Four Funny Kids

Most Dangerous

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Mon, 10 Sep 2012 17:56:00 +0000

This child - who is awesome - told me the following today:

"Mom, do you know what the four most dangerous things in the world are? Lions, tigers, scissors and knives."

"OH! And tarantulas."

"And probably bees, green hornets and yellow jackets."

Love. Him.

Self-Confidence

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Mon, 10 Sep 2012 03:31:00 +0000

My nine-year-old told me last week that this song "just expresses me so well."

She does not lack in self-confidence, that one.

Nuggets

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Thu, 23 Feb 2012 22:31:00 +0000

I've been blaming my busy life for my failure to update this blog very often. And that is partly true. The other guilty party is Twitter. I tend to tweet about silly things the kids say or do more often that I blog about them lately.

Here's a good one from C (newly five-years-old) from today:

"Mom, is it okay if I say the word 'shit'?" (Uh, nope.) "Okay."

And from Twitter over the past few months:

"Don't lick my bandaid." (One twin to the other.)
Most important events of 2011, according to M (age 9): Osama bin Laden killed and The Muppets released.
Just found out parent meeting for daughter's new Brownie troop will be at Tanners [a bar]. Love this troop already..
Just got into major argument with my husband abt Jay-Z. Of course, he was drunk. My husband, not Jay-Z. #fridaynightwiththemckinneys
My directionally challenged husband: "Did you know Martin City isn't at 151st and Kenneth Road anymore?" Yeah, it never was...Good God
My 4YO has suddenly turned Canadian. Keeps telling me to "forgetabootit".
I have been anointed as the "worst mom ever" by my smallest kid. Just surprised it took until after 5 o'clock
"I wish only Dad & me lived here. Not you." So says the 4YO, who follows it up with "I'm ready to be nice now. Can I go outside?"
I've seen (but don't understand) husband/wife FB accts before. Today, I saw a joint LinkedIn acct. Is there a rational explanation for this?
My 4yo just informed me that "booty" is not a bad word. And that marshmellows are now called "barfmellows". Oh, to be 4...
One of my four year olds just told me he was going to bed. Is now putting himself to bed. Aaaaaand, he's back. "Just kidding," he says.
Call me a bad mom if you will but preschool Christmas programs are excruciating.
I hope they don't discover that Febreze causes cancer at some point. My existence (with 3 sons & a husband) depends on Febreze. Ew.
Yesterday, all of my kids were singing Red Solo Cup. Today, Friday by Rebecca Black. 2012 goal? Force my kids to listen to better music.

Okay, fine. I'll post something.

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Wed, 22 Feb 2012 21:57:00 +0000

I received a not-so-subtle email this morning, lodging an "OFFICIAL COMPLAINT" that this blog hasn't been updated since August. Thanks for the kick in the ass, friend who used to clean the popcorn machine and rewind VHS tapes with me at the video store we worked at in high school. (And that, dear readers, will tell you approximately how old I am. I worked at a video store that rented VHS tapes - and had a creepy porn section in the back corner and no one apparently thought it was weird that high school kids stocked, rewound and sold from that section daily. And remember that time when we had to pull all of the Traci Lords tapes because it came out that she was underage? Okay, enough about the video store.)

I would say sorry for the digression but it's actually frighteningly on-topic. You'll see.

Earlier this school year, I gifted my 10-year-old son with my trusty Merriam-Webster dictionary. The edition that saw me through late elementary, junior high, high school, college, law school (supplemented by Black's Law Dictionary) and life. I believe it has my maiden name in fifth-grade scrawl inside the front cover.

He needed it for spelling assignments - write the definition, use the word in a sentence-type stuff.

At Christmas, I gifted the same son with an iPod Touch with which he was immediately obsessed. He became a voracious YouTube consumer. Mostly, Japanese animation and Power Rangers.

Fast forward to a few weeks ago. I walked into his room one morning to make sure he was getting ready for school. He was sitting on the floor, hunched over the dictionary. I asked him what he was doing. "Just looking up the word 'dildo'," he said nonchalantly.

