Guest Writer: Kindergarten Conversations

A good friend of mine's son started kindergarten this week, and she shared their conversation on Facebook.  I busted out laughing when I read it, so I asked her if I could post it on my blog so you could LOL, too.  Kids are so awesome.

A: "Hey! So how was your day?"
H: "Not good."
A: "Oh no, why wasn't it good?"
H: "Just wasn't.  Are you sure this is the best school for me?"
A: "I think so, do you not?"
H: "I really feel like I need a school that has a full hour of recess and less time for learning."
A: "Sorry bud, I'm pretty sure most schools are the same."
H: "Plus I have that megaphone ringing in my ear from the lady that calls the car riders, 'Ansley #167, Ansley #167, Ansley # 167!'  I don't know why those kids can't just go the first time and she has to say it so many times.  Those things are way too loud."
A: "Did you hear your name called?"
H: "Yep.  And apparently, I made a new friend that's a girl.  Her name is Cheyenne, but not the Cheyenne that you know.  I was singing and she thought it was funny.  She helped me scare off the 1st graders.  But, she also said that she's a country girl but she is scared of playing in the dirt.  I don't really know about her... or the other girl at my table who wants to be friends.  I didn't even have the energy to ask her name."
A: "You should ask her name, maybe she needs a new friend."
H: "Hmmmm.  Well, I went home on yellow today."
A: "Why did you get moved?"
H: "I wasn't paying attention in reading group.  Mrs. Luke was reading a book called Kindergarten Rocks about a kid named Dexter who was scared about Kindergarten or something, plus it got boring so she said I wasn't paying attention - but I did hear her, I just didn't want to listen."
A: "Just pay better attention next week."
H: "Well, it was the end of the day and I was over listening by then anyway."
A: "Today is Friday so no school for two days."
H: "Yeah, but can we stop talking about it?  I can't poop at that place and I gotta go."

One click = One vote.  Please click the banner below to register one vote for Werdyab Blog.  Thank you!  

  

First Day of School

Bailey woke up to an alarm clock and styled her own hair.  She packed her school bag and then her lunch.

She said, "Mama, will you get too emotional if I ride the bus instead of you driving me?"

Uhmmm, YES.

But instead, I said, "No, baby, that's fine.  You can ride the bus if you want."

We walked outside, and I snapped one quick photo with my iPhone.

She didn't give me a kiss or a hug.  Instead, she just smiled and I smiled back.

She quickly turned and walked up the hill.  Her freshly curled hair was bouncing on her shoulders.  She carried a small black purse in her hand.

I watched my 6th grader climb into the school bus from across the street.  I was careful not to wave or shout "Have a good day!" or breathe or do anything else that might embarrass her.

INSTANT FLASH BACK.  Bailey's first day of Kindergarten.  Princess backpack.  Purple bow in her hair.  A smile full of baby teeth.  A tiny little hand holding mine as we walked through those big hallways.

Wasn't that just yesterday?

Bailey and her cousins when she was in Kindergarten.

So I did what any mother would do in this situation.  I cried and ate waffles.

Yep, that's how my day started off.  And that was BEFORE I took Drew to his first day of Pre-K.

These schools should really consider handing out vodka and Xanax at the door.

When I woke Drew up this morning, he shouted, "I don't like Pre-K!  I like SLEEP!"  That's my boy.  He finally climbed out of bed based on promises of waffles and video games.

Hey, do I know how to charm the fellas or do I know how to charm the fellas?

Oh, did you think I actually cooked those waffles?  Sorry to disappoint.  I promised my kids a good breakfast on the first day of school.  I did not promise them I would cook it.

Waffle House does To Go orders and they're open 24 hours a day.  Remember that the next time you want to impress your children or your in-laws.  My hashbrowns taste just like Waffle House's?  Really? Well, I'll be. 

And hopefully, their waffles are better than their light bulbs.

Source

Since Drew has a November birthday, he has two more years until he starts Kindergarten.

