Tag Archives: things kids say

Polar Vortex vs Tardis

Many would be mightily disappointed by the misleading title of this post. My apology.

By Tardis, I mean the awesome Tardis fleece blankets found on ThinkGeek. Each of the boys got one for Christmas. I was blue with envy as soon as I touched it. So soft and fuzzy.

Tardis blanket

AND it’s bigger on the inside! My son who’s holding the blanket in the picture is 6’2″. I decided to keep the two extra ones back home that I had ordered for my Whovian friends. I of course promptly forgot about them. The blankets. Not my friends.

Since Monday, Chicago along with the rest of the Midwest fell into the evil grip of Polar Vortex (Great name by the way for 1. a band, 2. a Bond villain, 3. an X-Men member, 4. a super powerful blender). I have proof:

20 below zero

 

This was why this happened at Lake Michigan shore:

Chicago ice town

Photo credit: Getty Images

 

Our school districts were closed for two days and the kids were suffering from cabin fever. As an argument was about to break out over who owned the Tardis blanket that’s downstairs (as opposed to the one upstairs), and I was about to step in and declare that it’s, surprise, surprise, MINE! I remembered and brought out the extra two Tardis blankets. Peace was restored. The boys and I wrapped ourselves in the deep blue plushiness and walked around the house like royalty.

Naturally, they’re late getting ready for bed again.

“Seriously. I am the worst parent.” I added, after I threatened to really enforce discipline this time if they did not go upstairs straightaways.

My 11-year-old boy turned to look at me in the eye. “You are the best parent,” he said quietly, “from a child’s perspective.”

So. Yup. There you have it. Definitely the worst parent.

 

Story of My Life

One of my 10-year-old’s favorite conversation starters with me is the fact that I have a Ph.D. in theatre (and from a very prestigious program and school too. Please allow me to brag. I kind of need a little bit ego booster lately. In addition, I am reading Sheryl Sandberg’s book Lean In and felt vindicated when she said that women do not share with others our accomplishments often enough for fear of not being liked. But of course, I digress)

Perhaps because children are more honest and straightforward, they instinctively know the most vulnerable place to aim? Or perhaps my child, Mr. Monk, is a future David Frost in the making. Either way, he has a talent of asking me questions that make me feel cornered. I have no answer to any of them, or perhaps I simply don’t want to answer. Afraid to.

“And you are not using your degree at all? Then why did you get it?”

“Isn’t it a waste?”

“Do you remember anything?”

“Is anything that you learned useful?”

“What good is your Ph.D. degree then?”

“Why didn’t you do something with it? Why didn’t you fulfill your potential?” Yup, he said that.

We would be doomed if our kids ever turn the table and ask us to assess our lives with the encouraging words that we use to inspire them.

“Have you reached for the stars and followed your dreams?”

“Have you lived your life to the fullest?”

“Why not?”

And we’d have to bite our tongue.

Finally, after much pestering which at that moment felt more like missile attacks, I looked him in the eye and confessed, “The reason why I refrain from answering these questions of yours, about why I did not do more with my life, is because anything that I want to say, if I am being honest, may be misinterpreted as I regret having ‘this life’.”

How apropos then that soon after our unavoidable heart-to-heart, we moved everything out from the basement and I decided that it’s time I threw away the research material for my dissertation.

 

image

 

The box contains three years of my life and more than ten years of secret self-delusion that I am a research scholar/academic/intellectual at large.

Farewell to secret double life that never was. I only wish that I could have set it ablaze to send it off in style instead of unceremoniously dumping it into the recycling bin.

Story of my life.

What One Could Learn from the Game of Life

 

Bad mommy confession: I hate playing board games. I still have horrible memories of spending hours playing Monopoly that would not end, and of course I went into bankruptcy half way through the game followed by a streak of bad lucks. Five hours later I was exhausted and bitter. That’s why even though my 9-year-old has been begging me to play the game of Life for weeks, I did not grant him this one tiny wish until this afternoon.

And, as you could guess, I am glad I did and we had great fun playing it.