"Hmm. Where'd you hear that word, buddy?"

"YouTube."

"Hmm. Well, you better close the book and get ready for school, please."

And I left.

And he never said another word about it. Thank God.

I am a coward and clearly not cut out for parenthood.

(On another day, he told me he needed to look up "porno". We are currently in the midst of an indefinite YouTube ban in our house.)

For Nedra

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Tue, 30 Aug 2011 18:55:00 +0000

My babies are now about the same age that my older kids were when I started this blog. And I'm remembering why I had to start it. They are so unintentionally funny.

These two, because they've got older siblings, just want to be grown up. They want to act like the big kids and talk like the big kids.

Thus, H walks around constantly saying "Seriously?!" just like his big sister. Except it comes out "Theriouthly?!"

Today in the car:

They asked for the windows down and I obliged. They rode the whole way home from Target with their arms out the windows, saying "This is SO Wiccan!" (Uh, that would be their version of "This is so wicked!") "So freakin' Wiccan!"

Once again, I am so proud of my parenting abilities.

First Game, First Goals

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Sat, 27 Aug 2011 22:38:00 +0000

C & H had their first soccer game today. Pre-K herdball to be sure.

But they got it. The benefit of spending the last four years getting hauled to sibling soccer games is that you understand a little bit about the game before your parents throw you out there for their own entertainment.

I'm not saying they're MLS-ready or anything but it was pretty great. And they each scored a goal!

Here are the goals in all of their spectacular glory...

Grandpa

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Sun, 19 Jun 2011 20:51:00 +0000

Today is Father's Day. Yesterday, we lost my grandpa. This Wednesday would have been his 84th birthday.

His obituary says that he was born in 1927, served in the Navy from 1944 to 1946, married my grandmother in 1952, had seven kids and worked at the same place for over 30 years before retiring in 1989.

All of this is true.

But standard obits (true confession: I'm an obituary reader) leave out all the good stuff.

Like he was a good son and brother and fiercely loyal friend over decades.

His Navy stint? Came after he dropped out of high school to enlist at barely 17. He went to the Pacific theater of World War II and returned home nine months after V-J day, re-enrolled in high school and finished.

He lived for over twenty years in the house next door to his in-laws. And that house held seven kids, two adults in three bedrooms and one bathroom.

The obit leaves out the fact that he worked very hard as a welder and in the maintenance department at the same foundry that his father worked at before him. And that he took a big black lunch box with him to work every day, packed by my grandmother.

The paper doesn't mention that he became a grandfather at the young age of 44 but he already had a head of curly gray hair. And that his first grandchild was me.

Casual newspaper readers won't learn that he was a strict father but a push-over grandfather.

They won't know that he liked to tease little girls with a glimmer of fun in his eyes. Or that he made preschoolers giggle for decades by the mere (and admittedly strange) act of popping out his dentures unexpectedly.

Will the people who attend his funeral know that he made dozens of children smile by accepting their smooches and then convulsing into a full body shake and exclaiming, "Oooh, THAT was good!"? Or that his eyes sparkled when he did that?

Will they remember which spot at the kitchen table was his? Will they recall the kind of cigarettes he smoked (back before he wised up and quit)? Or what his ashtray looked like?

Will they remember his pickup truck? His RV? His bountiful tomato garden? His big, rough hands that welded, woodworked, fixed cars and snuggled babies? Or the beef jerky and summer sausage that he liked to make? I'm terrified that I will forget.

What else does the obituary miss?

The phrase "survived by his wife" doesn't begin to convey the sixty years that my grandparents spent by each other's sides. Caring for each other and their children and their siblings and their parents. My grandpa wasn't a perfect man. Like most of us, he could be a pain in the backside on occasion (aren't we all?). But he was, I think, I hope, a good husband. I know he was a good father and grandfather. A good man.

Sure the obituary mentions my grandfather's children, grandchildren and great grandchildren and their spouses. But it doesn't explain the intense value that those fifty or so people place on family - because that's what he taught us by living his life as he did.

Family above all else. Family first and always.

