We Love to Spell

Receiving this "story" from Jane made me realize that I am going to be really sad when all of my kids actually know how to spell.  For those of you who (undoubtedly due to your own academic shortcomings) can't read read the text, it says, "The grih was not hape th it was crmis ev." 

Did that help?  No?  Ok, here's the translation:  "The Grinch was not happy that it was Christmas Eve." 

At the rate she's going, I'm sure that Jane will soon be penning spy notes and seeking written revenge for things like Margot's false claims that she (Jane) mistreated circus animals.

The Tooth Fairy, Redux

In what may have been an attempt to implement Margot's theory of how to increase income, Claire recently accumulated a collection of three lost teeth.  She left them all for the Tooth Fairy the other night, commenting that she hoped the Tooth Fairy would both leave her some money and let her retain the teeth.  I followed up the next day:

Me:  "Claire, did the Tooth Fairy come?"
Claire: "Yes, and she left me three gold coins!"
Me:  "That makes sense - didn't you leave three teeth?"
Claire:  "Yes, but she had already paid me for one of those teeth - you'd think she would have known that.  I guess I need to leave her a refund.  AND, she let me keep the teeth!!"
Me:  "Great - didn't you say last night that you hoped she'd let you keep them?"
Claire (giving meaning-laden look):  "Mommy.  I know how this works. You emailed her and asked her to let me keep them."
Me: [silence]
Claire:  "And, Mom?  Thanks for doing that.  I'm really glad I got to keep them."

Obvious Facts About the Egg of Doom

This morning's exchange:

Claire:  "Margot!  There's an embryonic viper - you're going to crack the Egg of Doom!"
Don:  "Claire, why is it the Egg of Doom?"
Claire:  "Because the viper cannot be defeated."
Don:  [silence]

Because, really - how can you respond to that?

Idiocy for Dummies

In which Claire illustrates the difficulty presented by having an extremely literal and logical child:

Claire:  "Stop being an idiot, Margot!"

Lindsay:  "Claire, I don't want to hear you talking to Margot like that.  You're not allowed to use that word."

Claire:  "Lindsay - she is being a complete fool. That's what idiot means.  She is putting her pencil in her ear and then rubbing it on me! That is idiotic, and if I used any other word, it wouldn't make sense."

On Having a Little Sister

Having thoroughly (but poetically) trashed her older sister, Margot turns her scathing commentary toward her younger sibling.

On the positive side, Claire appears to have moved up in the rankings, as you can tell by the description of her as "sort of nice."  Contrast that to Jane, who is (among other things) "visous like a bull dog."

I haven't yet figured out if that thing on Margot's head is a crown or some kind of sailor hat.

Will the Real Tooth Fairy Please Stand Up?

Lindsay recently reported that Claire and Margot were puzzling over the "real" identity of the Tooth Fairy.   Their discussion was prompted by Claire's (truthful) claim that I had come into her room and "rustled around" on the same night she'd left a tooth under her pillow.  When I overheard them discussing the topic, I decided to be straight about it (while crossing my fingers that they wouldn't disclose their new-found info to Jane, who is still very new to the whole Tooth Fairy business).

Me:  "Okay, you guys -  I have to tell you something.  But you cannot tell Jane."
Margot:  "We won't tell her, we really won't!  Is it about the Tooth Fairy?"
Me:  "Yes.  And it's very important that you not let Jane know what I'm about to tell you.  Okay?"
Claire:  "Mom - can you just tell us?!"
Me:  "Well, Claire, I know that you told Margot you saw me come into your room the other night when you'd left your tooth out for the Tooth Fairy.  And you're right - I am the one who has been taking your teeth."
Margot:  "I knew it was you!  I knew it!"
Claire:  "Okay, fine.  So, do you just mail them to the Tooth Fairy, or what?"

Don: 1, Me: 0

Jane:  "I like it better when Daddy takes me to school."

Me:  "Really?  Why?"

Jane:  "Because then I don't have to brush my hair."

The Next Shel Silverstein?

Margot's "Writer's Notebook" homework from last night.  I think it speaks for itself.

(Yes, Claire's propensity for recycling continues.  And note the dramatic improvement in Margot's spelling that has transpired in just two short years.)

