From the category archives:

Growing Up

25 Things Children Never Say

1. Mommy is on the phone right now, so let’s entertain ourselves quietly.

 

2. I know where my soccer cleats are!

 

3. I’m going to play with my toys now. I really do have so many of them.

 

4. You’re making what for dinner? YUM!

 

5. That puddle would make an awfully big mess. I’m not going to stomp in it.

 

6. We’re going to be in the car for five hours? Let me pee first.

 

7. I’m too full for dessert.

 

8. I have a lot of homework tonight, I should get started.

 

9. Can I have some dental floss?

 

10. We all decided that we want to watch the same thing on TV.

 

11. Thank you for that yummy lunch! I didn’t trade any of it at the cafeteria.

 

12. You’re so much more fun than Dad.

 

13. Let’s get those thank you notes over with!

 

14. I’ve had enough electronics for the day.

 

15. I have a class project due two weeks from now.

 

16. I’m ready for bed.

 

17. I don’t care what my friends are allowed to have or do.

 

18. What did you ask me to do before? I want to made sure I go and do it.

 

19. I’m really enjoying this long car ride.

 

20. I need to wash my hands.

 

21. I’ll take the smallest piece, please.

 

22. You’re in the bathroom? OK, I’ll wait to ask you my unimportant question.

 

23. We don’t have school tomorrow? That stinks.

 

24. There’s so much to do in this house!

 

25. We’re going to be late, let’s go!

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We didn’t send out holiday cards this year. I really, really wanted to, but I just never ended up with that perfect shot that said “my family might be slightly dysfunctional, but just look how adorable they are!!”

Looking back at my pictures, however, I did end up with quite a few that pretty accurately illustrate my family from this past year…

 


Kind of wishing we’d captured that perfect family shot instead.

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The Tooth Fairy  .

 

If I had a dollar for every time I’ve had to rummage through my kids’ rooms to find money to play the tooth fairy because I had no single dollars of my own, I’d be rich. Well, maybe not rich, but I’d actually have enough money to pay for the damn teeth and not be rummaging through their rooms at three o’clock in the morning to begin with. Fuck the tooth fairy.

 

I know, I know. She’s a rite of passage, you say. A little magic sprinkled in a world where childhood magic is fast and fleeting! A tradition!

 

I disagree. I think she sucks.

 

In a day and age where we charge three dollar coffees on debit cards, it’s simply become too much to ask that we always have a spare one dollar bill lying around on the off chance that our child’s tooth will happen to become detached that very day. What are we — banks?

 

Sadly, it’s not even a buck anymore. Did you know that the average tooth fairy payout is three dollars per tooth? That’s sixty bucks, when all is said and done. For my three kids, that’s 180 one dollar bills I’ll need to shell out for this silly rite of passage. One hundred and eighty dollars! That’s an awful lot of coffee.

 

Then, there’s the actual remembering to do it. As if we don’t have enough on our evening plates with dinner and baths and assembling lunches for the next day and helping with homework and putting out school clothes and catching up on e-mails and a million other things, we’re expected to stumble into our children’s rooms and discreetly slip money under their pillows without being caught? On behalf of a mythical fairy? My sleep deprived brain simply doesn’t have the stamina to successfully carry through, I’m afraid.

 

For kids who battle bedtime fears, the whole thing is just a recipe for disaster. Sure, kids, you’re all safe and tucked in, but beware that while you’re sleeping, a winged creature will barge through your window and take an old body part you’re so attached to! Sleep tight!

 

Who thought it a good idea to get kids into the habit of trading body parts for money, anyway? Isn’t money supposed to be earned? Like, for chores… or at least bribery purposes? I find the exchange to be a rather dangerous gateway habit to introduce. What’s next: A fifty for a detached finger? A nice, crisp hundred for a severed toe? What’s the lesson here?

 

When my puppy loses her baby teeth, she’ll simply swallow them or they’ll disappear into the abyss of single socks and long lost library books never to be seen again. That seems a more logical way for teeth to go, much like their cousins the fingernail clippings.