Things I learned from playing the Game of Life:

1. You start out with a bank loan of $100,000 if you choose the “College Career” path.

2. Teacher’s salary sucks because it starts out at 40K and maxes out at 70K.

3. See above. College Career does not necessary pay, unless you are a doctor or a lawyer. But since you have no idea which career path you would land in — a card is randomly drawn, you are better off going on the “regular career” path.

4. Being an entertainer has great potential of making a steady, 6-figure, income. I am sold!

5. Spending a lot of money buying a flashy house does not get you anything in the end. You get to sell your house back to the bank for the exact same amount of money that you paid for.

6. See above. A double-wide RV costs 300K. Therefore I am not sure why I traded my starter home, a log cabin, up for a RV. “It’s just for bragging rights, mom. You are so dumb.”

7. My kids are risky gamblers: They are not allowed into any casinos. I am submitting their names and pictures and retina scan data to the Secret Casino Bouncer Club (there is one right?) so they would be barred from entering any casino.

8. I set out playing the game determined to NOT get married. But I was dealt the card so I had to bite the bullet (or lie in it or something). With lots of whining.

“Mom, get a pink one! Be a rebel!” My oldest encouraged me.

“Oh, that would be weird.” My youngest said, unsurely.

“Well, that’s a good idea. We should represent all different types of families!” I put another pink pin in my car. So in this game I was in a same-sex marriage, and my wife and I ended up having three children (with two of them being twins).

I did have to apologize (to nobody in particular) when I mumbled, “I wish my wife is good at raising kids because I ain’t doing all that.”

See? Gender roles. I can’t get pass the stereotypical thinking even in my pretend Life. Ugh.

 

Easter Bunny no more

Dear Easter Bunny, please accept our sincere apology for banishing you to the land of creepy holiday creatures where you will reign supreme I am sure.

You were slayed when 9-year-old Mr. Monk declared that he no longer believes in Easter Bunny.

Rejoice!

The Husband took the boys to Wal-Mart last night because I had failed to procure pastel things to appease the Easter Bunny. This man loves a great bargain and is not afraid of those greeters; he falls square in Wal-Mart’s target segment. While there, Mr. Monk made the surprise announcement. Now that there’s no need to keep up the charade, they came home with a bow and arrow set, a Captain America shield and two water pistols, and created the bestest Easter baskets at the fastest speed in the history of this household.

 

The boys had given up soda pop for Lent hence the giant bottles of soda in the baskets. Mr. Monk took one long sip of his orange soda and declared, “This is the BEST Easter ever!”

Deprivation is the mother of poetry joy.

Old Soul

My 8 year old, Mr. Monk, is on a “Back to the Future” kind of mission lately.

He’s acquired two rotary phones earlier this year for a buck each at a garage sale. Probably my fault for I might have explained to him, with too much excitement, how we used to hate folks’ phone numbers with too many zeros and nines.

Click click click click. As you dialed that dial all the way around. Impatience grew. Why can’t they have a number that’s 111-1111? You know what I am talking about. If you don’t, ask your grandma about it.

I have also told him that it would be a great idea to have a rotary phone in the house as it does not require electricity to work and will come in handy one day when we lose power yet the phone line still works. (And what do you know? We did lose power for a whole day and his rotary phone did save the day)

After the rotary phones, he’s been obsessed with what he calls “things from the olden days”. The other day he came home from the neighbor’s house with an gigantic outdated cordless phone. “They gave it to me for free even though I offered to pay for it!” I wonder why. This one is truly a big chunk of lead weight.

 

You may have seen this photo floating around the Book of Face:

 

First of all, Mr. Monk totally knew the answer because I have told him the story one too many times. (Huh. I am seeing a pattern here…) It was almost like a sign because on the same night when I first LOL at this picture, we acquired a Sony double decker complete with high speed dubbing action from Craigslist for $20. After I casually mentioned how much it would mean for Mr. Monk to have a good ol’ boombox that can also RECORD, the man offered to drive 20 miles on the same night to bring it to us. Mr. Monk was beyond excited. He stood by the window waiting for his new old toy the way other kids waited for a new puppy. It was fascinating to watch his fascination as I explained to him, and my 13 year old, how each of the buttons worked and how to prevent from taping over the cassette tapes by accident. (Many a tears were shed for such accidents…)

Here’s him posing a la Say Anything at my coercion…

 

We have been listening to the 80s music in this household, and this time it is NOT playing inside my head. Mr. Monk seems to have taken a liking to Pet Shop Boys… I notice repeat plays of “Left to My Own Devices” almost every day… Oh what have I done?

