Conversations with my kid: We both gotta get off of Tumblr edition

I'm standing in the kitchen, discussing the day's events with the Well Travelled One

T: Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!

Me: Are you... 'Shipping us?

T: Yeah, what?

Me: Don't 'ship us! You can't 'ship us! We're already 'shipped!

T: Ahh, then it's canon!

Conversations with my kid - radio time

Listening to a previously unheard Sam Roberts song:

Me: (With a dawning realization) ohhhhh! He's saying "your own worst enemy." It sounds like "Your old world centipede."

R: what? Really?  *rolls eye*

*moments pass*

R: *snickers*

Me: you can hear it, can't you?

R: yup.

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Listening to "Hello Time Bomb"

R: when he says "so bad" he sounds like a goat.  Baaaaad.

Me: it's the Matthew Goat Band

Conversations with my kids: Super powers

R: if you could have any super power you wanted, what would you choose?

Me: MUTANT HEALING FACTOR. ALWAYS.

T: Laser vision.

R: I'd want to have stretch powers, so I could be lazy all the time.

Me: you'd never leave the couch?

R: right. I could just reach for stuff. I could even do my schoolwork from the couch.

T: I want laser vision.  To zap the genitals of my enemies.

Conversations with my kid: Know Your Fandom

A few years ago I took the girls to the Toronto FanExpo.  T spots a guy dressed as David Tennant.

T: Mommy, look! It's Mr. Bean!

Me: No, honey. That's Dr. Who.

Conversations with my kid: Life Skills

In the car:

R: my bra is itching me.

Me: take it off then.  You'll want to learn how to take your bra off without taking your shirt off, anyway.  It's something every woman should know.

R: I already know how to do that.

Me: well good.  It's an important life skill to have.

R: yeah in case someone puts a tracking device on it.

In other news, I'm starting to wonder if my kid is working for the CIA.

(Overheard) Conversations with my kids: perspective.

In the car while we headed home from getting groceries, my children discussed an incident on the bus where another kid expressed sympathy for their father and stepmother for having to listen to the girls fight over stuff like taking their dogs out to go to the bathroom.

T: "... Thing is, when they said that  on the bus, about feeling sorry for our parents, I wanted to say 'at least we only fight over little things. We don't really ever have to fight over big things.'"

R: "Yeah, like getting rid of a corpse."

Conversations with my kid: I need a sarcasm sign edition.

This is a conversation I have more often than I'd like to admit.

Me: Good job cleaning the living room for me.
R:  I'm sorry, I was trying to find something.
.... Pause....
Me: No.  Good job.  Really.  I'm not being sarcastic.
R: oh.  It's hard to tell, sometimes.
Me: I know *sigh*

Conversations with my sister's kid: defining masculity

My sister has a giant Newfoundland dog.  Giant puppy, actually.  So all the playful exuberance of a puppy in a package roughly the size of a mastodon.  The kids, I'm sure, love her, but it's pretty safe to say the novelty has worn off.

R: I think when I get my own place I'm going to get a cat, just so I won't be lonely.

R: That's not too gay is it?

*facepalm* (He's a teenager, so I try to have patience, but really?)

Me: No, I'm pretty sure having sex with men makes a guy gay, not owning a cat.  Besides, who cares?  Are you worried your masculinity is going to be called into question if you live with a cat?

R: Yes, kind of.

Me:  Just make sure to give it a really hyper-masculine name.. like Machine Gun Larry.  Even if it's a girl.

R (in suavest manner a 16-yr-old can muster): "Hi.. this is my cat, Machine Gun Larry." 


In other news, I'm totally making plans for the imaginary cat that my nephew doesn't even own yet.

Conversations with my kids: a history lesson

We're in the parking lot of the arena. The road is being blocked off and there are a bunch of Sea Cadets standing around.

