This. Is hilarious. I’m so referring to my van as “my ride” from now on. Word.
So half the neighborhood is hanging out at my house, all of the bigs doing homework and the littles playing “Pet Hospital”.
I’m going back and forth between helping a first grader think of words that rhyme in English and 2 3rd graders translate the instructions for Hebrew homework.
A 4th grader who goes to the neighborhood Catholic school is having trouble with math, but he’s SOL because I suck at math. My 6th grader helps him.
Paper airplanes swirl by, and I have to confiscate them and 2 paper footballs. I notice that the airplanes are made out of someone’s Hebrew homework. Ahem.
The 6th grader is doing research on fungus spores and regaling all the others with descriptions of different kinds of fungi (that he SWEARS grow between your toes).
All of them have Chumash (bible) homework of varying degrees and I am blown away by how they toss off doing this in a language I didn’t learn until I was 25.
The Catholic school kid and his sister have bible homework also, but it is New Testament stuff that I am not familiar with. Latin? No prob. Corinthians? Not so much. Thankfully, they don’t seem to need help. I told them I can dye Easter eggs like nobody’s business if they wanted help with that. They said they’d already done it at home but that they’d bring me some for Passover. Sweet.
The natives have blown through a plate full of baby carrots, cut up peppers and cucumbers, a huge bag of pretzels and half a gallon of milk.
In between, I’m making sure the Good Doctors at Pet Hospital Central have enough Bandaids to bandage a small nation, and snacks because, I’ve been informed, “Sick aminals need lots of pretzels to feel better.”
You know what the best part of this is? It’s all reciprocal. I help with homework and feed a whole bunch of kids, and next week it will be someone else’s turn to help and feed my kids and in the summer we just let them all out, pop open a few beers, sit in my driveway in lawn chairs looking like an episode of King of the Hill and we watch them grow.
There is nothing, I mean NOTHING better than this.
My dad has a “thing” about making cakes for my kids’ birthdays. Here is the cake he made for my Everything Barbie daughter, who turns 6 today. How he’s getting it to my house for dinner tonight is beyond me.
Ignore the plastic wrap on her head – it’s protecting her hair from the frosting. Makes for a creepy picture though
I am sitting in my bed, watching GMA and catching up on emails and some writing jobs. My daughter rushes into my bedroom, in full winter gear, giant pink LL Bean book bag strapped to her back. I hear the bus pulling up outside.
“Shayna, baby, the bus is here! What are you doing up here?”
“I need a tissue for Bethy [neighbor girl]! QUICK!”
I throw some Kleenex at her and she rushes (well, bounces) back out, shouting “LOVE YOU” as she flies down the stairs.
Then I hear her bouncing back UP the stairs.
Her little face, framed in her little pink hat covered by her little pink hood on her coat, pops around the frame of my bedroom door. She pursed her little pink lips and blew me a kiss.
“I didn’t wanna go without a kiss!” she breathed.
I blew her a kiss back and got the smile that lights up my world.
She turned, flew back down the stairs, gone.
In that moment I realized how freaking fast this is all going.
Actual conversation my friend had with her son’s school choir director:
A: So, my son called me on my cell phone at lunch to tell me there is a choir concert TONIGHT at 7:30. Did I miss a flyer?
CD: No, I didn’t send one home.
A: Ah, did I miss the phone call?
CD: No, I didn’t call, I sent an email.
A: Oh. I definitely did not get an email.
CD: Well, I can’t help it if not everyone checks their email.
A: Oh, I check my email. I have a Blackberry. My email checks me. I for sure did not get an email. Are you sure I am on your list?
A: Um, so how do know if the email got sent to me?
CD: I don’t.
The Mom version of “Pimp My Ride.” Sadly, I can relate more than I care to admit! Enjoy
Overheard at the EK house:
Son #2: “Ewww what is that? Is it poop?”
Daughter: “No, it’s boogers.”
Son #1: “Are you going to eat it?”
Daughter: “No, that’s GROSS! I’m going to wipe it on the couch.”
Overheard yesterday morning, as the boys were chasing each other around the house, hiding in closets and screaming, my husband had this gem:
“Stop messing around and go and eat breakfast. If you want to lie in wait for your brother, do it after breakfast. Make a temporary truce and EAT YOUR BREAKFAST.”
Ah, the things kids are able to elicit from us, their unsuspecting parents.