The English to Werdyablish translation:  "WHAT?  I have to pay daycare for an extra year?!  I wish I'd thought about this on Valentine's Day, 2008."  *wink*

Drew's school was nice enough to move him into the Pre-K room early.  It's especially good considering that Drew has become so snobby about kids who aren't potty trained.

"I don't like to play with William because his butt always stinks like poop."  - Drew, last week.

So this means that Drew will have two years in Pre-K.

This morning, I felt like I should do him a solid and say, "Listen, dude - go ahead and color outside the lines and try putting a round peg in a square hole.  No matter what you do, you're getting held back this year."

When we walked into his classroom, the children were sitting completely still and quiet.  Nobody made a sound.  Seeing all those perfectly behaved 4-year-olds kind of scared me a little.

So I have two questions for Drew's teacher:
1) What kind of drug did you give those kids?
2) Where can I get it?

Drew turned to me and said, "Bye, Mama!  I've got to go to Pre-K now."

And just like that, he was gone.  No tears.  No hugs.  No clutching my left leg until it loses circulation.  Just "Bye, Mama!"

Check out this pile of I'm still 3 but I'm in Pre-K anyway cuteness.

It's been an emotional first day of school.  Not for the kids.  No, they were fine.  It was emotional for me.

Growing up is tough on us Moms.

One click = One vote.  Please click the banner below to register one vote for Werdyab Blog.  Thank you!  

  

Hey Drew (Hey Jude Parody)

Remember when I made up the word toddlish and Urban Dictionary published it?

Toddlish is the language that toddlers speak, which resembles English, but is much cuter.

Example:

Toddler: I hungie, Mama.  Whas in da fridger-fridger da eat?

Mama's Friend: What did he say?

Mama: Oh, he said that he's hungry and he wants to know what we have in the refrigerator to eat.  It's okay.  I speak fluent Toddlish.

Drew inspired that new word.  And here's an example of Drew's toddlish at its finest.

Each Sunday, Drew colors a picture in the church nursery and then brings it home in a small paper bag with his name on it.

But this week, instead of Drew's bag saying Drew, it said Jude.  Ahem.

Awwww!  Bless his little toddlish speakin' heart!

I busted out laughing when I saw that thing!  I turned to Brian and said two words: Beatles parody.

But first, I had to dig through the attic to find my old keyboard.  Then I had to go to the store and buy a gazillion D-batteries because I couldn't find the power cord for it.  But it still worked!  Yay!  I was surprised because I hadn't played it in 5 or 6 years.  And when I took it out of the attic, it was so hot that you could have fried on egg on it.  Breakfast, anyone?

So needless to say, I'm a little rusty.

But it came right back to me!  (Lie.  I could barely find center C on the stupid thing.)
And I started playing Hey Jude by ear!  (Lie. I watched a YouTube Tutorial.  Three times.)
Then I recorded this in only one take! (Lie. This is the 10th take.  The first 9 involved me screwing up the chords or forgetting the words or usually both.  Finally, I just gave up and used this one.)


Just close your eyes and imagine Paul McCartney singing it instead.  Actually, don't close your eyes.  If you do, then you won't be able to read the words.  So keep your eyes open, but still imagine the whole Paul McCartney thing.

And personally, I think Drew Penny Lane Sgt. Pepper Yesterday Let It Be Hohenbery has a nice ring to it, don't you?  (Don't worry.  You'll get it in a minute.)

If this player doesn't work on your phone, click here to watch on YouTube




One click = One vote.  Please click the banner below to register one vote for Werdyab Blog.  Thank you!  

  

Toddlish

My 3-year-old son speaks fluent Toddlish.  Now, before you are too impressed by my child's genius, please note that you also spoke Toddlish at some point in your life.

Toddlish is the form of English that toddlers speak.

I hungie, Mama!  Whas in da fridger-fridger da eat?" 

I wanna watch Doda de Esploda on dat telewishin.  

Put dat ding right dare, Mama.

See.  It's adorable, right?  If Drew punched me in the mouth and said,  "I sworry, Mama.  I wuv you!", I would ask him to punch me again. 

