Kids say the darndest things

I have to say that I felt very strange writing a post yesterday with absolutely NO mention of my kids. This post should make up for it. I have recently had interactions with each child which pretty much sum up their personalities to a tee. Let's get started.

Tonight I watched Pes (Perfect eldest son) at Tae Kwon Do. The head teacher routinely asks the kids who wants to go with each teacher for their drills. Now the teachers are mostly teenagers or young adults with higher belts who hold targets and help with the drills. So tonight, Head Teacher asks, "Who wants to go with Teacher A?" Silence from 25 children. Fifty hands at 50 sides. Teacher A looks a little sad, he is just a nerdy teenager after all. I feel bad for him. Pes looks around the quiet room, looks at Teacher A and his hand shoots up. I am proud.

I picked up the The Gabor Sisters from school yesterday and took them to the mall to pick out a present for Eva's 7th birthday which is today (!). As we were walking around the mall, it dawned on me that Zsa Zsa and Eva are so lucky that I pick them up from school every day and am not tied down to some job that precludes me from taking them shopping and other important activities. So of course I said, "Girls, aren't you happy that I pick you up from school every day? Not all Mommys can do that, you know. And I can take you to do fun stuff like shopping after school on a Monday afternoon. You are so lucky. Don't you appreciate me?"

"Mommy," Zsa Zsa retorted, "Isn't that what Mother's Day is for?"

Now, as an aside, I'd like to say that being a stay-at-home mom is really not as glamorous as I expected it to be. For example, when you ask your children if they appreciate the fact that you are the one picking them up from school every day, they will not say yes automatically because YOU HAVE BEEN PICKING THEM UP FOREVER AND THEY DON'T KNOW ANY DIFFERENTLY. This applies to everything else too. Watching them at Tae Kwon Do, taking them to their check-ups, going to every school performance from two year nursery up, driving for field trips, the parental duties that continue ad infinitum.

Now Eva is a special case. We tell people that she must be treated like the Queen of England. And give the following instructions:

don’t speak until you're spoken to; address her as Your Majesty; say “ma’am” as in jam, not “mar’am” as in smarm


This is not because she's royalty, but because she is, let's say, discerning and, let's also say, moody. This evening my mother-in-law called for Queen Eva's birthday and this was the conversation, "Honeycake," said Mother-in-law, "I wanted to speak to Eva for her birthday," pause, "but only if she's in the mood." She has met Eva before and understands the etiquette. 


"She seems Ooooo-kayyy," I stuttered as I saw a black cloud appear over Eva's little face, "You can try." I gave Eva the phone, "Here, it's Grandma, she wants to say Happy Birthday." Eva pursed her beautiful little rosebud mouth and took the phone reluctantly. Here was the conversation (well, this is what I imagined Mother-in-law was saying):
"Eva, Happy Birthday! Such a big girl now, 7 already. How was your day? What did you get for your birthday?"


Eva: "MM. Hmm." Sniffle, whine.


I grabbed the phone, "Sorry, Mother-in-law, she's losing it a little. Thanks for calling." Mother-in-law said, "I understand. It's Eva."

Now my Gorby, while still worthy of his Captain Annoying title, seems to have reached a less-annoying plateau right around his recent fifth birthday. And this has freed up my patience a bit to enjoy his humorous side. Gorby is really a natural-born comedian. He could be a busker. I plan to drop him off downtown with a hat and let him sing and tell jokes all day. However, as my baby, he is very attached to me and likes to call me endlessly on my cell phone while I am out doing afternoon carpool for the other kids.

I will be in the van and the bluetooth starts ringing, "Hi Mommy. Where are you?" "In the car," I say. This is my normal answer. "Call me when you get to the school," says Gorby. "OK," I say. Five minutes later. "Mommy?" "Yeees?" I am getting annoyed. "Don't forget to call me when you get to school." "OK, I'll talk to you later, Gorby, don't keep calling, I need to drive now. It's dangerous to talk on the phone and drive." The bluetooth rings again. Sigh. I let voicemail pick up. A couple minutes later I'll check the voicemail, "Mommy, it's Gorby. I am calling you. Call me back. 867-5309." That's my cell phone number.

Here I must insert that no matter how treacherous my drive is, I will answer if I see it's one of my friends calling. Especially my friend Katie Drohn. This is a pseudonym. I talk to her at least once a day, usually more. And while I tell my kids, "Don't pass me your garbage, don't be so noisy, don't irritate me now, I'm not putting a different CD in, it's dangerous, I'm driving," it's usually because I don't want them to pass me garbage, be so noisy, irritate me and I don't want to put in another CD. Not because it's dangerous.

So the other day I was driving and this whole phone sequence with Gorby played out. I told him again how dangerous it is to talk and drive even with the bluetooth. I let the call go to voice mail twice. He called again, I answered. "Hello," he says, "It's Katie Drohn."