 

Besides, if I’m going to pay for anything, I’d rather it be a toothless grin that I can document for prosperity’s sake. A dollar for a toothless smile is money I’ll happily spend. I’ll have a picture to frame, my kids will have money for their piggy banks and we’ll all be happy.

 

Best of all, I’ll have two bucks to spare for my coffee and no stupid mythical creature can beat that.

 

 

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I’ve ignored it for long enough.
 
I’ve turned a blind eye, I’ve laughed about it and I’ve even supported it. But the time has come for me to face the truth. The ugly truth.
 
My four year old has an addiction… And, it’s all my fault.
 
It started innocently enough.”I have a boo-boo,” he pronounced, last year, his eyes welling with tears. I inspected his knee, but there was no cut nor scrape to be found.In an effort to halt the tears and get on with dinner making, I offered up a Captain America adorned piece of plastic.
 
“Feel better?” I asked as I kissed his grass stained skin.
 
Yes, he nodded. All better.
 
And, that was all it took. In an instant, an addict was born.
 
Lily and Ben were different. Stronger, you might say. They understood the difference between a cut which required bandaging and one which was completely fabricated.  They could resist the call of Johnson & Johnson from the medicine cabinet. They enjoyed seeing their fingertips and toes. Their eyes didn’t light up at a new character adorning a box or the medicine cabinet at a friend’s house. Evan, however, wasn’t so lucky.
 
The evidence is everywhere. I find discarded, dirty bandages on the floor, stuck to my jeans and wadded up in my sheets. Over the summer, he developed tan lines according to which imaginary injury he was covering. There are crumpled up wrappers littering my bathroom floor, evidence of the haste with which application took place. He cries when they are yanked off, but immediately asks for a replacement. He simply can’t resist their allure, and I simply can’t resist buying them.
 
So, here we are, with a half-box a day habit and nobody to blame but me.
 
Well, me, and the person who thought of putting damn characters on Band-Aids to begin with.

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There are certain things about childhood that I’m finding are even better the second time around. Grilled cheese sandwiches, for example. I was never that fond of them during my own youth, but find them completely irresistible now. Fireflies, rainbows and sandcastles also top the list of things I enjoy even more than my children. And, then there are the things I loved as a kid, but as a grown up, dread with every fiber of my being. Topping that list? The playground.

 

Now, I don’t hate everything about the playground. Of course, I do recognize the value of having some place to burn off steam that doesn’t involve bouncing on my bed or running around the house like a crazed lunatic, but my children just seem to make it as annoying as it can possibly be.

 

They want me to run around and play chase, to push them on the swings and to go down the slides with them. When I said that the playground was good for blowing off steam, I meant for them, while I play on my iPhone and sip my latte watching from the sidelines. What’s up with the mothers chasing and rolling all around with their kids? Isn’t that the job of the other kids there? I don’t get it.

 

So, as long as we are going to keep frequenting playgrounds, I’ve decided to come up with some ground rules so my children known exactly where I stand. Hopefully it will make the experience as painless as possible…

 

10 Rules for  the Playground

 

1. I will not push you endlessly on the swing. If you want to swing, learn to pump.

 

2. I will not swing from bars. I am not a monkey.

 

3. I do not go down slides (for fear of my ass getting stuck mid-way.)

 

4. We are not playmates. At the playground, I have my friends and you have yours.

 

5. Sandboxes are evil. Stay away from them at all costs.

 

6. Hide and seek anywhere but home isn’t fun for mommy. Don’t even think about it.

 

7. There is no need to yell “LOOK AT ME!!!” every three seconds. I’m (half) watching. And, if I miss that particular slide dismount, I’ll catch the next one.

 

8. Don’t ask me to play on the see-saw. I don’t need to be reminded that I weigh more than all of you combined.

 

9. Don’t do anything that will result un an ER visit. Or, we may never comeback.

 

10. Don’t tell me you are bored. I guarantee you’ll be more bored at home.

 

Still want to go play, kids?

 

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