I must have offended people with that last post of my innocent curtain climbers expedition to a beer factory (as is proven by the sad lack of comments), so I will begin this post by saying, there have been absolutely no questionable activities of that particular sort this week here at three kid adventures. No field trips to Ciggarettes R Us, no tatoo parlors, no BYOB potlucks. We did return to said beer factory though, but hey, the clydesdales were out again, and Cora wanted to try out her theory of whether or not one could be shop lifted (that's a no can do, crackerjack). And while I am trying not to complain, I will anyway. If you don't comment sometimes, I don't know if you're reading, and if you're not reading, then why am I writing, and if I'm not writing than I will be forced to do things like clean my house and unload the dishwasher and pay bills and homeschool my kids. And I don't need that kind of stress. And I also don't need to return to my site a sad, sad 15 times a day, hitting the "refresh" button in the hopes that someone loves me enough to say hullo. And besides, it's sort of my blogging anniversary and I expect lots of love.
So after almost a decade of parenting here, I think I am just about qualified to speak "child," so I thought I would share with you my translations, which I do believe are pretty universal to kid-dom:
Child's translation: Ask again and again, much louder.
Child's translation: Never in a million years, plus twenty.
Mom: We will talk about this when we get home.
Child's translation: You are going to get it when we get home.
Mom: You get what you get and you don't throw a fit.
Child's translation: You're eating spinach for dinner.
Mom: Go clean your room.
Child's translation: Go clean your room while your siblings get to eat ice cream, ride ponies, and relax.
Mom: Next time.
Child's translation: 5,000 years from now.
Mom: Because I said so.
Child's translation: Because I don't actually have a good reason for making you do this.
Mom: Sit still.
Child's translation: You're about to be bored out of your gourd.
Mom: When I was a kid...
Child's translation: yadda yadda yadda.
Hope this helps you understand the little monkeys; I know the veil has been lifted from my eyes.
My little Luigi is about to turn 2 here very soon, and I am NOT planning a party, and NOT buying him a gift, and NOT lighting candles for him to blow out, because I am NOT ready for this. The little imp has been busy, busy, busy lately. He manages to do the naughtiest things, while being so incredibly adorable, that the urge to duct tape him to a chair only overcomes me a scant few times a day. The other day I was having a sweet moment with him and said softly and with tears in my eyes,
'Are you Mama's boy?'
He kicked me in the shin and ran off shouting, 'Gwamma! Papa!' which I assume meant he was not my boy, but rather his Gwamma and Papa's boy. They can have him, as I am now icing my sore shin.
I think this may be the difference between boys and girls (at least the stereotypical ones): boys are rawther prone to violence and working things out with their fists and steel-toed boots, and girls prefer the talking you to death approach. Girls are sneaky. They go for your emotional well being when they get even, boys just get even and then they're done. Another difference between the sexes is illustrated perfectly by men being able to rib each other about their weight or gray hair or clothes. Mike and his friends are always insulting each other, and get this: they're still friends. Now I don't think of myself as overly sensitive by any stretch of the imagination, but if one of you poke my muffin top and make the Pillsbury Dough Boy noise, I will come after you like a spider monkey. And THEN I will go after your emotional well being.