From the Mouths of Babes

Yesterday the Pea was on dish duty. He had washed all the dishes in the sink but none of the stuff stacked on the counter around the sink.

Me: Pea, the dishes are not done.

Pea: I don’t care.

Me: Yes, but I care and I’m the mom so mine’s the caring that matters.

Why is it that my children think that the fact that they don’t care about things being messy has the slightest bearing on whether they need to clean it?


The other day in the midst of a fight with her father, the Princess asked why she should respect him, specifically what he had ever done to earn her respect.

Umm, let’s start with putting a roof over your head and food in your mouth for the last 11+ years and move on from there shall we?

Aren’t the tag lines that kids learn as they head in to teendom fun?!



If you tell your daughter that she does not have to go to school but that she may not be in the house for the 8 hours that she would be at school (and you be sure that you’ve got her iPod in your pocket) and it’s cold and rainy outside it will only take her about 15 minutes to give up and go to school.

(I wonder how that scene will play out in her movie?)


When they make a movie of my children’s lives, in the one scene where they show me, to explain what their childhood was like and therefore why they are the way they end up being, is it going to be the scene where I’m laughing and hugging them or the one where I’m impatient and yelling at them?

Be My Valentine

I’m thinking of putting together a calendar of how my kids “celebrate” different holidays, something like this: For Valentine’s day the Princess and the Pea empty all of the tissue boxes in the storage room of all their tissues so that they can make valentine boxes for school.

Cute huh?

When They’re Helping Mom’s Happy

My life (or at least my kitchen) has been completely transformed by assigning the Princess and the Pea two days per week each of dish duty.

Best. Decision. Ever!

Stupid Questions

Me: “InfaDel, why is the (not so) Baby crying?”

InfaDel: “I whapped him.”

Me: “Great, you can go back to your bedroom.”

It’s 8:20 am.  Sigh.

Hey Boo-boo

I do all kinds of workouts.  Two days a week I try to do some kind of strength training and the other two days that I work out I do cardio.  Monday was a strength training day.  Usually I do some kind of  Jillian Michaels or something like that but every once in awhile I do Yoga.

Monday was one of those days.  Now I know that yoga is supposed to be this spiritual, cleansing experience.  You’re supposed to center yourself and breathe deeply and focus on your energies and chi and a lot of other new agey stuff that I tend to be really dismissive of (except that I secretly sort of believe some of it).  Basically it’s supposed to feel kind of like this:

And I guess for some people, doing yoga alone on a beach at sunrise or something, that is how it feels.

But I do yoga in my living room with my kids and their friends running through and my two year old yelling at me that he hates me and well, my yoga experience feels a little more like this:

I think I may be missing something there.  Today I go back to squats and lunges.

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