Best Buds

At the end of naptime today I was summoned to Caleb's room by the sound of loud shouting from inside. As I got closer to the door I heard, "Hannnnnaaaaaah! Haaaaaannnnnnaaaaaah! Hannah!"... this is unusual, as typically Caleb wakes up calling my name, no matter the hour of day or night. When I came in, I entered with the question on my lips, "Caleb, why are you calling for Hannah?" His answer was just too precious... "Cuz Hannah wuvs me." "Don't I love you, Buddy?" (in my feigned "jealous girlfriend" voice) "Yep. You wuv me and Hannah wuvs me and Daddy wuvs me!" "What about Sarah?" (silence...doesn't surprise me, the two are like oil and water) "Sarah loves you, too Buddy, we all do." "Yep. Hannah wuvs me too." Too cute... wish everyone was as secure in their family's love for them as my little Buddy is.

This is why I taught her to read and write ;)

Dear Sarah, we love you too, more than you'll ever know :)

The Lunch Lady vs. Superdaddy

Here at our little pajama-wearing homeschool, I am the lunch lady, and my family is all the poorer for it. I have never been a lunch person... lunch was always more of a throw-away meal, a time to toss together the fastest prepared foods together hastily and scarf them down before moving on to the next to-do. Ryan, on the other hand, loves cooking, no matter the time of day or occasion, so lunch for him is just another opportunity to show off his culinary skills and make something "fah-boooo-lous". When I'm in charge, then, the kids have to suffer thru meals such as hunks of cheese, plain bread, a cut up apple, and some pepper slices... sounds like something they served up at the Oliver Twist orphanage, right?

Please Lunchlady, may I have some more?

But when Daddy is home, well it's baked apple slices with cheese melted on top, brie topped crackers, and chicken tenders with a homemade honey mustard dipping sauce. For our children, this results in a titanic battle between "Superdaddy" versus "Lunchlady."

Me: What kind of cold cereal do you prefer?

Him: I'll save you! Here, have some Baked Alaska!

When I cook, it's all, "oh, ok, I guess I can eat peanut butter and jelly with a banana again." But when he cooks, I swear there's a hallelujah chorus sounding somewhere in the background after he hands the food over to the little ones. Everyone rejoices, except Lunchlady, who sounds off thusly:

First, I fume... "This is going to make a huge mess and we have so much more to do. The kids have about 3 minutes before they need a nap, and you're making a 40 minute meal...and I'm gonna be stuck wiping up the trail of muck you leave behind you while you're happily blasting away people and things on your Wii.... Huff huff huffity huff."

Then, I relish..." mmmmmmm tasty vittles! This is amazing! Can I have seconds?"

Then I fume again... "Crap! Do you see this place? It looks like my pantry exploded, and I'm pretty sure I'll never get the stovetop cleaned from all the baked on yuck and blah blah blahbitty blah... "

Meanwhile the kids are all, "Daddy this is great! How come you never make stuff like this Mommy?" And so Ryan triumphs on his weekend cooking days at winning the children's love and affection once more.

But I get even.

On the weeknights, I make his lunch. Poor Superdaddy usually gets whatever is left over for dinner, and if there's not enough, I supplement with whatever happens to be leftover in the fridge from other meals. One time I remember we came up a bit short after dinner, but I forgot to supplement his meal, so he got a teensy chicken breast with about 3 tablespoons of lima beans, and nothing else. And I forgot to salt or pepper anything. Let me say I could totally make due with that by grabbing a handful of whatever was floating around the office kitchen drawers (usually saltine packets and jelly containers are enough to satisfy) but the culinary Wonderboy was somewhat less satisfied. He called me and said, "Hey hunny, I think you should know, we had a food fight in the lunch area and it was a total slaughter. All I could do was throw my three lima beans and run for it. Can you please pack a little more next time?" Ok, hint well taken. The Lunch Lady needs to work a little harder for her hard workin man. But if you show me up on the weekends again, I'm giving you saltines and jelly packets, and you can just suck it up and take it like a man ;)

Degrees of "Mom"

As so many of you well know, kidspeak is a language unto itself, and at times needs a translation. Like, for instance, when my son asks to see my "boo-boos" and I say yes in public, I better be prepared to have my shirt yanked down and be publicly exposed because he is not talking about wanting to see the cuts on my fingers that I got skewering meat the day before. Then there's the degrees of Mom. That is, when my kids want my attention, they will use different terms to indicate the version of Mom they want to attend to them:

"Mommy"= I love you or am super-thankful for something you did

"Mommy" (extra long vowel version)= what I call you if I'm tattling, or if I want your attention at 3:00 am

"Mommy" squared (aka "Mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy...!")= what I call out when you are on the phone or don't answer the first time at 3:00 am

"Mom"= neutral ordinary Mom... I neither love you or hate you at this particular moment, but I must call out this name before everything I say because your sanity is not my priority (i.e. MomIfinisheddinnerMomI'mwashingmyhandsMomdad'shomenowMom...")

"Mom" (extra long vowel version, or alternatively, "Mo....om!")= What I say before I'm going to complain about something you said, did, or thought.

"Ma"= Southern version of Mom... also what I'll call you when I'm a teenager and don't wan't my friends to know I care about you in the least

"Mama"= This ALWAYS gets an extended vowel at the end, and at times, in the middle. What I say when I want to whine about something to you. Can also be used as a neutral term, esp. in the South.

and finally...

"Ugh"= What I'll call you when you are just the most uncool, unfair, awful Mommy on the planet. Accompanied by eye rolls and turning away from you to stress my irritation. With the girls turning 5 soon, that's the one I get called more and more often. I figure it will crecendo in the preteen years and become no more than a sullen muted growl. Again I stress... time, please stop now! I wanna be Mommy forever!

Caleb's Argument-Ender

Caleb's hit his terrible two's, and as usual, he's doing it with his own flair for the dramatic. He's ramping up his sister-terrorizing, his "No Mommy!"s, and I think his lip couldn't pout out much further if we popped him in the mouth with a hammer drill. He's like a cute, tiny dictator (mini Mussolini?) trying to take over the household. And now he's figured out his argument-ender.

Frequently when we're on car rides, my children, much like all other children of the world (must be in their handbook), decide to get into arguments about whatever flotsam floats into their little brains. For example... Hannah: "Policemen hide to catch criminals!" Sarah: "No, criminals hide from police!" Caleb: "No! NO KIMINALS, I YIKE POLEEEEEEES!" then one of the girls has to begin the real crux of the argument by trying to convince Caleb they weren't even talking to him and he doesn't understand the argument. This angers Caleb, as most things do lately, and his volume rises, and then Mommy has to stop the argument. Lately my hard and fast argument-ender is "STOP ARGUING WITH THE TWO YEAR OLD! THAT JUST MAKES NO SENSE... HE'S TWO, LET IT GO GIRLS!" Then, with a huff, the argument ends and silence reigns once more in my car.

Then today, from my car I hear this conversation:

Hannah: I'm glad we're going home.

Caleb: I'M NOT GOIN HOME, I'M GONNA WATCHA MOOOOOVIE!"

Hannah: Caleb, I'm not saying you can't watch your movie, I'm saying we're going home.

Caleb: NO! MOVIE! MOVIE MOVIE MOVIE!

Hannah: Caleb, I'm not sayeeeeeeing that. I'm sayeeeeeeeeing...

Caleb: DON'T ARGUE WIFFA TWO YEAR OLE!

And so the argument ended.

I think he's gonna be a lawyer. He seems good with loopholes.