Economics, Margot-Style

The topic of loose (and lost) teeth is a popular one at our house, and it has spawned a corollary discussion about how to get more from the Tooth Fairy than the single "gold coin" (i.e., Susan B. Anthony dollar) that she usually leaves.  Of the three girls, Margot has the greatest strategic vision on this topic.  For example, she recently wrote a note on Jane's behalf asking the Tooth Fairy to leave Jane "a plastic lizard or other small toy, or,  if you don't have that, five dollars."  (Disappointingly, the Tooth Fairy left . . . one gold coin.)

Undeterred, Margot continues to formulate her teeth-related money-making schemes, the latest of which appears to be a sort of forced savings plan (which may relate to her attempts to save up for a second American Girl doll . . . she has put aside $47 so far.)  She described the new plan as follows:

"I've decided to save up all the rest of the teeth I lose and put them in a jar that says "Please, Tooth Fairy, don't take my teeth.  When I lose all of my teeth, I'll put the whole jar under my pillow with a note that says, "Okay, you can take all of my teeth now."  Then the Tooth Fairy will leave me tons of money.  You know, you really can't even but a Polly Pocket with a gold coin - but with all of my teeth, I could buy another American Girl doll."

How to Help Animals - When Your Mother Doesn't "Know Things She Should Know"

My failure to know various things that grown-ups are supposed to know is well chronicled (for example, here and here).  Despite my awareness of this flaw, I have yet again failed to know something important - in this case, the fact that the MSCPA Walk for Animals is happening this Sunday . . . not on some other, further-away Sunday as I'd imagined.   Like maybe a Sunday in October.  Or November, even.

Nope - it's this weekend.  In two days from now, actually.  And once I realized that, I registered Claire and we got her fundraising website set up . . .  leaving a very small amount of time for her to actually hit people up for money.   (I won't relay our entire conversation, but it involved questions like, "Mom, shouldn't you have known about this?")

We did the walk last year, and, it was so amazing it was to see Claire's excitement about raising money to help animals.  Each time a donation came in through her website, she would pump her fist in excitement.  She came out of her shell to actually ask people to support a cause that she's passionate about.  She could not have been more excited in the days leading up to the walk - and Ollie and Hugo, through some miracle of fate, behaved perfectly (even on the subway trip to and from the Boston Common, where the event is held.)

So, we're doing the walk this weekend (despite Jane's continued disappointment that, yet again, we don't actually get to keep the money).  If you happen to love animals, or if you happen to like the idea of supporting a nine-year-old who loves animals, please consider donating to Claire's campaign. 

And, of course, many, many thanks to our friends who have already done so.

We Speak Pirate

Jane:  "Mom!  Margot just called me "scurvy dog!"  That's really bad.  Get her in trouble."

Me:  "Do you know what "scurvy dog" means?"

Jane:  "Yes.  It's pirate for "you're stupid.""

Our Art Afficionado

While we were on vacation last month, we visited the Art Institute of Chicago.

Don:  "Jane, what did you like best at the Art Institute?"

Jane:  "The gift shop."

Don:  "Well, besides the gift shop."

Jane:  "This."  (holding up a toy from the gift shop.)

Don:  "I meant what did you like from the art exhibits."

Jane:  "Umm . . . I guess all of the naked people?"

Don:  "How about the knights and armor - did you like that?"

Jane:  "Yes.  That, and the naked people."

Don:  [silence]

Jane:  "They have a lot of naked stuff there.  I really like it."

Role Model?

Claire at her mimic-y best.

Those of you who know Don realize that there's nothing else to be said here.

Rest In Peace

Yesterday we found a very tiny baby bird that had fallen out of its nest and died. Margot buried it, made a tombstone, and conducted a funeral (at which she delivered the main eulogy). Claire, in typical fashion, weighed in with a real-time critique of Margot's wishes for the dead bird's spirit.  



After Margot finished, everyone else had to place a handful of dirt on the grave and then say a few words. (My comments, along with those of the girls' Nana and Papa, were dismissed as "too short and too modern.")  Jane went last and offered the following:  "Dear little bird, I hope you will be very happy in your new home . . . underground."

Transcription, in case you can't totally hear the background speakers:  After Margot offers her hope that the bird will be joined by its mother, father, brothers, and sisters, Claire says, "Margot! You're praying for it's whole family to die!!" Jane, with her usual, practical approach, observes, "It doesn't even have a head."

Advice from the Fashionista

Claire (far left) models her fashionable, tight-fitting garb.

In which the fashionista weighs in on my work attire:

Claire:  "Mom, can I tell you something about that dress?"

Me:  "Sure."

Claire:  "Well, it's kind of loose-fitting."

Me:  "Yes, it's meant to be kind of loose - that's the style."

Claire:  "Well, it's not my style."

The Meaning of Christmas, Part III

Tonight Jane chose "The Berenstain Bears Meet Santa Bear" for her story.  In this typically sacharine Berenstain Bears tale, Sister Bear first makes a long and greedy Christmas list, but, under her brother's careful tutelage, comes to realize that Christmas is really all about giving.
This book reminded of a past debate between Claire and Margot on the topic of gift-giving - and let us just say that Margot's approach would not be well-received by Santa Bear.  As Jane and I talked, it became clear to me that Jane may be following in Margot's footsteps on this issue:

Me:  "So, what do you think about Sister Bear's list?"

Jane:  "It's not good.  It has too many things on it and Santa might think that she's greedy - then he won't bring her anything.  It's not good to be greedy."

Me:  "Right.  It's important not to be greedy.  Did this story make you think of anything else relating to gifts?"

Jane:  "Umm. . . what?"

Me:  "About what the bears did with their gifts?"

Jane:  "They asked for them?"

Me:  "Well, yes - they did ask for and get gifts.  But there's something else.  If you don't receive a gift, you . . . "

Jane:  "You cry?"

The REAL Purpose of the Blogosphere

Much to the frustration of our fashionista, the girls' school has a uniform policy.  Claire and her friends spend a fair amount of time lamenting the unfairness of the policy and assessing ways they might most effectively fight it.  Proposed resistance methods included simply not wearing a uniform (ultimately rejected as too difficult, since parents could just make the kids change into a uniform before leaving the house), or the more promising option of taking an alternate (presumably "fashionable") outfit to school and changing "after the mothers leave."

Claire recently informed me that she and her friend Lizzie (who, in Claire's words, is also "extremely fashionable") had given the matter some thought and had sadly concluded that changing clothes at school wasn't really a viable solution.  Here's why:

Claire:  "It won't work for kids to change out of their uniforms after the mothers leave."

Me:  "Really? Why not?"

Claire:  "Well, I told Lizzie that if we did that our moms would just write about it on the blog."

Me:  "Lizzie's mom doesn't have a blog."

Claire:  "No - I mean on the blog." 

Me:  "What blog?"

Claire:  "Mom!  You know what the blog is!"

Me:  "I know what my blog is - are you talking about that?"

Claire:  "No.  I'm talking about the main blog - where the moms write everything so that they all know what the kids are up to."

Don't Mess with Kit Kittredge

In which Margot achieves limited success in her efforts to harass - and, if that fails, confuse - her sisters:

Margot (in response to an unidentified affront):  "Oh, now look what you did!  Kit Kittredge is going to smack your baby."

Jane: "No, she can't.  Anyway, my baby will tell me if Kit tries to smack her."

Margot (smacking baby with Kit's hand):  "That baby can't tell you, because she can't talk."

Jane:  "Uh-huh, she can.  She will whisper in my ear, if I take her binky out."

Margot (removing binky and making fake crying noise):  "Ha!  She can't talk.  She can only fake cry."

Jane:  "Margot!  My baby will tell me, and I will tell Kit to stop it RIGHT NOW."

Margot:  "Well, Kit can't hear you.  She's not even real."

Jane:   [puzzled silence]

K-I-S-S-I-N-G

An exchange from this morning, in which Margot fails - despite significant effort - to aggravate her older sister:

Margot:  "Claire and [insert name of any 3rd grade boy] sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!"

Claire:  "I wouldn't mind if he kissed me.  In fact, I wouldn't mind if any boy kissed me."

Margot (regrouping):  "Claire and the Loch Ness Monster, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N- . . . "

Claire:  "First, it's pronounced "lock" not "loCH."  Second, the Loch Ness Monster is a girl.  Third, it wouldn't even fit in a tree."

Margot (with exasperation):  "Claire and the Loch Ness Monster, sitting in a SWAMP, K-I-S-S-I-N-"

Claire:  "CHOMP!!"  (laughs hysterically)

Note:  to give credit where credit is due, Claire's approach here is a bit of an improvement over her prior methods for responding to provocation.

What to Wear, What to Wear?

Don handled bedtime tonight.  Here's how it went:

Don:  "Jane, take off that filthy tank top. You're not going to wear that to bed."

Jane (irritated): "Fine. I guess I'll just wear nipples to bed."

Claire on Food

Recent food-related observations by Claire.

1.  "Many a nut have I cracked."  (Announced to no one in particular, while surveying a landscape of chopped walnuts on her cutting board.)

2.  "Down we go!  We must now brave the dangers of Dad's cooking!" (To her sisters, when summoned to dinner.)

3.  "Daddy, the dessert and the amuse-bouche were delicious."  (Re: the cooking referenced in 2 above.) 

Getting the Girl

Claire's candid assessment of a boy in her class (who shall remain nameless):  "He seeks to win my love by doing favors for me."

This girl was born in the wrong century.

(Relative) Chaos

I recently walked into Claire's extremely messy room and said,  "Claire, what happened in her?  It looks like a bomb went off!"

Her immediate response?  "Mommy, it does not look like a bomb went off.  No rubble . . . no carnage."

Modern-Day Barbies

Claire:  "Margot, are your girls ready?"

Margot:  "Yes.  Here they are."

Claire:  "Ok.  These Barbies are in Legion 41."

Margot:  "What is their mission?"

Claire:  "They are leading the rebellion against Ken."

Margot [silently moves Barbies around]

Claire:  "Margot, your girls are not prepared!"

Margot:  "What do you mean?"

Claire:  "It's obvious.  They need to be trained in the Crane Kick before they can be in the rebellion."

Moral Support

Jane is - reluctantly - learning to ride her bike without using the training wheels.  Her sisters have offered varying levels of support for this endeavor.

Margot:  "Janie, when you can ride a two-wheeler, it will be so great.  You can coast down hills and it's so fun - a little bit like riding a roller coaster!"

Jane: "Really?"

Claire:  "Yes.  It's exactly like riding a roller coaster.  A fast, terrifying roller coaster that you can't control."

We Love Lindsay

Lindsay & Jane

Last fall, Claire signed up for the MSPCA's Walk for Animals, and the girls and I participated (with Ollie and Hugo, of course).  Later, we were talking about the walk, and about fundraising in general.  Although Jane lost interest after learning that you don't actually get to keep any of the money you raise, Margot was ready to plan ahead for next time:

Margot:  "Mommy, if we do the Walk for Animals again, can we all do it?  It would be more fun if there was one parent for each kid."

Me (silently puzzling over the math, given that we have three children and two parents): "Hmm.  How would that work?"

Margot:  "You know, like Claire goes with Dad, Jane goes with you, and I go with Lindsay."

Tiny Things

Claire is constantly crafting what we've come to refer to as "tiny things" - houses, furniture, food items . . . really, any item that is tiny.  A couple of weeks ago, her teacher showed me a display of tiny things on and around her desk, and explained that Claire had been making tiny things during class instead of paying attention to the lessons.  I said that I would to talk to her about it.

Me:  "Claire, Mrs. Burke tells me that you are busy making tiny things when you're supposed to be paying attention in class.  It's interfering with your schoolwork."

Claire:  "Mom.  Being required to pay attention during class is actually interfering with my ability to make tiny things."

What's in a Name?

Claire:  "I wish Mom would let me change my last name to Fletcher."

Jane:  "I wish Mom would let me change my middle name to Alligator."

Claire:  "Are you kidding me?  That's ridiculous."

Jane:  "No, it's cool."

Jane (softly):  "Jane Alligator Wiest . . . Jane Alligator Wiest . . . Jane Alligator Wiest."

These Are a Few of My Favorite Things

Claire:  "Mommy, do you know what I want more than anything in the world?"
Me:  "No, what?"
Claire:  "A hot glue gun."
Me: "Huh."
Claire:  "Actually, can I tell you the two things I want most in the world?"
Me:  "Yes, please do."
Claire:  "A hot glue gun and a Swiss Army knife."
Me:  "Wow, really?"
Claire:  "Yes.  But, Mommy?  Do you want to know the three things that I really, truly want more than anything else in the world?"
Me: "Of course.  What are they?"
Claire:  "A hot glue gun, a Swiss Army knife, and a ferret."
Me:  [silence]

What the Hell is Going on Around Here?

Yesterday I received an email from our super-nanny, Lindsay, observing that Jane had repeatedly been using the phrase "what the hell?"  Specifically, within the space of an hour or so, she had made the following (totally casual) inquiries:

"What the hell is wrong with this thing?"  (Referring to a broken magnet on our refrigerator door.)

"What the hell are you barking about, Hugo?" (Self-explanatory - and probably a reasonable question.)

And . . . "What the hell should I pack in my lunch?"  (Also not unreasonable, in my view.)

The first two times, Lindsay asked what she'd just said and Jane responded by repeating her statement but omitting the "what the hell" bit.  The third time, Lindsay decided that she needed to put a stop to it:

Lindsay:  "Jane, that's not polite."
Jane:  "What's not polite?"
Lindsay:  "Saying 'what the hell.'  Where did you learn that?"
Jane:  "Well, Mommy says it all the time - so I say it, too."

The Littlest Speller

Jane, now four-and-a-half, is developing a fascination with spelling. Like her sisters before her, she fervently believes that if her word makes sense phoenetically, it's correct. According to her, the list pictured here reads as follows:

-Renee
-Lindsay
-Melissa
-Mom
-library
-book

Not too shabby . . . now we can just sit back and wait for the next round of anonymous notes to start rolling in.

The Best Defense is a Good Offense

Yesterday in the car Margot began screaming that Claire had hit her over the head with a book.  Before I could even question the veracity of the claim, Claire defensively announced that "Margot deserved it - she is humming right in my ear and won't stop!"

Me:  "Claire, why are we having this conversation?  What I have I told you about this?"
Claire:  "Not to use a physical response when I am mad at Margot."
Me:  "How many times have we talked about this topic?"
Claire:  "I don't know.  Probably 1000."
Me:  "What are you supposed to do if she is bothering you?"
Claire:  "Mommy, I know.   I'm supposed to ask her to stop, and if she won't stop after I ask more than once, I'm supposed to tell a grown-up."
Me:  "Are you supposed to hit her?"
Claire:  "Well, no.  But, Mommy - she was doing it in order to annoy me.   So, I already knew that she wasn't going to stop, no matter how many times I asked her and no matter how many times you asked her.  I had no choice but to resort immediately to hitting her."

Our Pigeon Lover

This is the song that Jane was belting out this morning, sort of to the tune of "Do You Know the Muffin Man":  "I am a pigeon lover, a pigeon lover, a pigeon lover.  Oh YES I AM a pigeon lover . . . because I LOVE PIGEONS."

I don't think there's a whole lot more I can write about this particular incident.

Royal Rudeness

The girls and I were making cookies recently and Claire jokingly referred to me as "Your Royal Highness."  Jane gasped and said, "Claire, that's rude!"  Totally baffled, I asked Jane to clarify.

Me:  "Jane, why do you think it's rude to say "Your Royal Highness"?"
Jane:  "Claire, you know why."
Claire:  "No, I don't - and it's not actually rude."
Jane:  "You're the one who told me it was rude."
Claire:  "I did not!"
Jane:  "Yes, you did.  It's rude because it means bum."
Me:  "Jane, "Your Royal Highness" does not mean "bum."
Jane: "Claire said it does."
Me:  "I'm sure she didn't say that!  Did you, Claire?"
Claire:  [silence]
Me:  "Claire, did you tell her that?"
Claire:  "Not exactly."
Me:  "What did you say to her?"
Claire:  "Well . . . I did say "Your Royal Hiney."
Jane:  "See?!  I told you it's rude!"