Me: They must be having a parade. Maybe it's for V-E Day.
T: What's V-E Day?
Me: Well, World War Two ended on two different days. V-E means "Victory in Europe", when the war ended in Europe, sometime in May.
T: Probably May 9th, if they're having a parade today.
Me: yeah, probably. The war in Japan, on the other hand, ended on August 14th - my birthday - so that is referred to as V-J Day.

*giggles from back seat*
Me: what?
T: ...nothing. It just sounds... funny.. Veee Jaaay.
Me: what?
R (from backseat): IT SOUNDS LIKE VAJAYJAY!!!

*peals of laughter from both sides*

Me: Oh my God, you guys.

Lies I have told, or intend to tell, to keep the Tooth Fairy alive.

I am, quite possibly, the worst Tooth Fairy ever.

Really, I am. I should really just give up the charade and tell the kids the God's-honest-truth and end the madness once and for all, for everyone's sake.

But where is the fun in that when I can just keep coming up with more and more elaborate lies and stories to keep the fantasy alive.

"Mom? Why didn't the tooth fairy come last night?"

(truth? I forgot.) "well honey, you didn't actually lose your tooth until it was almost bedtime. She was probably all booked up for tonight."

Next night: "mom, the tooth fairy still didn't come."

(crap, no spare change) "well, you know, the worlds population is growing exponentially, which means a lot of kids losing a lot of teeth, everyday. She clearly can't do it in one night. Fairies are small. It takes them a longer time to cover a greater distance. It's not like she's Santa Claus. She doesn't even have the religious exemptions Santa gets."

That weekend they are at their dad's so clearly TF isn't going to show while they're away. So by the time they come back, it's been a week and no TF.

Okay, here's the part of the story that not only makes me look like the worst tooth fairy ever, but possibly the worst mother ever as well.

I gaslit my own child in the name of tooth fairy face-saving.

Day five or six. I have once again forgotten to stick some change under the pillow. So I stick three bucks in my pocket and hang around the girls' room, grumbling dramatically about the disastrous state it's in. While i'm in there, very stealthily, like a ninja, grab the tooth and call out "hey Tierney! Did you check to see if the tooth fairy finally came?"

"No!" comes the call and I slip then money under the pillow before she makes it to the door in time to hear "...but Reagan did." Tee finds the money ("Wow! Three dollars? Last time I only got two!" "yeah, that's probably accrued interest.") and admonishes Reagan for not seeing that the tooth fairy was there after all.

Rees insists that "well, the tooth is still there!" which, no, it's not. It's in my pocket. She can't undstand it. It's actually fairly upsetting to her, especially as Tierney is insisting that she must be imagining things.

Finally: "Uh, guys... The tooth fairy is magic you know. You don't think she could have snuck in when neither of you were looking?"

Oh, total inconsistency for the win.

So I made my child question her own reality in order to avoid outing an imaginary tooth-peddling floosy. Go ahead and judge me.

My friend has kids of a similar age and has confessed to also being a terrible tooth fairy. I figure this is great, as it gives me plausible deniability (my catchphrase of the week) and a case to paint the Tooth Fairy as some sort of incompetent schmuck who generally just isn't very good at her job. We came with a few other scenarios that we can bullshit our way through:

Scenario: the last tooth garnered three dollars, this one only got a buck seventy five.
Truth: I bought an extra coffee this afternoon.
Explanation: the price of teeth is based loosely on the price of gold and the daily interest rates.

Scenario: how come {name redacted} gets more/less than us?
Truth: I'm cheap/overcompensating for not spending enough time with them and/or being a shitty tooth fairy
Explanation: property taxes.

I could keep this shit going until they are thirty-five, at least.

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My second post is up at Different Paths, Same Destination. Go, read, love.

Conversations with my (sister's) kid: names and sounds.

My youngest nephew is three. I watched him tonight.

Playing with a see-and-say type toy:

Me: ..and what's that?
E: mmm. Sheep!
Me: and what sound does a sheep make?
E: umm. Sheep sounds?

