOUND me!” probably helps. Somehow.
Fifth grade math would be way cooler if there was an Optimus Prime Number.
One of my favorite stages in toddlerhood is when they discover where meat comes from. This morning, I heard Kya telling the boys the brutal truth: “Boysies, bacon comes from PIGS!”
Boysies: “Nooooo it don’t!”
Kya: “And meat comes from cows!”
Boysies: “Kya, no it don’t!”
Kya, saving the most horrible reality for last: “And people eat CHICKENS!”
Silence. “NOOOO, Kya! No!”
Micah came up to me and gave me a big hug. Then he looked at me and said, “Daddy hug you weally, weally much.”
“Yes, he does,” I answered.
“And you hug Daddy weally, weally much too!” he said.
Isn’t it good to know that hugs between mommy and daddy don’t go unnoticed by little eyes?
No matter what I say, I cannot convince my five-year-old that the name of the restaurant is not “Lickdonald’s.”
“I’m getting really tired of city life,” Jonathan said with a heavy sigh from the back seat of the minivan, where he’d had to endure the rush of the Seattle U-District for all of five minutes while we made our way to the Burke museum. “I miss the wildlife,” he said wistfully. Yep, if there’s one thing we’re known for out here in the vast, open suburbs, it’s the wildlife.
”Everybody loves me. They do.” Micah, displaying all the confidence and security of a happy toddler. I hope he feels the same way when he’s 15.
“How old are you, Paul?”
I must have missed that birthday.
“I need a hug.”–Paul, after seeing what was on his plate for lunch.
“But we won’t hug any people!”–Paul, 3, expressing his sorrow over the fact that he’s too sick to go to church, and proposing a compromise that he hopes will change my mind.
“Where’s my AMOS?” shouted Jonathan. It’s good thing I knew he was unscrambling the books of the Old Testament because it totally sounded like he said something else.
“But where am I going to get a carriage?” Kya, 5, muttered to herself. Apparently, her goal of becoming Princess of the Known World is going to take more work than she first anticipated.
I have been working on a mural in the kids’ room. Kya came down to check on my progress. She stood there observing me for a bit. Then she asked, “Mom, are you doing your BEST job?”
“Yes…” I answered slowly. “Why?”
“Hmmm,” she said, and walked away.
Now my fragile ego and I are trying to figure out what my five-year-old thinks is wrong with my artwork. And how will I ever really know if I AM doing my best job?
At lunch today, Kya said, “Mom, can you believe there are moms who make their kids what the kids LIKE to eat?” Apparently, the soup was sub-par.
“Oh my goodness, people are getting so civilized.”–Jonathan, 7, upon discovering that people no longer use buckets to draw water out of wells but use pumps instead. Oh, the progress!
Micah, 3: “Paul, you YUCKY.”
Paul, 3: “No I not. YOU yucky.”
Micah: “MooooOOOOOoom! Paul say I yucky!”
I’m not thinking he’s going to earn very many sympathy points on this one…
Jonathan, 7, was giving Kya, 5, some career counseling last night. “What do you want to be when you grow up?” he asked her. “You could be a veterinarian, or a doctor…”
“I want to be a princess!”
“…or a jet pilot, or a builder…”
“I want to be a princess!”
“…or a soldier, or a diver…”
“I want to be a princess!”
“Kya, no one is going to PAY you to be a princess. Even princesses need a real job.”
Kya thought over her options for a second and then proclaimed, “Okay, then I’ll be a ballerina!”
It’s good to have a Plan B.
Everyone talks about how stressful and busy things can be this time of year. If you need a break, do what I do. Go in your room with a big cup of coffee, a Christmas treat, and some reading material. Yell, “I’m wrapping presents!” and shut the door. Rustle some paper every now and again. The children will leave you alone for as long as you like. In fact, the longer you’re gone, the more excited they get. “Wow, Mom had A LOT of presents to wrap!” Yep. And there’ll be more tomorrow.
“Attackle” (v.): to attack with a swift tackle, preferably to the knees, as in, “Boysies! Stop attackling me!” This was said (or rather screamed) by Kya, 5, who found herself to be the victim of an “attackle” when her twin brothers pounced on her as she attempted to exit the bathroom. Attackle successful.
