Foolery

The Grades Are In

(Original photo from Wikimedia Commons) 

Sparky and Smedley had outstanding report cards today. Smedley called me to tell me about hers after school. I found out about Sparky's on the ride home. We drove up Grandma and Grandpa's driveway to go get Smedley, who had been hanging out with them.

"Go into the living room, Sparky, and tell Grandpa about your report card. He's got something for you," said Grandma. Into the living room went Sparky, dragging her feet in advance of the ceremony to come.

"Here's a nickel for math, and here's a quarter for reading," said Grandpa, dropping coins into Sparky's hand. "And here's another nickel for being lucky, and here's a dime for not having hair in your eyes. A dime for not being married. Here's a penny for being lucky again. A quarter for a trip to Hawaii, and here's a dime for not having a stinky diaper tonight, and here's eleven cents, for no reason."

Report card season is always interesting in Fooleryland.

Mantel Man, Here's Your Cape

(Original photos stolen from this site and this one and this one too)     

Dear Mantel Man,

I'm sorry to have to break it to you, but your niece Smedley totally has your number.

Tonight after reading our bedtime book (which had more than one mention of super powers) Smedley declared, "Uncle Mantle Man is like a mini version of Grandpa."

Huh?

"He's just like Grandpa. He could be Mini Wonder Dave!" While I wasn't sure of the logic at all, I wasn't going to miss her explanation, which definitely delivered. I was laughing too hard to catch most of it, but I remember this:

Mini Wonder Dave!
Clip him to your backpack and take him with you!

Don't sit with him too long
or he'll make you learn about MATH!

Press his button and he'll say something grumpy,
but don't press it too many times or he'll make a PURPLE CLOUD!

So, Mini Wonder Dave, will you order your Spandex suit and cape, or shall I?

Here's What's Funny at Our House

The girls and I were looking at family photos last night. A discussion of face shapes and smiles ensued.

Smedley: "Mama, let me see your real smile."

Me: "I can't smile a real smile on cue. You'll have to make me smile. Tell me something funny."

They both thought about it. For a few seconds the room was totally quiet. Then this.

Smedley: "You're a really good mother, Mama."

I stared at her. She tried not to smile, but she couldn't take the pressure. She cracked just a little, and one corner of her mouth tightened.

I laughed and laughed and laughed. "You got me, Smed. I couldn't imagine what would make me smile, but that did it."

As Smart As a Whip, As Silly As Her Mother

(Photo used by permission of Wikimedia Commons)

Smedley is studying similes in school.

"Mama, I need some help finishing this sentence with a simile: 'When I sneezed in class I felt like a . . .' "

[dramatic pause here as she gathered her thoughts]

" . . . doofus that sneezed but that's not right because he IS the doofus that sneezed!"

You Don't Know the Half of It, Smed

Smedley brought this to me here at my computer this evening. She had written on both sides of the paper. Side one:



Side two:



In case you can't make it out, side two reads, "Dear Mom, this is for you because in every heaven, there is a hell. Like getting dogs. Dogs are heaven, cleaning is hell. From, Smedley"

Wanna know what precipitated this? I told them if they didn't get their rooms in order and keep them from going to hell in two hours, like usual, that there is no way I'm gonna invite the dog people here this weekend to interview us to make sure we're a fit home to adopt their doggies. Yeah. Cleaning is hell, gimme a break! Parenting is hell.

And heaven. Aaaaaaaand . . . hell again.

Smedley's First Movie

Smedley took her camera outside yesterday morning to get pictures of the sunrise. Then she remembered that her camera takes movies, so she shot a 360 degree view from the fence line south of our house. The bathroom light? is mine. I was getting ready for work. Smedley missed the bus.

When I got home for work she showed me the movie she had taken after sundown. I cobbled them together with a Nick Drake song that seemed perfect. Ever the art director, Smedley insisted upon yellow for the typeface. Here is the result. Watch it carefully; you may wish to take some Dramamine first.

