So we’re eatin’ lunch today and here’s what my 5-year-old busts out with:

Him: “Grandmas are moms without rules.”

Me: “Oh, where did you hear that?”

Him: “Nowhere, I just thought of it.”

So I’m trying to get things organized around here before the school year overtakes us.  This morning we were in my daughter’s room.  She’s 8 and is just entering the “tween” stage.   Oh my. This gives me a little stress, but that’s another post.

Regardless of how much the two of us need to stick together in a house with 4 other males, sometimes I’m baffled at how different we are.  Whereas I’m forever looking for stuff to get rid of, she likes to keep EVERYTHING.  She’s particularly partial to itty, bitty pieces of paper (what is it with girls and paper??), miscellaneous crafts she made last year, various notebooks and writing instruments, anything that grandma gave her (the girl WILL NOT throw away anything grandma gave her) and small, porcelain whatnots you might find at the garage sale of a 90-year old.

But today she rose to a whole new level.

I noticed a pair of athletic socks laying on her floor.  They were balled up so I assumed they were hers.  “Peanut,” I say, “put your socks in the sock pile.”

“Oh, those aren’t mine.”

“Oh,” I say, somewhat puzzled. “Who do they belong to?”

“I don’t know.  Here are three more pairs,” she says as she shows me the rest of her stash.

“They’re not yours?”

“No, I just found them so I thought I’d start a weird guy sock collection.”

Once upon a time, before kids and before the internet (mostly before the internet), my husband and I watched TV. Whose Line is it Anyway? was one of our favorite shows. (If you don’t know it, it’s improv.) After a week of really sad stuff, last night I just needed a good laugh. Colin and Ryan did not disappoint.

I (3 1/2 year old son): Mom, how did they know what time it was when they didn’t have clocks?
Me: They used something called a sundial.
I: What does a sundial look like?
Me: Let’s go look on the computer and we’ll find a picture.
[We find this website.]
Me: Oh look, we can make a sundial! Would you like to make one?
I: Make one?
Me: Yeah.
I: Noooooo, cuz we have a clock.

While watching a fishing show on TV:

6-year-old: “Watching this show makes me hungry for fish.”

3-year-old: “Watching this show makes me hungry for Sam’s chicken.”

My 5 year old was telling me about her recent shopping trip to the grocery store with my husband and our 3 year old son. The grocery store has kid-sized shopping carts which the kids love but I hate. (That’s because it’s a nightmare trying to keep them from banging into people & things and even harder to make them understand that they really should pay attention to where they’re going.)

Anyway, apparently daddy doesn’t share the same hatred for the beloved kid carts. On this particular trip, he let them each have their own cart—a nightmare times infinity in my opinion, but who’s asking me.

So, according to my daughter, the focus of this trip was to acquire 1 carton of buttermilk (which they had apparently forgotten to get the day before). As she’s telling the story, I’m envisioning the inevitable bickering which I’m sure ensued when they were faced with the very pressing question of who would be the one to carry the buttermilk in their shopping cart. Two carts, one item, big problem.

We’ll pick up the story there…

“So Peanut,” I ask, “you only got one thing when you went to [the grocery store]?”

“Yeah.”

“So who got to carry the buttermilk in their cart?”

“Well, we took turns.”

“Ooohh. What a great solution. Who thought of that solution?”

“Daddy.”

“That daddy. He sure is smart. He comes up with a lot of good solutions doesn’t he?”

“Yeah. How does he do that?”

“Well, that’s what happens when you get older—you get really smart.”

She pauses. The wheels are clearly turning. Her nose scrunches up in bewilderment and she finally says:

“Well, you’re not smart. How come you’re so old?”

I generally don’t like forwarded emails, but this little anecdote cracked me up…because this would SO happen to me.

The Sermon I think this Mom will never forget…. this particular Sunday sermon…”Dear Lord,” the minister began, with arms extended toward heaven and a rapturous look on his upturned face. “Without you, we are but dust.” He would have continued but at that moment a very obedient daughter (who was listening!) Leaned over to her mother in the front row and asked quite audibly in her shrill little girl voice, “Mom, what is butt dust?”

I know. This is my second post of the day. I have no idea what’s come over me. Just thought I’d throw this one in at no extra charge…

So I’m in the throes of cooking dinner tonight.

Boo (i.e. my 3 year-old son) yells from downstairs: Mom! What are you doing?

Me: I’m mashing the potatoes.

Boo: That’s not very kind.