“WhOooooooooooo hoOOooooooo whOoooooOOOOOoooo….” Micah, 3, says as he walks by.
Kya, 5, is not impressed. “Mom, can you please stop Micah from whistling?”
“Oh, is that whistling?” I ask while Micah demonstrates his ability in greater volume.
“Micah, are you good at whistling?” I ask him.
He looks at me with great satisfaction. “NO!” He proclaims proudly and proceeds to follow Kya downstairs, whistling all the way. Oh, so it’s like THAT.
“Paul, you can’t touch the presents.”
“I not, Mom, I just HOLD them.”
Well, in that case…
“Meow! MEOW! Meow.” –The Lament of the Chastised Kitty Upon His Attack of the Newly Erected Christmas Tree, an original composition by Caticus. It’s actually a duet, in which the clattering of ornaments induces a female voice to sing, “Psssst! Psssst!” She is answered with woeful meowing and the scattering of cat toes across the floor, followed by a children’s chorus of giggles.
Paul, 3, insisted upon getting himself down from his chair after breakfast. He hopped off his chair and walked along the other chairs until he got to the edge of the last chair. “Two, hee, one!” He gave the countdown and launched himself off the chair and onto the floor. I heard the loud “THUD!” of toddler chubs coming in contact with a painfully hard surface. From the floor I heard Paul’s feeble voice: “I didn’t die! I didn’t die, Mom.” So what did we learn from this, Paul? Nothing.
I had a dream where a pack of frizzy-haired, fleece-clad, Vitamin-D deficient moms (myself included) revolted after hearing a forecast which included at least 15 synonyms for “rain.” We forced all the radio stations to play music by the Beach Boys, swarmed Starbucks and demanded “Coping Lattes,” donned shorts and flip-flops and then used the glare off our pasty legs to hijack an airplane and divert it the Caribbean where we sat on the beach and made phone calls to our husbands to see how they were handling another week of being inside with the kids.
Quality Control strikes again: I was in my closet getting my shoes when Kya, 5, walks up and says, “Getting dressed? I hope you choose something cute.”
I WAS ALREADY DRESSED! *sigh*
The time change has messed up our mornings this week, and I have found it hard to get up before the kids. Consequently, we’ve had a few late breakfasts and everyone has stayed in their jammies a little longer than normal. Today, while serving the kids their oatmeal, I noticed Kya watching me. Finally, she said, “Mom, I hope you’re going to brush your hair today. And put on some makeup…” she paused to scrutinize my face, “…’cause you look pretty…when you do that.”
The kids wanted to eat some leftover bread, but Paul, 3, wasn’t quick enough to claim his share. He started to cry because it was all taken. Without missing a beat, Micah, 3, looked across the table and said, “I share with Paul, maybe,” and ripped his bread in two and gave half to his brother. Ahhh…I’ll remember this moment when they’re writhing around on the floor fighting over a single Matchbox car while a gazillion others lay on the carpet, untouched.
Kya has taken on the responsibility of educating the twins since we missed church today. They’re lined up on the couch, and she’s preaching at them in her high heals and beads. “Boysies, who made you? God. He made everything, except houses. People made houses. And why does God love you? Is it because He made you? Yes…Engine Number One, do you have a Bible? This is a CHURCH and you need your Bible…And…the government is not one person, even though it sounds like one person. It’s lots of persons. Are you at First Chapter One? Argh!”
For weeks, Jonathan, 7, has been cutting out pictures of things he wants for Christmas and talking incessantly about his wish list. So, to avoid drama in grammar today, I asked him to write a two point paragraph about what he wants for Christmas. With a deadpan face, Faith, 9, looked up from her writing and said, “So, you’re asking him to write a book?” Hahahaha! Budding sarcasm! It brings a tear to my eye.
Kya, 5, was crawling around the house wearing a toy saddle on her back. “Horsey rides! Five cents! Horsey Rides! Only five cents!” she cried. Silence. “Anyone want a horsey ride? Only five cents!” More silence. “Boysies! Only FIVE CENTS!!!” They looked at each other. “No me,” Micah, 3, answered for both of them. Kya thought a minute. Then she cried, “Horsey rides! FREE! Horsey rides! FREEEEE!” Life in a free market economy can be brutal.