I checked the Urban Dictionary and Toddlish is not in there!  This is a travesty, people.  But don't worry- I just notified them that a very important word was missing from the ranks of other lingual treasures such as fartriloquism and beard goggles.  Check out the Urban Dictionary's definition of blogging.  They're obviously right on the money.

But sometimes Drew speaking Toddlish is inconvenient.  I haven't spoken Toddlish in over 33 years, so I'm a little rusty.  If Drew owned his own restaurant, I probably couldn't even order Mongolian Beef in his native tongue right now. 

Recently, our language barrier has created a few misunderstandings.

"Mama, I need ass cream!"
"You need WHAT?"
(He wanted to go to Brewster's for ice cream.)

"That's a re-tard."
"Drew, never call somebody a re-tard!"
(He was referring to the Sweet Tarts on the kitchen counter.)

"I want a Christmas tree."
"Awww - that's so sweet!  Of course you can have your own Christmas tree!"
(A hundred bucks and a decorated tree later, I discovered that he was actually asking for a Rice Krispie Treat.)

Sometimes Drew not having a firm grasp on the English language comes in handy, though.

For example, Drew thinks that there are two types of burps: one that comes from your mouth and one that comes from your butt.  He doesn't call it passing gas or tooting or f-a-r-t-i-n-g (a lady always pretends that she spells that word).  He calls it a burp.

At first, I corrected him, but then I was all like WHAT AM I DOING?  This is not the issue that I want to hang my hat on.  Sure - I'll correct him on the fact that Santa will come back and get those trains if he doesn't behave or that he will never grow over 3-feet tall if he doesn't eat his broccoli .... but this?  I think I'll let this one slide. 

While in the grocery store checkout line last night, Drew said, "Excuse me, Mama.  I burped."  And since I didn't hear anything but I did smell something, I ASSumed he was referring to the business-end-kind-of-burp.   So I said, "Okay, baby, thank you" and continued to stack my groceries on the conveyor belt. 

But apparently, Drew was looking for a little more affirmation than just a simple "thank you".  Maybe a shiny trophy.  Perhaps his own unicorn.  

"Excuse me, Mama!  I burped!"  "EXCUSE ME, MAMA!!  I BURPED!!  I BURPED, MAMA!!!"  Too bad they don't sell Toddlish muzzles beside the Trident and the US Weekly magazines.

A sweet, little, old lady was standing in line behind us.  She looked like her name was probably Francis - maybe Betty - and she had just gotten a new permanent and color rinse at the beauty salon.  

She said, "My! What a polite young man you have there!  You are doing a good job raising him."
Beaming with pride, I said, "Thank you.  I appreciate that."

About that time, Drew dropped his Matchbox car on the floor and said, "WHAT THE CRAP?!"  Francis or Betty looked very disappointed in me.

Yep.  I was that close.


P.S. Toddlish made the Urban Dictionary!

Did you remember to vote today?  One click = One vote.  
Vote for me and I'll mail Francis or Betty a handwritten apology letter.

  

Who is Santa Claus? A Christmas Morning Bust

For all you parents who say that you would never lie to your children, I've got two words for you: Santa Claus.

Don't feel bad about it, though.  Some lies are okay.  Like this one about Santa, the one about the Easter Bunny and the one about your eyes getting stuck if you cross them.

When should you tell your kids that you're actually the fat guy in a red coat?  Ahem.  Metaphorically speaking, of course.

My daughter is at the tender age when kids discover that Santa Claus is the biggest practical joke ever.

I was exactly Bailey's age when I asked my Mom if Santa was real.  I remember being embarrassed that I fell for it for ten looooong years.  How could I be so stupid? How did I not see this coming?  How can I con Mom and Dad into buying me that Atari NOW?  


Kids, your parents have to lie.  You wouldn't want to miss out on the Christmas magic surrounding Santa Claus!  Besides, we're not the only ones lying to you.  The whole world is in on the secret.  Especially Coca-Cola.  You'd think that they invented Santa Claus or something.

