Guess What?

A few weeks ago, Jane and I were cleaning her room, which had reached a truly horrifying state of chaos.  Or, more accurately, I was cleaning her room.  She was reading books and, in a weak imitation of "helping" me, would occasionally move a toy or a piece of clothing from one place to another.  I eventually insisted that she stop reading and and actually clean.

Instead, she left the room.  After about five minutes, she returned, holding one of her "fancy" notecards.  They look like this:

She silently handed me the card.  I opened it and read the following:

 

 Um, right.  That's why it's called cleaning.

Email, Jane-Style

Our children's prolific phoenics-based correspondence has entered the modern era, with Don's receipt of this email from Jane.  Her tone is so clear that the content of his original note isn't even relevant.

From:  Jane
Date:  January 2, 2013, 11:03:12 AM EST
To:  Dad
Wut in the warald dus that sa.

Ouch - On Many Levels

Last month Margot emailed me this picture, along with the following text:

Mom, please come home now! I am about to cry because my throat hurts so much. Can you come home, or get home early?

Love,
A girl with a really bad sore throat or, Margot

Oww, indeed.  I went home.

No Words to the Wise

I'd just finished lecturing Claire and Margot about their near-chronic arguing.  (Actually, it was more of a pull-the-car-over-and-scream kind of "lecture.")  I began driving again as we all sat in aggravated/angry silence.  Jane, who had been quiet through the entire incident, piped up:

Jane:  "Mommy?  When I'm very angry with someone, I just don't say anything."

Me:  "Uh-huh."

Jane:  "I think that if talk when I'm really mad, I will probably say something very angry.  Then I'll be sorry for it.  So, it's better to say nothing."

Me:  [saying nothing]

Jane:  "Mom?  You should try that."

Jane also later offered me a follow-up "potion" that "makes you less frustrated with people."  I'm glad at least one person at 9 Park Lane has it together.

Against Pigamy We Stand

We were recently discussing the Fair Pay Act and the concept that women might not receive equal pay for equal work.

Claire:  "Anyone who thinks that way is a total pigamist."
Margot:  "A what?"
Claire: "A pigamist.  It's a man who doesn't believe woman are equal to men."
Me:  "Claire, do you mean misogynist?"
Claire:  "No.  Pigamist."
Margot:  "Yeah, Mom.  She means pigamist."

Tweendom Is Upon Us

One night when Don was home with the girls, I received the below email from Claire:
"i skipped dinner 2night it was 2 gross
now i'm really hungry"

I later received the this follow-up item:

Spy Notes 2.0

Jane, taking after her sister before her, has made her first foray into spying - in this case, on her friend Eric.

This note details the key observations that our spy made concerning Eric's location and conduct.  (I do feel compelled to note that the part about Zoe hitting Eric is blatantly false.)

Second Breakfast

The girls' school serves breakfast in the classroom every morning.  The fact that we eat breakfast at home has not remotely deterred them from also eating school breakfast.   The eating of Second Breakfast has become a routine topic of conversation.

Jane:  "Mom!  I ate Second Breakfast again today."
Me:  "You must have been very hungry."
Jane:  "Yeah.  I am totally a warthog."
Me:  "A what?"
Jane:  "A warthog.  You know, Second Breakfast?  Warthog?"
Me: [confused silence]
Claire:  "Um, Jane?  I think you mean Hobbit."

Watch Your Language

This weekend we went out to lunch with friends - children were at one end of the (long) table; adults were at the other.  I heard Claire practically shout the word "penis."

Me:  "Claire, I don't know what you're talking about, but you should not be saying "penis" at the lunch table."

Claire (laughing):  "Sorry, Mom."

Jane (immediately):  "How about "ding dong", then?"

A Mathlete Is (Not) Born

In case you can't quite read that, Jane's answer to the math homework question "How many flowers are there?" is "There are lots ov flowers."