Today, my to-do list seemed to get longer the harder I worked. Finally, I put a movie in for the kids so I could try to catch up. Micah, 3, who thinks I play movies so he and I can have some alone time, soon found me in the kitchen. “What you doin’, Mommy Mom?” he asked, hugging my leg. “Oh, just getting ready for another day,” I said, mixing the granola. “ANOTHER ONE?!?!” he cried and clapped his hands. “Oh, good!” Nothing like a toddler to remind me that every new day is a gift.
Wishing I could restore my hard drive back to before I installed the Mommy drivers. I think the Child Location app is slowing down my system since it has to run 24/7, not to mention the “Who had it first?” program which takes a lot of RAM to run. I’ve never been happy with the Eyes-in-the-Back-of-Your-Head webcam (can anyone get theirs to work???). I’d also like to reset my language preferences so I no longer say “Do you need to go potty?” to my husband when we’re on a date. I’d ask my computer guy, but he’s the one who installed it in the first place.
A very effective tool in managing the behavior of twin boys is to exploit their natural competitive nature. Phrases like “Who can take the biggest bite?” and “Race to the car!” make things happen. Today, my three-year old boys didn’t want to go to the bathroom before breakfast. They rolled around on the floor instead. “Boys!” I said enthusiastically. “Who can race to the bathroom?” Without moving from the floor, Paul looked at me, pointed at Micah, and said, “Him.” Magic=OVER.
“I just LOVE enzymes!”–Kya, age 5, while enthusiastically munching her salad.
The garbage truck woke the twins several hours before normal. Paul, sensing his obligation to arouse the rest of the family, started singing songs with the very repetitious chorus, “MOOOOOMMMMY! UP!” This went on for quite some time. Finally, he stopped singing and shouted, “Mommy!!! I A LOT ready to get UP!” Communication received.
I sent Jonathan, 7, out with some stale bread for the chickens. I peeped out the door a minute later to see what was keeping him. He was holding out pieces of bread to the chickens and saying, “Taste and see that the Lord is good!”
“I’m not hurting myself. But I’m kind of choking.”–Kya, (five today!) after tying a shirt around her neck in an attempt to emulate a Harvard student. I think the preppy look would go over better if she’d lose the tutu and the sparkly princess shirt.
I told Kya we were going to have a white chicken lasagna for her birthday dinner. She looked disappointed. “It’s just that I don’t think lasagna is good for a birthday dinner,” she said slowly. “Oh. What would you like?” I asked. She pondered the endless culinary possibilities before responding, “Well, maybe a salad!” Hehehe…that’s my girl.
I haven’t made the boys a birthday cake yet. I didn’t really think they’d notice if it was a few days late. So tonight, I dished up some birthday ice cream with sprinkles. Paul (three today!) stared at it for a second, looked at me and said, “Mom, where my birthday CAKE?!?!” Rats. I guess they really are growing up.
At 12:01 pm my twins turned three today! Where does the time go? I asked Paul if it is his birthday and he said, “Yep! It is!” Then I asked Paul if it is Micah’s birthday too, and he said, “No, no. He no any.” That’s okay. He has the rest of his life to figure it out.
Kya, 4, and Micah, 2, were having a great time playing together. They were giggling over something when Kya paused and happily exclaimed, “Micah! You’re starting to be human!” And here I thought he was still a toddler.
It is pouring outside as the weatherman cheerfully announces there’s a chance of rain today.
Kya, 4, has worn two different socks to bed, as usual. She is in bed with her two variously clad feet up in the air, and they are carrying on a conversation with each other about the Holy Spirit and God, and about how odd it is that the phrase “Holy God” sounds so much like “Holy Dog,” although neither foot can agree upon whether or not it is appropriate to use the later phrase in every day conversation.
Things are getting kind of dicey down there. The right foot just told the left, “I don’t care for you,” to which the left foot responded, “Well, that’s just not nice to say!” This is what happens when theological conversations get out of hand.
Yesterday, Jeff shot Paul, 2, with an imaginary gun and said, “Paul, you’re dead!” Paul said, “No, I not dead. YOU’RE dead! Pewpewpewpewpew!” Then he holstered his baseball bat, swaggered over to me with a sly smile and said, “I ‘hoot.”