I struggled with whether or not I should talk to Bailey about Santa this year.  Does she know and she's just too scared to tell me?

It might have something to do with what I said a few years ago: "If you don't believe, then you don't receive."

I guess I should have clarified that you still get the gifts.  The only difference is that I don't have to hide them in the trunk of my car and then set them out in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve.  So, really.  You'd be doing both of us a favor.

With her probably knowing and me knowing she probably knows and her probably knowing I know she probably knows, it was pretty uncomfortable.   It's like how two boxers will circle around each other in the ring forever before somebody finally throws the first punch.  

As I tucked her into bed on Christmas Eve, Bailey said things like,

I wonder where Santa is right now...
Do you think he will bring me a new TV?
Did you set out any food for the reindeer?  I bet they're hungry.

THIS GIRL IS GOOD.  

I went to bed 100% convinced that she still believed in Santa Claus.

Then this is what happened on Christmas morning... BOOM.  Busted!

One click = One vote.  Please click the banner below to register one vote for Werdyab Blog. 

  

"Puberty is gross!"... "Who is Puberty?"

All fifth grade students are required to attend a sex education class at school.  Oops.  I'm sorry.  They are not required to attend, but if they don't, then they have to sit in a classroom with five other kids who have uncool parents and practice long division.

I'll be honest - the thought of Bailey learning and talking about (s-e-x) scared me to death.  SHE'S ONLY 10 YEARS OLD FOR PETE'S SAKE.  

Yesterday, I had butterflies in my stomach all day from worrying about Bailey.  I kept thinking, 'I hope she does okay.  I hope she doesn't get too upset.  I hope this makes her stay away from boys until she's thirty-seven.'

I picked up Bailey and my niece, Claire, from school:

Me: "Hey girls!  How was your day?"

Bailey: "Mom, can we go get ice cream?" 

Claire: "Yeah, Aunt Amanda.  Can we?"

Bailey: "Claire, you had ice cream today at school."

Claire: "You did, too, Bay."

Bailey:  "Oh, yeah....  So, Mom, can we get ice cream?"

Me: "Sure."  

Bailey: "Today was really bad.  We played rock, paper, scissors in P.E., which was totally boring.  Then we had a big test in Science.  And then we got assigned seats in lunch.  In lunch. When are we supposed to talk?"...... "Oh, yeah.  And puberty is gross."

Claire:  "Who is Puberty?  Is that who you had to sit beside in lunch?"

Bailey: "No.  Puberty isn't a person.  It's a.... well, it's.... it's something really gross."

Claire: "What is it?"

Bailey: "Believe me - you don't want to know."  

And we just left it at that.  I certainly didn't want to be the one to tell my niece about puberty and sex.  That's the punishment you get for having children.  That job belongs to my sister.

Later that night, Bailey and I got a chance to talk about her class.  She seemed pretty scared but informed.  And something tells me that was kind of the point.

How do you know what is the right age is to talk to your children about adult issues?  There is a fine line between exposing them too early and waiting until its too late.

On a side note, can you believe that they play rock, paper, scissors in P.E.?  They should just hand out Doritos and a X-Box instead.

Superhero runs in the family

Earlier today, Drew was entertaining himself by climbing onto the living room chair and then jumping off.  I stopped counting after the first hundred times.  

I kept thinking that he would eventually grow tired of it, but apparently that was about as possible as Lady Gaga shopping at the Gap.

So finally I said, "Drew, you need to stop jumping off the furniture.  You are going to get hurt."

Mid-air, Drew replied, "No, Mama.  I won't get hurt because I'm a superhero just like my Daddy."

Does this boy know how to work me or what?

This is what handsome looks like.

How To Charm Me

If you are under the age of three, you are FREE... at Dixie Speedway.

But everywhere else, you are pretty expensive.  You will cost your parents about $435,000 over the course of your lifetime.  This is dangerous information for your parents to have.  One wrong move and you could wind up sold on the Black Market.