I am so very lucky to have had my grandfather in my life for 39 and a half years. That he was around as I grew up, when I graduated and when I married. I am so happy that my children knew him (and that one shares his name). And I will forever hold in my heart the knowledge that he loved me, he liked me and was proud of who I became. The obituary doesn't say that either.

I love you, Grandpa. I miss you already. I am so happy you suffer and struggle no longer but the void you left is enormous and impossible to fill. My heart is broken.

JB = Justin Bieber

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Wed, 23 Feb 2011 03:47:00 +0000

A not-so-subtle hint left on my desk yesterday morning.

I bought her what she wanted - and a few non-Biebs songs too. Because nobody needs an iPod full of the Bieber. (I also removed the profanity-laden Ben Folds song I uploaded a week ago by accident. Whoops.)

Love This.

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Thu, 17 Feb 2011 04:53:00 +0000

Just so you know in plenty of time before the Royal Wedding. Which I will be setting the alarm to watch. Preferably with my 8-year-old daughter so I can pass along my unnatural obsession with the Royal Family.

Lessons for 9-Year-Olds at KU

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Mon, 14 Feb 2011 20:38:00 +0000

My older kids discovered YouTube a few weeks ago. Or, I guess, they discovered that they could search YouTube and watch cartoons, movie parodies, bloopers and music videos.

I've been trying to keep an eye and ear out for inappropriate videos, which are, of course, abundant on YouTube. Apparently, I haven't been doing too good of a job.

This past Saturday, we took the kids and some out-of-town friends to Lawrence for the afternoon. It was a beautiful day after weeks of bitter cold and snow. We were excited to get out of the house and enjoy a brisk, sunny walk down Massachusetts Street and then through campus.

We sat down to eat lunch at Free State Brewery on Mass and G - my 9-year-old - started to tell my friend about this funny show he had been watching on YouTube.

"It's about this Jamaican Spongebob. He's called Spongebong Hemppants."

"WHAT?!" (That was me.)

"Spongebong Hemppants. He's really funny."

"No. You cannot watch that any more. It is inappropriate for children." (Me again.)

"Why?"

"Because it is actually about drugs." (At this point, I cannot believe I'm having this conversation with my third-grader.) "And those kinds of drugs aren't good. Really bad news."

By this point, his second-grade sister has tuned into the conversation. She reinforced the concept of "drugs are bad" so I know it's something they've talked about in school.

G responded, "Okay."

And then immediately followed up with, "So, is hash a drug?"

Somehow, Lawrence (home of the University of Kansas) seems like the appropriate place for my kid to learn about hash, no?

What If...

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Mon, 31 Jan 2011 02:20:00 +0000

Scene: Sunday night. Mother putting away clean laundry in oldest son's bedroom at bedtime. Son brushing his teeth, then putting on pajamas.

-----------------------------------------

Son: Mom, what if you were a spy?

Mother: How do you know I'm not?

(Brief silence while son ponders the possibility.)

Son: Well, you're not agile or flexible enough.

Mother (trying not to laugh out loud): How do you know? A good spy hides her special skills.

(Another brief silence while son again ponders the possibility.)

Son: Do a backbend.

(Brief silence while mother remembers a time she could do a backbend.)

Mother: Gotta keep some secrets to myself...Good night, small friend.

Mistaken Identity

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Tue, 18 Jan 2011 04:40:00 +0000

The caption says this is Stewie from Family Guy. I'm pretty sure this is my youngest child.

Why I'm Crazy (Alternatively Titled, A Ride in the Car with My Children)

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Tue, 28 Dec 2010 21:13:00 +0000

Sorry for the sideways orientation - this was from my phone and I have no idea how to fix it. Also, I know this is long but there are gems sprinkled throughout (including a terrific shot to the face at about the 5:01 mark...).

Apology Accepted

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Sat, 18 Dec 2010 04:50:00 +0000

A month or so ago, I opened the Time Warner bill to find about $30 in pay-per-view movies listed. I pop for an On Demand movie from time to time but none of these were "Hot Tub Time Machine" (don't judge). The list looked a bit more like "Pokemon 4, Pokemon 4, Pokemon 4, Pokemon 4 and Pokemon 4".