The Husband asked, “Do you think we should tell him about record players?” I gave him The Look. But it is probably just a matter of time since at our Goodwill store, there is an entire table stashed with records for $1 each. I will keep you all updated.

Although I managed to not come home from Goodwill with any records, we did come home with this:

For two bucks? A good deal. That is, until I found out that films cost about $3 each and hard to find. This is a great contrast to how we snap away when we take pictures with digital cameras. Since the marginal cost is zero, we tend to ignore the pictures once they are taken. Somehow though, the old photos without digital copies seem to occupy a more special place in our hearts. I think Mr. Monk is right in wanting to bring back forth that sliver of magic that comes with pre-digital technology. There is something to be said to be able to hold something in your hand.

Tangible.

That is one of the new words he’s learned.

 

p.s. This post has been approved by Mr. Monk himself on the condition that I tell you he is not just an old soul. “Just tell them. I am of the past, present and future.”

 

 

Raised by My Child

 

“All children alarm their parents, if only because you are forever expecting to encounter yourself.”   — Gore Vidal

 

This is going to make me sound like an awful mother, ok, more than usual.

I know many of you who are kind enough to read my blog on a regular basis adore my precocious youngest child. But sometimes, sometimes, I wish my child would say only “age-appropriate” things and engage me in “age appropriate” conversations. Sometimes I wish he were not such a little old man.

I am kind of tired of having to respond to a comment out of nowhere such as, “I don’t know how a Christian can ever support death penalty!” Seriously? Where did he get that?

Or, “I finally figured out how Batman became so rich. When his parents died, they left him with the inheritance.” Yes, he’s been quite fascinated by the concept of inheritance lately. I am trying to NOT worry about it.

Or when he flipped the channel and decided that a documentary on Freedom Riders was the most interesting thing on TV and he wanted to watch the whole thing. It’s exhausting because to answer his questions oftentimes requires supplemental materials and contextual information that are beyond his comprehension.

On these days I am worried that I am not qualified to be his mother.

 

I also don’t need a critic that follows me around like Jiminy Cricket, questioning everything that I do or say.

 

The other day he followed me around the house. “You know. This house is falling apart. We have ants everywhere,” he sighed.

First of all, the house is not falling apart. It was built in 2000 and we are the original owners. The ants? The ants are in our house because he leaves a trail of crumbs no matter how many times I have asked him to please be careful since he freaks out about the ants.

He sighed again. “I think it is going to be very hard when it comes time to sell this house.”

“It is not going to be hard to sell this house. Please don’t say things like this.” I was getting rather annoyed because unfortunately, I have absolutely no patience for Debbie Downers, Pessimists and Worrywarts.

“Ok. I just want to let you know that when you die, and I inherit this house, I am going to sell it.”

“Well, I will make sure you don’t inherit this house then.”

“I am just letting you know, that when you die, IF I get the house, I am going to sell it.”

That’s when I started having this huge headache between my eyes. And it’s still there.

 

I don’t need someone to constantly remind me how old I am.

“Mom, you are 40 years old. Do you think you should behave that way?”

“You are a middle-aged woman, please don’t jump up and down.”

And he says these things not because he’s embarrassed, but because he has labeled me as such and therefore I should behave in such and such way to conform to that label.

It’s like I am living with the Puritans.

“Are you my dad? You are worse than my dad.”

Like I said in the beginning, I am an awful mother.

 

It was funny the first time he sprinkled Holy Water on me. It was a lot less funny when I overheard him saying “Yeah, and if your mom does not believe in god, it is very hard when you want to be a good Christian.” To nobody in particular. Again, out of nowhere.

Head. Desk.

 

It’s like living with your own critic, your very own Simon Cowell who has no filters when it comes to the dissemination of truth.

Yup. My son. The truth seeker.

I know I am the adult here but oh boy does the truth hurt especially when it is pointed out to your face by someone who’s supposed to be looking up to you.

 

“Children are unpredictable. You never know what inconsistency they are going to catch you in next.”  — Henry Ward Beecher

The Ice Cream Index

Earlier today I learned of these numbers today from Mature Landscaping:

Salary of retired US Presidents ……………$180,000 FOR LIFE
Salary of House/Senate ……………………..$174,00​0 FOR LIFE
Salary of Speaker of the House …………….$223,500 FOR LIFE
Salary of Majority/Minority Leaders …… $193,400 FOR LIFE
Average Salary of a teacher ……………….. $40,065
Average Salary of Soldier DEPLOYED IN AFGHANISTAN $38,000

 

I had been feeling unsettled by a gnawing sense of guilt and shame ever since. That’s probably why when we caught a glimpse of the evening news, I suddenly blurted out,

Did you know how much a soldier that is currently fighting in the war is paid? A year? $38,000. That’s how much!

The boys immediately were feeling just as outraged. “That’s not a lot of money right?” The Teenager got a bit emotional. “And they are risking their lives over there!”

8-year-old Mr. Monk got up on the coffee table and pontificated as he’s wont to.

You know what? What we need is for the economy to get better!

I swear I have no idea where he got this (or any others). We seldom watch TV, let alone news. I wonder whether this has anything to do with his endless viewing of The Simpsons. In fact, he watches The Simpsons so much he’s able to quote some of the episodes the way The Husband is able to quote The Princess Bride.

You know how you can tell the economy is getting lower?

(He is, after all, only 8 years old…)

The free ice cream at ______ Burgers is now so small that you only get the bottom part. It used to be as big as the Dairy Queen’s!

Hold the thought while I contact The Economist about the Ice Cream Index idea.

The Lesser of Two Evils

Yet another interesting conversation with my 8-year-old that makes me worry…

[In the car]

Mr. Monk: Mom?

Me [Distracted by This American Life on NPR]: Huh?

Mr. Monk: What’s the drug that starts with an M?

Me [Paying attention now]: Eh… You mean Methamphetamine? [Crap! How did he know about Meth?!]

Mr. Monk: You know what I think? [He IS the King of Non Sequitur] I think that the best way to get rid of an addiction is to have another one.

Me [Trying hard not to freak out. Deep breath]: Eh… Where did you hear that? Who told you that?

Mr. Monk: Nobody. I came up with this theory on my own. Let’s say you want to quit smoking, won’t the best way to quit smoking is to become addicted to some other drugs?

Me: Ok. It does not work that way, honey. Addictions don’t work like that. You are going to end up addicted to BOTH cigarettes and whatever drugs, and that would be really really really bad.

Mr. Monk: Oh. But wouldn’t it be better if you are addicted to cigarettes if you have to choose?

Me: Ok. Let’s say some crazy god comes down from heaven and says to you, “Thou shall choose an addiction!” Then yes, hypothetically speaking, you should choose cigarettes. Or if someone sticks a gun to your head and make you choose. Then yes, go for the cigarettes.

Mr. Monk: Yeah. Because cigarettes will cut your life short but drugs will ruin your life completely.

Me [Kind of relieved]: Well, I sure hope you never get yourself into a crazy situation where you are forced to choose! Ha ha.

Mr. Monk: Then why do they have Marijuana added gum at Walgreens for helping people quit smoking?

Me [So this is where the FIRST question came from. M is for marijuana. I should feel better about this. But… WILL THIS NEVER END?! And what was the last time we were at Walgreens? Wasn’t it a week ago?!]: What? WHAT?! Oh I am pretty sure you saw it wrong. First of all, it is illegal to sell marijuana. [Yes yes, I omitted the whole exception for medicinal use. But I think I deserved a pass here since I was trying hard not to crash the car!] I don’t think Walgreens would sell some gum with marijuana  in it. You must have read the label wrong.

Mr. Monk: Yeah, you are probably right.

[Silence]

Mr. Monk: Mom?

Me [Holding my breath]: Y–E–S?

Mr. Monk: What does CVS stand for?

 

My son. Champion Player of Free Association.