 

A New Sparkyism

Kids always notice imperfections. Like the illuminated sign at Kohl's department store. Only a child would notice the apostrophe was burned out.




Sparky: "The apostrophe is out of business."

That's my new favorite phrase.

(Original photo stolen from these guys) 

Farts Are Funny Unless You're Too Close to Me

sniff sniff

Me:  "Ewwwww, who did that?"

Smedley:  "What? It doesn't smell. Smells like strawberry-banana."

Me:  "It DOES NOT, now DON'T do that near me again."

[PAUSE]

Smedley:  "I wonder when I ate a banana?"

(Photo used by permission of Fir0002/Flagstaffotos onWikimedia Commons) GNU Free Documentation License 

Suddenly All Is Right With the World

(Image stolen from this site)

We had a family outing recently which turned out terrible, mostly. Sagging spirits piled on let-down heaped upon disappointment left us irritable and grumpy, trapped in the car together for the drive home. So when Smedley asked if anyone had a hair clip, I barked at her.

"Why would I have one of YOUR hair clips, Smed?" I snapped. This was a familiar theme. "You're supposed to take care of that, right? I'm always telling you that. OF COURSE I don't have any of YOUR hair clips."

"Here's one," Chas said calmly, handing a hair clip back to the back seat. My mouth fell open.

"Are you kidding me? How -- why -- where did you get a hair clip? Wow, Smed, your Daddy saves the day."

Without missing a beat, Smedley turned to her father and quipped, "Got a donut?"

I have not laughed that hard in forever.

Sunday Barbies in Fooleryland

Smedley: "Alice used to have a lot of boyfriends until her head came off."

Turd Lineage

(Original image stolen from this site)

Overheard on a car trip recently, when the pressure of being imprisoned in a car together for 12 hours became too much . . .

Sparky: "If I'm a turd then you're a turd and we are turd family."

Foolery: "Hey, don't count me in that!"

Smedley: "I think it comes from Daddy's side."

That's my girl.

Cross This Off the List

We have big news on the kid hobby front.
 
(Photo stolen from these guys)

After years of not being interested, Smedley finally tried to learn to ride her bike without training wheels two weekends ago. She was very close to getting it, but very scared of falling, and since she didn't start trying to learn until sundown, her progress stalled.

Her little sister Sparky took one look at her bike on Wednesday afternoon, said, "I can do that," and proceeded to teach herself in about 15 minutes, no lie.

 

(Photo stolen from this guy)

Being upstaged by her little sister really chapped Miss Smedley's hide, of course, so she decided to try the bike again Thursday. It was, unfortunately, just about dinner time, I was still in a dress after work, and mentally and physically drained. But I went outside to watch or help her.

After about two minutes of halting attempts and near disasters, Smedley began scolding me, her basic tenet being "SEE?! I TOLD you I couldn't do it!" etc. etc. ad infinitum ad nauseum. I'd had it. I told her NO WAY would I play a further part in The Martyrdom of Saint Smedley, and went into the house. I could hear Smedley hollering outside, then stomping inside to holler (and sob) at me some more.

I squatted down in front of Smedley and told her she had all the tools, and when she was ready to really try I would help her, but she didn't even need the help. She just needed to change her priority from "fear of falling" to "will to ride," and she would do it. Of course she glared and cried and begged and glared some more, but I held firm.

Until later when, by myself, I beat myself up for being a crappy mom.

 
(Original photo stolen from this site)

Friday I got home from work at 7:00, tired, hot and sore-footed from a long video shoot, and Smedley greeted me with a huge smile. "I taught myself to ride my bike today, Mama! You were right and I was wrong, Mama," she said. I thought I might cry. You should have seen how proud she was, and I can stop beating myself up. For now.

So the two girls are riding all over the place now, and leaving their bikes in the driveway behind our cars. One problem at a time.

Yes, Sparky, Your Mother Was a Swinger

 

(Photo stolen from these guys)

At breakfast yesterday morning . . .

Sparky: "Mama, when you were a kid, did they have swings?"