There was really only one likely suspect. My nine-year-old. Who promptly confessed. And got a good talking-to.

The next morning, I found this note on my bedside table:

With a single cherry Mike & Ike lying on top of the paper.

The boy knows the surefire way to my heart.

For Amy

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Fri, 05 Nov 2010 18:15:00 +0000

I miss him already...

Be Aggressive. B-E Aggressive. A-G-G...

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Sat, 16 Oct 2010 03:53:00 +0000

This kid.

Something happened to her between spring soccer and fall soccer. Her intensity increased by about 110%. Which is to say, it was non-existent before and now, well, she can sure turn it on when she feels like it.

In the spring, she was the kid who ran up and down the field and, if the ball came near, she took a swipe at it. Maybe.

And now. This (she's the one in the royal blue).

She throws a mean elbow.

Our Heroes

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Wed, 29 Sep 2010 02:52:00 +0000

My oldest needed a photo of a military veteran to whom he is related for a school music project called "Our Heroes" this week. I was able to quickly put my hands on the photo I wanted (big thanks to my aunt).

My grandpa.

As an unexpected treat, she sent along these two as well:

I can see my white-haired, rotund grandpa in the face of that young sailor. And I know that the story of this day, the day in the photos, is still probably fresh in his mind. And the days that followed as he boarded a ship at the end of the war.

And I wish that I had been smart enough to ask him about those days when his mouth and tongue and voice could still form the words to share those stories without stumbling, slow, frustrating effort.

How is it that three photos can make me smile, make my heart swell with happiness, make me mad, bring a lump to my throat and make tears pool in the corner of my eyes? All at once?

Love you, Grandpa. You will be G's hero.

Things That Don't Flush Well

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Wed, 28 Jul 2010 05:49:00 +0000

May flush closed (only if an original round Bakugan). Will generally not flush while open.

May eventually flush over time. Except when deposited in conjunction with the aforementioned Bakugan.

Will never, ever, ever flush if the shaving cream is flushed while still in the can. If travel-sized, however, the can will travel far enough up the toilet innards to necessitate the removal of the stool from the water supply and drain in order to retrieve.

Not sure about every Sonic Sea Tot, but the Orca is definitely not flushable.

Big thanks and shout out to my 3 1/2 year old twin boys for this educational plumbing-related post.

Freshening Up

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Mon, 19 Jul 2010 05:54:00 +0000

When we bought our house almost four years ago, I was six months pregnant with our twin boys. We closed on the house in September and did a few months work to it before moving in at the beginning of December. The boys were born at the beginning of January.

Before they were born, we had the whole interior of the house painted including cabinets and some trimwork. We had carpet replaced with hardwood floors. We changed light fixtures. We pulled carpet from kids' bathrooms and put down tile. Tons of progress.

After the babies were born, we did just a bit more work to the house - the biggest effort was replacing all of the front landscaping. The previous design was a mish-mosh of poorly placed shrubs and not-thought-out plantings. Trees were removed. Beds were made larger and replanted.

We didn't take out one bothersome tree at the time - and that finally happened today. I gave J the green light and he wasted no time.

It was a pretty tree - but it totally blocked the front of the house and the door. Drove us nuts.

Don't miss the Miller Lite sweatband he sported for the project. Disturbing.

And, after.

The beds, despite being just three years old, have been horribly neglected by me. Four kids, your own business and a total lack of organization will do that to you. My new resolution is to take a renewed interest in reviving the beds. The perennials that originally populated the design have been a mixed bag - some took off like wildfire (a little TOO well), others were eaten by bunnies, while still others languished and never quite staked their claim.

Recommendations for hardy perennials that won't take over the bed are welcome...

I Could Have Started This One...

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Mon, 12 Jul 2010 15:52:00 +0000

I hear through the grapevine (Twitter) that this new blog just got a book deal.

Dammit.

I totally could have created this one, using only my twins as subjects.