Jonathan, 7, was droning on and on about something on the way home from Nana’s house last night. Kya, 4, was getting bored. Finally, she looked at him and said, “Jonathan, I don’t need ANY of your business!” Ouch.
I gave Kya a plastic tiara. She screamed with excitement and then said, “This is EXACTLY what I need! Oh, yes! Exactly what I need!”
“Faith! She doesn’t say ‘no’ to everything!”–Jonathan, expressing his shock and amazement over the fact that I allowed him to look at the chickens before starting on his math.
“MOMMY! My pee-pee is BOO!” Paul, 2, staring into the toilet and proudly proclaiming to all the world the fact that I have failed in my attempts to teach him colors.
Today’s second pot of coffee is brought to you by the 4:45 am Serenade of the Insane Robin, closely followed by the incessant beeping of the 5:30 alarm clock (why is it that when the alarm is NOT for you, it wakes you up, but when it is for you, you can hit the snooze and go right back to bed?), followed by the 6:00 am imitation of Paul driving a boat in his bed.
“Boysies, you have to be on your BEST behavers.” –Kya, giving the boys the scoop on how things are going to go down while Uncle David and Aunt Sara are here.
We heard a siren yesterday. Paul ran up to me and said, “Mommy! A wee-oo-wee-oo!” “Yes, it’s a fire truck,” I said. “No, Mommy. A wee-oo-wee-oo!” “Oh, it’s a police car?” “No, Mommy! A wee-oo-wee-oo!” I was out of options at this point so I said, “Oh, it’s a wee-oo-wee-oo?” He nodded gravely and said, “Yeah, it a wee-oo-wee-oo.” Ah.
“Remember how I used to ride around on my little red bike? That was such a joy!” –Jonathan, reminiscing about the good ol’ days with his Radio Flyer tricycle. Earlier, he and Faith were working on stories for school and he said to her, “Well, my darling, what did you write?” He turns seven and suddenly he’s British!
Every time I say Micah’s name, Paul pipes up, “Yeah, he’s MINE!” to which Micah just smiles and acts goofy. I guess this means they’ve reconciled their differences.
The more children I have, the more my love language changes to Acts of Service. Before children, I could be swayed by Words of Affirmation or Quality Time, with a smidgen of Physical Touch thrown in for good measure. But after five children, the key to my heart is shaped like a broom. Or possibly a vacuum.
We celebrated Cinco de Mayo yesterday by making quesadillas and listening to Jeff spout out all the phrases he remembers from high school Spanish class. The kids were awed by his mastery of the language. “It’s hot in the swimming pool,” he said like a native, before wowing them with “How do you say ‘Chihuahua’ in Spanish?” and “Do you have a beer?” Public school. That’s all I can say.
“I think the germs are winning me,” Jonathan, 7, lamenting the fact that no matter how many tissues he uses, his nose still needs a few more.
Jeff was teasing Kya so I said, “Oh Kya, don’t listen to Daddy.” She stopped and looked at me with a very serious face. “But Mommy,” she said, “I HAVE to listen to Daddy! He says good things to me!” Awwww…
“Mommy! I saw a BUNNY in the cupboard, and it was made of CHOCOLATE!” Kya, with eyes as big as saucers, after making the discovery of her four-year-old lifetime. Just wait until she discovers truffles.
“Boys don’t have good laps like Mom,” Jonathan, protesting the fact that Micah wanted to sit on him while he read the twins a book.
My future linguists, Faith, 8, and Jonathan, 7, made up a secret language. When they say “no,” it means “yes.” “Bad” means “good.” I can tell this is a very complex secret language, the depths of which I have only begun to explore.
Kya, my four-year-old princess, said to me, “Mom, if I could, I would draw Faith a picture of a horse. And if I could, I would draw Jonathan a picture of an Orca. And if I could, I would draw you a picture of a coupon.”
“Well, I’ve decided to stay here, for now,” Kya, 4, said with a serious look on her face as she informed me of her decision to continue residing in the Glover household. I think the waffles for breakfast tipped the scale in our favor.