Smedley, annoyed: "Sparky, she's not from, like, George Washington's time, sheesh."

Nice to know Smedley has my back. Did they have swings in George's day? I'll have to ask Chas.

Oh, the Games Kids Play!

This is Smedley with her cousin Brady.

 

All of the little kids in our family LOVE their older cousins Brady and Riley, and treat them like rock stars when they visit. Brady is an especial favorite because he gets down and plays with the kids. This game is called Egg Balancing, I am told.

Overheard this weekend . . .

Sparky, to Brady: "Well, if I can't kill you, will you at least watch me tap dance?!"

I have no idea which particular game that was, or how to win it.

It's Both

This is one of Smedley's early computer drawings, "Fat Girl and Kitten," made when Smedley was about 5 or 6. The kitten is on the girl's head, and it's saying, "I'm about to poop." I'm thinking the girl already has, but I could be wrong.

 


Do you think we might have some body issues at our house, or is it just a really rude collective sense of humor?

Math Passes for Party Talk in Fooleryland

 


Overheard at a Fooleryland Super Bowl gathering the other day:

Chas: "Sparky, what's 2 x 3?"

Sparky: "Six!"

Everybody: "Good job!"  "Great!"  "Right!"

Chas: "Okay, Sparky, what's 3 x 2?"

Sparky: "Ummmm . . . "

Smedley: "Oh, she just hasn't learned about the commutative properties of multiplication yet."

Yeah, I know.

Everybody: "Whaa . . . ?"  "The what now?"  "Is there more guacamole?"

I had to look it up, too.

The Hills Are Alive With the Sound of Sparky

 

(Original photo stolen from this guy)

BOSSY posted a picture of steep hills on her site today, and it reminded me of something.

You know that feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when you crest a hill in a car, a little too fast, and you catch just a little air? For a fraction of a second you are airborne, weightless, even if the tires haven't completely left the road's surface. I think all kids know this feeling, whether or not they have the words to describe the event.

My brothers and I called it "feeling our guts." We tried to egg my implacable father into speeding up for hills. On the rare occasion that we did catch air, we would yell, "Feel your GUTS!"

I explained this to my own daughters a few years ago. Smedley was old enough to understand, and she yells "FEEL YOUR GUTS!" from time to time when we're driving. Sparky was, at the time of the explanation, old enough to grasp only the thrill of yelling in the car. She didn't understand what she was yelling but it didn't matter.

Months went by and Smedley saw hills approaching as our car speeded along a country road. "FEEL YOUR GUTS!" she yelled. And Sparky chimed in joyously after her, "FEEL YOUR NUTS!"

 


We probably shouldn't volunteer for any car pools.

There's So Much Wrong With Our Parenting, I Don't Know Where to Start

 


(Original photo stolen from these guys)

Sparky: "Daddy come outside! I want to show you something."

Daddy, whining: "But my head will be cold! And also I'm thirsty . . ."

Sparky: "Grab a beanie and a beer and GET OUT HERE!"

Thanksgiving 2009: I Will Survive (maybe)

 

(AP Photo stolen from Frank Franklin II)

Watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade.

I know, I know, but until I had to go to the bathroom I was pinned to the couch by Smedley.

"Wow, there are three million people watching this parade!" I said, repeating something one of the silly parade hosts said that wasn't actually drivel.

"How many AREN'T watching?" asked Sparky.

Precisely.

Let Gloria Gaynor sing more! Get Donald McRonald outta there!  ACK!

Have a wonderful Thanksgiving, y'all, and I hope you all survive.

Guide for Safe Foolery Viewing

 


(Photo stolen from this site)

Smedley, practicing her ballet on Saturday, was trying out "spotting," which helps dancers keep from getting dizzy when they spin. She focused on a single spot each time she made a revolution; the spot she chose to focus on was my face.

"Hey Mama, I'm looking at your face, and I'm not dizzy! It works!"

Apparently I need to wear a warning sticker on my face.