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Wednesday, August 31, 2016

Toddler or Unruly Friend? First Day of Preschool

The game where you guess whether the quote was said by an unruly friend or a toddler. Ready? Here we go.

While wrestling on a yoga ball
"Stop licking his butt"
"Seriously, no licking each other's butts."

I gave it away in the title, but this was the first day of preschool and so, my kids were licking each other's shorts. Answer? Toddler.

I remember when I thought my unruly friends were the most unruly people I knew.

Friday, August 19, 2016

Cake by the Ocean goes on the Tomorrow Shelf

“When was the last time you looked in that bag?”

One day when I picked my 3-year-old up at daycare, my day-care lady chastised Rob and me about the contents of the bag we send with our son. This was completely unfounded. That bag must have all the things she needed, surely. It’s been unopened for a month. So the things that were useful a month ago should all still be in there, right? Right?

Daycare lady: “Do you know what’s in there? Because there were no pairs of underwear, about 3 winter coats, 5 pairs of socks… do you have any socks left at your house? and no changes of clothes.”

I laughed maniacally and swore that we had our shit together.

This is what happens when the only person to do anything with the bag is the 3 year old, who, it appears, has slowly added things to it. Meanwhile, the adults have not added anything nor taken anything out, apparently.

I checked out the contents when the kids and I got home. Here was what was in there:

4 pairs of socks, 2 coats, a superman book, a keychain, a lego guy, a pair of underpants. 0 shorts or pants, 0 shirts, 0 hats

She was wrong, we do have socks at home (now.)


While sitting on the floor of the living room, folding the last bits of laundry that evening, (as if I’ve ever seen the last bits of laundry. That’ll be the day.) Magnus and I had this conversation about girls.

“You know how they do this?” he mimed a girl tucking hair behind one ear and a smile timidly took over his face.

I nodded, “yeah.”

He grinned, “I feel funny when they do that.” Smiling had now completely overwhelmed him and a new look I’d never seen before crossed his face: embarrassment? More like a post-flirty combination of confused and bewitched.

I promptly fell into a fit of laughter on the floor.

Magnus, “What?”

“You like them, don’t you? The girls that tuck their hair behind their ears?”

Magnus snorting, “Yeah. Why are you laughing?”

Me: “No, it’s nothing, I just think you’re going to marry a girl.” I then went back to my pile of laundry folding and Magnus went upstairs.

Shortly thereafter, he was adamant that we should watch the video “Cake by the Ocean, original version.”

“Can you go on Youtube and type in the search box “Cake by the Ocean, original version”?”

He probably repeated this five times.

Rob: “Wait, what was it again? Crumpets by the Seaside? A remix?”

Me from the kitchen: “No, it was Pie by the Creek”

Magnus, patiently for once, completely missing the teasing: “No, no, no. It’s “Cake by the Ocean, original version.””

Rob: “Salad tongs on the sand?”

Me: “No, not sweet enough “Cobbler at the Pond””

Rob: “Ice cream at the inlet”

Magnus: You guys are assholes.

Well, that’s what he should have said. He didn’t. He waited patiently until we finally typed it in the searchbox as he’d instructed and his video came on.

In case you didn’t know, the song Cake by the Ocean has a bunch of the f-word in it. My 5-year-old asked to see the video, it turned out, because some kid at school told him about it. As we started watching it, his eyes got huge because of all the girls in bikinis and he was excitedly anticipating that apparently, there is a lot of throwing of the cake by the girls in bikinis and he liked that idea. A lot.

We turned off “Danish by the River” though when my 3-year-old goes, “are they saying the f-word?”

Then Gavin, 3-year-old, was caught eating something, which isn’t all that abnormal for him. On a recent camping trip, he was eating restaurant crayons during story time in the tent and nearly bit me as I struggled to get him to spit out the pieces. He eats crayons often.

Me, smelling something minty on Gavin’s breath as he snuggles into my lap: Gavin, what are you eating?

3-yr-old: I don’t want to tell you

Me: Just tell me the truth. If you’re honest, you won’t be in trouble.

3-yr-old, more emphatically and whining: I don’t want to tell y-you! (voice shaking)

Me: Did you eat candy?

3-yr-old: No

Me, thinking: Did you get ahold of some gum?

3-yr-old: No

Me: just tell me what you ate

Gavin: I don’t want to

Me, looking down at chapstick and remembering that he asked yesterday whether chapstick was “minty”: Is it chapstick?

Gavin: I don’t want to tell you!!!

Rob, laughing: You said to tell the truth and technically, he’s not lying.

I took the half-eaten chapstick away and put it on the tomorrow shelf. The kids hate the tomorrow shelf above all other punishments in the house. I put things on that shelf and forget them for a lot of tomorrows. I mean to give it back tomorrow but if no one asks, I forget. And even if they do, they tend to ask at the same time as I’m in the shower or making coffee or we’re about to walk out the door OR at the same time as they’re asking for four other things. So it doesn’t always happen and then there it sits, getting swallowed by piles of clothes in my shelf.

Gavin has been known to try to figure out when tomorrow is which quickly becomes a more complicated and esoteric conversation than you’d think.

Gavin “Is it tomorrow yet?”

Me “Nope.”

Gavin “Is it tomorrow the day after this night?”

Me “yes.”

Gavin, the next day, “Is it tomorrow now?”

Me “technically, it will never be tomorrow.”

Gavin wails in despair. The tomorrow shelf never comes.

Screaming ensued about the mostly-eaten minty chapstick on the tomorrow shelf. At dinner he flatly refused to try any of the food because “it’s yucky.” Yeah, stir fry is yucky, but chapstick and crayons are delicious.

The following morning, Rob found a box of graham crackers in Gavin’s bed. He’s a squirrel, apparently. He’ll eat things he squirrels away for himself but nothing I make.
This was a total of 12 hours of our lives. It’s like this Every. Glorious. Day.