Paul (2) holds up a red crayon and asks, “It ya-yo (yellow)?” Micah (2) answers, “No, it boo.” Paul says, “Oh, it boo?” and Micah answers, “No, it ya-yo.” Paul looks at it and says, “Oh. It ya-yo,” to which Micah replies, “No, it boo.” This goes on for quite some time before Paul realizes that perhaps Micah is probably NOT the most reliable source of information.
We saw a bad car accident last night. The twins, 2, can’t stop “talking” about it. Using a series of brmm-brmmms and hand motions, they have reenacted the whole thing many times. Kya, who was in the back seat and didn’t see as much, said to them, “Why, thank you for telling me, boysies! I didn’t know all of that happened!” She must have the gift of interpretation.
Paul has been voted off the island.
Today’s history lesson was deliciously gory, and now my children are happily drawing pictures of Beowulf, standing in a pool of blood after relieving Grendel of his hairy, clawed arm. You don’t get that in public school.
The boys are performing a naked dance in the hallway, the likes of which have not been seen since Woodstock. I’m just warning you now, boys: you will regret this when I roll out the videos at your high school graduation.
“Oh, this is going to be SUCH a pleasure!” –Jonathan, 6, anticipating some fun in the snow.
Kya walked up to me and handed me two of her iridescent yellow plastic bracelets. “This is for you, Mommy. That’s how much I love you!” she said. Which just proves that nothing says “I love you” like jewelry, even if it’s from the dollar store.
Kya ran up to me and patted my leg ferociously. “Mommy! Mommy! I have a GREAT idea! You should teach the boys to TALK!!! Isn’t that a great idea?” Yeah. Great idea.
“Boys, do you need to go potty?” I asked the twins. Paul said no and Micah said yes simultaneously. They looked at each other. Then Paul said yes and Micah said no. They looked at each other again. Then both trotted up the stairs after me. Don’t you wish all committees ran so smoothly?
“Mom, do you have any little chocolates? Little chocolates that we could have? Because I think we should have a little chocolate on this day.” –Kya, 4, showing wisdom far beyond her years.
Kya asked me what we were having for dinner. “Roasted chicken,” I replied. “Hmmm…” she said, clearly unimpressed. Then she added helpfully, “And chips? Chips go with chicken. And cookies? Cookies go with chicken.” Not likely.
While on our way to the library today, Jonathan saw a car from the 40′s. He decided to try to count all the “old-time” cars he could find. A little while later, we drove past some big old boat from the 70′s. “Mom! Mom! Is that an old-time car?” he asked. “Well, it’s probably about as old as me,” I responded. “OH! Then it counts!” he said.
Glimpse into life with twin boys: While I attempt to brush Twin A’s teeth, Twin B is writhing around the floor in an apparent wrestling competition with my leg, all the while screaming “Ah ha! Haaaaa! Rarrrrrrrrrrr!” while traces of toothpaste foam drip from the corners of his mouth until I begin to wonder when he came into contact with a rabid dog. He is just playing, right?
Boy truism: If it’s fuzzy and looks like a bear, it’s a weapon.
If it’s a doll and says “Ma-ma,” it’s a weapon.
If it’s a book about how much Mommy loves you, it’s a weapon.
And if it really IS a weapon…it can be made into a BIGGER weapon.
“Mommy, am I as beautiful…as…as possible?” –Kya, 4, primping for church on Sunday
The way Paul says “Faithie” is a lot like the way he says “Pee pee,” resulting in a lot of confusion in our house of late.
“Mom, we’d be a MESS without you!”–Jonathan, expressing his indebtedness to me for helping him learn how to play Sorry.
I just caught Micah pulling dirty dishes out of the dishwasher, licking them, and then putting them back in. And because he is not my first child, I watched the whole thing and thought to myself, “At least he put them back.”
Our neighbor’s death has the kids a little shaken. At dinner, they were talking about what would happen to them if I died. I said, “If something happens to me, you can trust that God will take care of you. And Daddy would still be here, and Nana would come and help.” Kya thought about this a minute and said, “Well, we wouldn’t have Mommy….but we’d get Nana!” WAIT A MINUTE!!!
“Your little brothers are fickle,” I said to Faith when they wouldn’t cooperate with her.
“You mean they have a disease?” she replied.
“Thank you, God, for giving Mommy and Daddy kids that they like.”
–Jonathan, 6, praying during family worship