At the Dixie Speedway ticket booth, Drew was asked how old he is, and he said:

"I'm two.  Sissy is three.  Daddy is four.  And Mama is 200."

And by the way, this is the type of wrong move that I was referring to earlier.

English to Toddler Dictionary

I took Bailey and Drew to the American Girl Bistro today for lunch.  Well, since it's two o'clock in the morning, technically, I took them yesterday.

Sleep is what other people do.

So yesssterrrdaayyy, I took Bailey and Drew to the American Girl Bistro for lunch.  The themed restaurant is attached to the American Girl store, so after they rape and pillage you for their overpriced dolls and accessories, they can continue the abuse next door at the restaurant.

Bailey is almost too old for the American Girl Bistro (doesn't she sound about 87 right now?), but she choose to do that for her special vacation day. I guess any time she can talk me into dropping sixty bucks on some snacks, she's down with it.

Drew, on other other hand, was not as enthusiastic.  'Sitting still and eating?!  Can't we climb on furniture or pick boogers?'  Hence why he choose to go to Monkey Joe's yesterday for his special vacation day.  Oh yeah, and sorry about the boogers.

Drew warmed up to the idea after they offered to let him borrow a boy American Girl doll (American Boy doll?) to eat lunch with him.  His doll had its own high chair and place setting of food where Drew could take his table destroying skills to the next level.

Borrow.  It is such a simple word for adults to understand, but do you know how the word "borrow" translates in the English to Toddler Dictionary?

MINE.  All mine!

So when we left, I explained to Drew that the American Boy doll had to stay at the restaurant.  You would have thought that I cut his left arm off with a butter knife and left it as a tip.

As I carried him out kicking and screaming, I did that thing that all parents do when they are trying to convince total strangers that they are not child abusers or kidnappers.  I explained things things really loudly.

"I'm sorry, but we can't take that doll home.  It's not our baby doll. I'm so sorry."  Actually, it sounded more like this, "I'M SORRY, BUT WE CAN'T TAKE THAT DOLL HOME!  IT'S NOT OUR BABY DOLL.  I'M SOOOOO SORRY!"

And if you can read between the lines here, I was also saying, "If you will just stop crying until we get to the car, I will buy you a pony.  Pinkie promise."

It is important for parents to convince everyone around them that it's the kid fault.  It's not us.  We're awesome.

Just outside the restaurant, I bumped into someone who I haven't seen in about ten years.  The first thing that she said to me was, "Oh, have you got a tired little one? Is it nap time?"

Have you noticed how people will always ask if your children are tired when they are pitching a fit?

Because let's face it.  There's an elephant in the room.  A really loud, annoying elephant.  And it is better to say, "Somebody looks sleepy" than "Geez! Control your kid, you failure as a parent."

What I wanted to say was, "No, actually, he's not tired at all. See, the American Girl Bistro was nice enough to let me "borrow" a $200 doll so that my two year old can cry as I walk through the store to get to the parking lot.  They are banking on the fact that I will succumb to their marketing genius and drop two Benjamins on one of their overpriced toys.  But I'm not weak!  No, ma'am! I am going to walk out of here, holding my head up high, just like any good child abuser or kidnapper would."

But instead what I said was, "Yes, I've got a tired little one.  He missed his nap today."

Music To My Ears

"Mama, can we go to the mall and stop by Starbucks?"

The Picture's On The Wall

When I walked Drew into preschool this morning, he pointed to a photo taped to the front door and said, "Who is that, Mommy?"

In a hurry (as usual), I quickly glanced at the photo and said, "Oh, that's just some boy, baby."

A little disappointed, he said, "Oh... okay."

While walking back to my car, I took more than 1.2 seconds to actually look at the photo.  And I realized that it was DREW!

So if you need to get in touch with me later, I'll be at the awards ceremony accepting my trophy for Mother of the Year.

Peeminder

My daughter told me that she wants to invent an app called the Peeminder that will send you a reminder text every time you need to pee.