Later I register that he is addressing me by name:

E: Auntie, look!
Me: awwwh, you called me auntie!
E: (looking puzzled) yes. Yes I did. (pause) you name is auntie, right?
Me: yeah buddy.
E: (looking mildly relieved) 'Kay.

Conversations with my kid: music theory 101...

Or "My kid knows her genres about as well as I do, which isn't saying much"

Riding in the car, listening to music.

T: is this the drummer singing?
Me: no, it's the guitarist
R: the drummer is the most important part of the band
Me: yup, I've heard that, because they keep the time
R: unless it's like smooooth jazz. (yes, she did add extra oooo's to smooth)
T: no, they have drums...
R: no, jazz has like harmonicas and violins

Conversations with my Kid: Deprivation, and the Grass is Always Greener.

I'm pick a chocolate chip of my oldest daughter's cookie while she grabs a glass of milk.  There were just enough cookies left for each kid to have three (or each of us to have two, but I really don't need them).

T: Hey!

Me: What?

T: Are you picking a chocolate chip off my cookie?

Me: Yeah, of course.  Hey, Wait! Are there any in the bottom of the cookie jar?  Sweet, one.. *nom*  two *nom*

T:  Aww.. Lucky!

Me: Says the kid with three cookies to the woman who just fished errant chocolate chips out of the jar.

Is it wrong to play "Another Brick In The Wall" to your kids on Labour Day Monday before bed?

1,985 kilometres (that's 1,233 miles to those on the Imperial system) covered over four days and here I am, home once again, just in time to send the kiddies back to school with lunches containing food I bought tonight at roughly 9pm after realizing "Holy shit! School starts tomorrow! These kids are going to want to eat!"

Back to school doesn't much alter my routine, other than causing my mornings to require a little more structure.  Since the girls go to their dad's during the day, in the summer, getting them ready in the morning consists of little more than ensuring they have pants on their butt, and something in their stomach (and even this is kinda/sorta optional, as their stepmom informed me that whether they eat breakfast here or not, the usually end up helping themselves to cereal when they get there in the morning anyway).

Now it's make sure they're fed, teeth brushed, hair brushed, lunch made, school bag packed and they're dressed.  Not just dressed, but appropriately dressed. 


There's a brief period of about three to four years where you can safely leave your kids to their own devices when it comes to getting dressed.  Around grade two they stop insisting on wearing pajamas to school, turtlenecks in 30°C weather, flip flops and/or Crocs in the rain and can *usually* be consistent with the wearing of underpants.

The years previous to these are the ones where you can use praise to deflect the blame on poor fashion choices away from yourself, the parent.

"Oh.. what an interesting outfit little Millie has on..."
"Oh, yes, I know.  And she picked it out all by herself, didn't you honey??  ALL BY YOURSELF.  NO HELP FROM MOM AT ALL," 


That's right, distance yourself from the purple cordouroy pants paired with the three-sizes-too-small shirt that you kept trying to donate but they kept pulling it out again when you weren't looking, and decided to put it on when you were already fifteen minute late so there was no time to change.  Other parents will nod knowingly.  They've seen the same horrors you have.

My oldest, having just turned ten, is reaching a stage where once again I feel it necessary to police her wardrobe choices, mainly for the reasons that A) she still hasn't gotten that 'color-matching' thing down and B) children's retailers and the school officials who write the dress code have wildly differing views of what is 'age appropriate'.

Have you recently trying buying shorts for a ten-year-old girl that are not more than three fingers above the knee?  Don't bother.  Really.  Save the time, save the effort and make cut-offs.  Or shop in the boys section (where, incidentally, all shorts seem to fall three fingers below the knee).

But basically yeah, we've reached the early stages of that joyous time where her fashion sense may clash with my desire to keep her in outfits that can be described without the use of the term "prost-i-tot".  She's a big fan of the Disney set, whose imaginary tweenie characters seem to have clothing allowances that would probably pay my car insurance and my cable bill together.