I give you: Shit My Kids Ruined

She is Me

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Wed, 23 Jun 2010 15:59:00 +0000

My daughter can get under my skin like no other. And I am slowly realizing that is due to the fact that she is very, very much me.

Now, she certainly has some traits that are NOT me - like the class-clown, ham-it-up-at-all-moments behavior. That is NOT me. That is her dad, for sure.

But the rest of it? Me.

Ears like radar. Me.
Need to constantly use the ears to listen to conversations that don't necessarily involve her. Me.
General bossy-ness. Me.
Precocious personality. Me.
Talks a bit too much when she's comfortable with someone. Me.

The newest development, though, is something that warms my heart. And excites me. I can't wait to see where this goes.

She has fallen in love with books and reading and history. She can't get enough. Her weekly library ration of five or six chapter books lasts only a few days. She constantly tells me random historical facts, gleaned from the latest Magic Tree House book or from one of her brother's infinite non-fiction choices.

She's desperate to travel and see some of the things she's been reading about - dying to go to Washington DC and Boston. And I'm dying to take her and share my love for those places with her.

I discovered this little drawing on my desk this morning. It makes me smile. I need to go snuggle with that kid...

The Damnedest Thing

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Thu, 03 Jun 2010 14:14:00 +0000

Remember the scooter from last week?

Well, this is what happened last night in my driveway when I was at a business dinner.

He's three, y'all. Not almost four. Not even three-and-a-half yet. He still wears a pull-up at night. (And please forgive the no-shoes, no-helmet look - it was Dad and no one truly thought he was going to ride for real...)

Scooting is Serious

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Tue, 25 May 2010 16:12:00 +0000

My youngest child is athletically gifted. I know he's only three - and we don't put any pressure on him to any do of this - but the kid can throw a ball, swing a bat, swing a golf club, dribble a basketball, and dribble a soccer ball like nobody's business. My husband and I frequently see him do something and then just look at each other in silent amazement.

Enter the Razor scooter.

The three-year-olds received darling three-wheeled, beginner scooters for their birthday in January. They spent all winter whizzing around the house in them. It was fun.

Come spring, we moved the three-wheelers outside. But H abandoned his quickly in favor of his older siblings' two-wheeled Razors. Way cooler, I guess.

After about a month of dedication, this kid can now balance perfectly on the two-wheeled scooter.

He is a force to be reckoned with.

I Spy from My Office Window

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Tue, 25 May 2010 04:03:00 +0000

My kids love to play in our driveway and on our sidewalk - and I am very lucky that:

1. They are very good about staying out of the street.
2. We live at the bottom of a culdesac at the end of a fairly long subdivision street. (Very, very few cars make it all the way down this far...)
and 3. My office window has full view of all the goings-on in our driveway, on our sidewalk and in the culdesac (and is two steps away from the front door from which I can speak, yell, run, etc. as necessary).

So, I do let my kids - big and little - play out there while I get some work done in my office from time to time.

And this? This is what I saw when I looked out this afternoon.

Fishing the culdesac. And they were pulling in some whoppers too.

First Communion: Take 1

noreply@blogger.com (Kate) — Wed, 05 May 2010 17:37:00 +0000

My oldest child had his First Communion last weekend. It was rather anti-climactic - especially after they were able to taste unconsecrated bread and wine the week before (so there would be no gagging faces at the altar on Sunday).

He specifically requested a bowtie - and so he wore a bowtie. I even learned how to tie it. Thank you, YouTube...

Not much of a story to tell (much less entertaining than his First Confession) but I'll share my favorite picture from the entire day.

Our parish is overwhelmingly Hispanic. When I taught 1st grade CCD last year, the kids were named Tino, Isabel, Alicia (pronounced A-LEE-see-uh), Angelina, Yessenia, Oscar, Diego, etc. And Hispanic mothers and daughters really like First Communion (much like the Italian mothers and daughters in the town where I grew up). The dresses, veils, gloves, tiaras and satin purses were over-the-top. And many of the little boys were in head-to-toe white suits, white shirts, white shoes.

So, my little Irishman looked a bit out of place. Behold: