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!"

Those Who Cannot Do, Teach

I came across this gem on Margot's desk the other day.  Note that her continued refusal to bend to conventional rules of spelling does not interfere with her assumption of an academic leadership position.  Failure to understand basic concepts of geography is also (apparently) irrelevant to her status as an instructor.

Zombie Details

This morning's argument (I'm as confused as you are by Margot's opening statement):

Margot (staring in mirror):  "Ugh.  I don't even look like a zombie."
Claire:  "I think you do."
Margot:  "Claire, no I don't.  And anyway zombies don't have heads."
Claire:  "They do too have heads!"
Margot:  "No, they don't."
Claire:  "Well, Michael Jackson has a head in the "Thriller" video."
Margot:  "Duh, Claire - Michael Jackson is a fake zombie.  Real zombies don't have heads."

Accountability

Our super-nanny, Lindsay, recently volunteered to take the girls to clean out our car before we headed off on a weekend trip.  I (of course) took her up on the offer, so they headed to the carwash after school one day.

Claire:  "Why do we have to go to the carwash?  It's boring."   
Lindsay:  "Because we're getting the car ready for your trip." 
Claire:  "I heard mom specifically say that you were going to clean the car - not us." 
Lindsay:  "Claire, you need to help because it's important for you to learn accountability." 
Claire:  "What's accountability?" 
Lindsay:  "If you know you will be responsible for the mess you create in the car, then you will probably be more careful in the future.  I'm rarely in your car, so why should I be responsible for all of the cleaning?" 
Claire:  "Okay, I understand now.  So, can you clean the car, and we'll just watch so we know what to do next time? " 
Lindsay:  "Claire, get in the car." 
Claire (muttering):  "Geez, don't you find humor in any of this?"

Good vs. Evil

Today's sisterly exchange could be read to suggest many things.  At a minimum, it portends the return of Jane's recently-dormant violent tendencies:
 
Margot (to Jane):  "Kit Kittredge is a superhero.  She is flying to give a punch to the evildoer, Jane."
Jane:  "Jane has a cat that will hit Kit.  And a pig, a strong one.  One that can break Kit and get her to howl."
Margot:  "Kit has a special platypus in a tank."  [Apparently, the platypus is some sort of protective creature.]
Claire (annoyed):  "That's a duck."
Margot (unperturbed):  "It's a duckapus."

Eat Your Vegetables on November 11

As I was getting dressed this morning, Jane observed that, even though Mommy and Daddy were going to work, she did not have to go to school.  When I asked her if she knew why school was closed, she promptly replied, "Yes - because it's Vegitary Day."

Her vegetarian grandparents will undoubtedly be proud that Jane didn't even question the notion that an entire urban school system would devote a day to honoring vegetables.