6yo:  mama, i want to tell you something that happened on the playground that you will want to know about.

me [wary since she often tells me things i so do not want to know about]:  will i really want to know about this?

6yo:  yes, you will.

me:  are you sure??

6yo:  yes!

me [sighing]:  okay, what?

6yo:  there was a dead squirrel on the ground and one of the kids touched it.

9yo:  and now they have cooties. or rabies!!!!

me:  …that is exactly the kind of thing I DO NOT WANT TO KNOW!  especially while i’m eating dinner.

6yo [giggling]:  how am i supposed to know that?

me:  [drops head onto table]


in case you didn’t know

in the car with the kids and my sister in law, driving home in the pouring rain after running through a monsoon to leave the suspended (and later “terminated”) game.  

drenched 6yo in the back seat:  i know how hail is made. [note:  we weren’t talking about hail] it’s when thunder and rain combine together.  also, lightning and rain can combine too.  they make little ice pieces.  

me: …

6yo:  i know it seems like that couldn’t happen, but that’s how it happens.  thunder or lightning combine with rain. or both of them.

me: ummm, yeah, good to know.

6yo:  i’ve always known that.  ever since i was five years old.  ever since my 6th birthday.

me:  *smh*


on the way to taco bell.  i ask 6yo what she wants. she is very specific and says that she wants a spicy beef soft taco with cheddar cheese (read: soft beef taco with whatever cheese they put on it).  i ask her twice if she is sure she doesn’t want a gordita like mine, since she always wants some of mine.  she is adamant that she wants a SPICY. BEEF.  TACO. WITH.  CHEDDAR. CHEESE.  so this is what i order for her and 2 gorditas for me (so i can have one for lunch tomorrow).

we get home and i am putting the food on plates.

6yo:  so maybe i can have half of one of your gorditas.

me: no way. i asked you several times if you wanted one and you said no!

6yo:  but i could have half of one.

me:  no.

6yo [play pouting]:  yes, i can.

me [sighing in resignation]:  maybe, just MAYBE, you can have a little bit of one.

6yo:  so that’s like half.

me: no, that is like a little.

6 yo:  which means half.  [big smile]

me [trying not to smile]:  which means a little.  maybe.

6yo [frowns while thinking about this for a minute]:  when i say a half, i MEANT a little.  i don’t think things mean the same thing you think they mean, but you didn’t ask me what i meant, so i couldn’t tell you that a half meant a little!

me:  *smh*  whatever.

annoyingly, after giving the little varmint a HALF, she didn’t eat A DAMN BIT OF IT!!! >.<


5yo calls me into the bathroom, saying she needs help.  i ask with what, and she shows me her hands with something pink all over them.  turns out it’s….wait for it…..bubblegum.  no idea where she got the gum – we have none in the house that i know of.  her answer as to how it got all over her hands was unintelligible.  she had used a fingernail scrub brush to try to get it off.  the brush is of course now covered in gum and her skin was all red.  took me 10 minutes with ice to freeze the gum so it wouldn’t stick to her skin and pull at it.  i declared her a bubblegum nightmare and said bubblegum was off limits to her for a few years. at least it didn’t get in her hair. *smh*