I laughed thinking, 'Who in the world wants an app to remind them to pee?'  But then again, I didn't foresee a time when an app could balance my checkbook or remove wrinkles from my mobile pics.  In fact, I didn't foresee a time when I'd have an app, period.

I wish nothing more than for Bailey to become a world famous inventor, but I will not be installing the Peeminder app on my phone.  Because I'd be getting more text messages than Lindsay Lohan's personal drug dealer.

Hello.  My name is Amanda and I'm a peeaholic.

Squirrels look at me thankful that they don't have that small a bladder.

Bedtime is when my small bladder and my undiagnosed OCD meet, and that's when the magic happens.  I have to pee not once, not twice, but three times before I can go to sleep.  A preemie hamster consumes more milk from an eyedropper than the amount of urine expelled during Pee #3.  It's a complete waste of time.    

Many nights I lay in bed determined to ignore the triple-pee, but concentrating on not peeing only makes me need to pee more.  I eventually cave, convincing myself that my bladder is going to explode if I don't.  And that's not the way that I want to go.  No pun intended.

Unfortunately, my smallbladderaphobia is not the only weird thing about my bedtime routine.

I sleep with a blanket.  An amazing, slap your Mama good, satin blanket. Its name is Goodfeel.  I named it when I was two years old and it seemed to make sense at the time.  Oh, and by the way, you are not the first person to call me Linus.

I also suck my tongue when I sleep.  Why do you suck your tongue, you ask?  The better question is why don't you because sucking your tongue is pure awesomeness.  It's way better than sucking your thumb because it doesn't jack up your teeth and nobody judges you for sticking your fingers in your mouth.

Here is what I look like sleeping.  Ridiculous, huh?

And don't worry - my daughter didn't inherit a cup of the crazy. I'm not really sure why she wanted to sleep like me on this particular night, but Brian thought it was cute so he snagged this photo opp.

I wish I could say the same thing about Drew, but unfortunately, his cup of crazy runneth over. He named his blanket "Yellow" because it's (wait for it)... yellow.  A much better name than Goodfeel. Each generation is so much smarter than the one before it.


Check out this little pile of Hohenbery cuteness!

I really love that Drew and I share the blanket bond.  And since I could have adopted a child who looks more like me, I'm pretty sure that this is the only thing I gave him.  But hopefully this is where our bedtime commonalities end and he'll be able to tell me how awesome his sister's Peeminder app is one day.

Here's a video of Drew with Yellow when he was just a little guy:

My work here is done.

One click = One vote.  Please click the banner below to register one vote for Werdyab Blog.  

  

"We are heart to heart to heart to heart"

About 9:30 last night, both of my children were tucked in their beds. I came downstairs and looked at the disaster that used to be my family room. Toys scattered all over the floor, shoes tossed carelessly beside the couch, drinks left on the kitchen counter, papers and crayons covering the breakfast table - ugh!

Yesterday was one of those days. Work was crazy. October has been a record breaking month for our family business, which is amazing, but at times it's also stressful handling the extra work flow. I had an after-work event that I attended this week, along with my kiddos' typical evening activities. Poor Brian has been resting a badly broken foot. My allergies are killing me, so I've had a headache for four days straight. And I'm dieting, so I'm hungry and grumpy. Yesterday was the day that the culmination of the stress and the pace of my week came to a head.

So I began to clean - huffing and puffing the entire time; feeling just a little bit sorry for myself.

Then I came across Bailey's drawing. Suddenly I remembered how blessed I am. I HAVE a great job that helps provide for my family. I HAVE a wonderful husband who is always helping me. I HAVE two sweet, healthy children who love to go and do stuff - just like their busy parents. I HAVE a beautiful home to clean. And most importantly, I have a family who is "heart to heart to heart to heart". Life doesn't get any better than that.

You know, cleaning up isn't so bad after all. Sometimes you strike gold.

Bailey told me that the big heart was Brian's, the next one was mine, then her's and then Drew's. A picture truly is a worth a thousand words.