Evenings require a bit more structure now as well.  There is the ceremonial unpacking of the school back, signing of notes, throwing out of half-empty containers of pudding that the school, under their so-called "litterless lunch" mandate insists on having the girls put back in their lunch bags.  This is especially pleasant after they've gone to their dad's for the weekend, and the lunch bags don't get unpacked because I like to keep my plastic sandwich containers, thankyouverymuch.

There are showers to be had, on a regular basis even.  In the summer there'd be conversations like this (keep in mind that they often bathe at their dad's for hygiene, and sometimes simply for something to do)

"When was the last time you washed your hair?"
"..."
"Did you have a bath at your dad's today?"
"No."
"When was the last time you had a bath or a shower?"
"..."

*sigh*

"Okay, here's some advice.. if the answer to any of those questions is 'I don't know' then just go have a shower."

School time comes and it's every-other-day whether you feel like you need it or not.  No one wants to be the smelly kid.

So begins another year.  *pours a shot.. or four*

Conversations with my Kid: The "Mommy's not here to win friends" edition

T: Mommy, do you think I'm a good singer?
Me: Of cou...
T: AND YOU CAN'T SAY YES JUST BECAUSE YOU'RE MY MOM.
Me: I wouldn't tell you were a good singer if I didn't think you were.
T: Oh, come on!
Me: No, If I didn't think you were a good singer I'd probably go "Uhm.... er... *averts eyes* How was school?"  And then you'd say "I didn't GO to school today!" and I'd say "Why weren't you in school?  You're GROUNDED!"
T: But it's summer, so there is no school! So you can't ground me!

(at this point I'm thinking 'way to keep up with the conversation, kid. ')

Me: I could... if I was desperately trying to divert your attention by changing the subject.
T: ....
Me:  So yeah, I think you're a good singer.
T: Oh.  Okay.  Thanks.

Conversations with my Kid: Pop Culture > Canadian Politics

A couple weeks ago, at my sisters place, we caught the energetic yet vaguely horrifying Iggy Pop performance on American Idol. (I say horrifying because put a shirt on already, Mr. Pop.)

This morning, the radio discusses the upcoming Canadian election and Michael Ignatieff's visit to Montreal.

T:  Mom! Iggy's coming to Montreal!
Me: Huh?
T: On the radio... they said Iggy's coming to Montreal!!
Me:  Not Iggy Pop, honey.  Michael Ignatieff.

*pause*

T:  Oh.

Conversations with my kid: You're lucky you've got looks, kid.

Tucking the girls into bed tonight I had this exchange with my almost ten-year-old daughter.

T (reading off my shirt):  "Karaoke Contest Summer two thousand seven. "  Mom, when did you get this?
Me:... 
T: What? 
Me:  Seriously?
T:  What? When did you get it?
Me: SUMMER 2007!!!!

Conversations with my kid: Fun with short-forms

In the car Reegs is eating pizza that her dad made.

"Mmm... Dee-Lish!  If I take the 'Shus' off then end that means it's MORE than delicious."

Conversations with my kid: Apathy at the expense of others.

At the grocery store, we run into the girls cousin (dad's side).  They chit chat, and I notice the other kid's fly is wide open.

Me (to A): You're flying low.
A: *blank stare*
Me (trying to be discreet, failing miserably): You're flying low.
A: *grin, more blank staring*
Me: Okay, bye.

We walk away.

Me:  I don't think she knows what that means.
T: No, me neither.
Me: Do you want to go back and tell her?
T:  Meh.  She'll figure it out.

Conversations with my kid: You can't fight logic.

Me:  Did you make your bed?
T: *grumbling and sniffling*
Me: What's the matter?
T: I don't wanna make my bed!!
Me:  I don't want to make your dinner.

*silence*

T: Fine.  I'll make my bed.