Altitude Adjustment

Our family took a mini trip to a rented house in a quaint little mountain town known for its apple cider and apple pie. On the drive, as we got farther and farther from our city by the sea (and sea level), Husband warned the kids of several possibilities, due to the altitude:

Their ears might start to hurt, due to the altitude.

The air is thinner, so it might be harder to breathe, due to the altitude.

It’s much colder, due to the altitude.

These possible side effects were mentioned several times… due to the altitude.

At the house, one daughter said the water tasted different, “maybe due to the altitude.” (I suggested it was probably just the different fridge.)

As another daughter climbed into bed with socks on, I was shocked to see how filthy the bottom of her feet were.

Eat with your fingers!

Note: This marks the third installment of Things I Never Expected to Say to My Kids.*

Dearest darling Joseph decided one day that eating with his fingers, a childlike, yet acceptable thing to do given his age, was too grown-up for him.

So he dived in to his pasta directly with his face.

Toddler logic

This may come as a shock to readers, but my two-year-old is not fond of napping. When I announced naptime, he hid behind the Curtain of Invisibility.

The Predator Becomes the Prey

I found this story in my drafts folder from about two years ago!

Raccoon photo courtesy of Pixabay.

We spotted a raccoon. In our yard.

Normally this would be met with a little excitement, mingled with a twinge of fear as in: Don’t let the kids get close; it could be rabid.

But tonight the sight meant: We have chickens! Get that b*stard out of here!

No one said that, of course. The children, after all. But Hubs and I were thinking it.

He grabbed a stick and chased after the raccoon, which jumped on the lattice fence. As it was crawling down the other side, Hubs jabbed the stick through a hole and got the racoon in its belly. It fell the remaining two feet and scurried off.

[If you love all creatures, great and small, including chicken killers, my apologies.]

“That will keep him away. But not for long,” Hubs said.

The children went on the offensive. Armed with sticks and a surprisingly functional  homemade bow and arrow, they kept guard, marching back and forth along the fence.

My brilliant son

Joe pointed to my husband’s shirt hanging up on the clothes rack and said, “Dada.”

“That’s right, Joe. That’s Dada’s.”

Then he pointed to my husband’s sock and said, “Dada.”

Me, thoroughly impressed: “Yes, Dada’s.”

Then he pointed to

The Chex Mix guy strikes again.

Twice actually. A few weeks ago, the 99c sale was on, calling me like a siren song. I hoped I’d see the CM guy so I could continue our funny banter. I was nearly disappointed until I saw him at the last check stand on my way out. (Click here and here for the first two encounters with the Chex Mix guy.)

“Hey, Chex Mix guy.” [I actually used his real name, but you know, privacy and all that.] When he looked up, I said, “Time to restock the Chex Mix again.”

Without missing a beat, he said, “Yeah, I knew it when I saw you come in.” [He probably didn’t see me come in.]

My spoils.

Today I was back. He walked by as I was checking out.

The hidden glamorous side of motherhood

My friend with three sons posted this on facebook:

Life as the Activities Director at Camp Mommy is seldom dull. Overheard this morning:

Boy 1 – “What should we do?”

Boy 2- “Let’s all get in the closet and fart. Last one standing wins.”

I’m glad I have three girls. Although, today the youngest said,

Bits and Bobs

No actual Bobs were hurt or thought about during the writing of this post. Shoot. Now I just thought of one. I hope he’s okay.

I was reciting spelling words to my ten-year-old. One of the words was recurring. She wrote it twice. On purpose. Clever girl.

This is the same girl who, six years ago, was in a narrating kick. She once said, “Lucy is walking, walking, walking. Lucy is leaving the room.” (Thank goodness.)

There’s a man who periodically comes to the door asking if he can cut branches off our eucalyptus tree. I think he said his sister uses them in her florist shop. Since the tree grows like a weed and we occasionally have to have it professionally trimmed, I’m always happy to let him.

This time he said he’d be right back after picking his kids up from the school around the corner. When he was gone for a long time I worried he’d changed his mind. Finally there was a knock on the door. The man’s young son was standing there with a bouquet of flowers.

“My mom said to give these to you.”

I thanked him and told him to pass along the thanks to his wonderful mom. I neglected to

Some day, Baby. Some day.

For reasons unknown to me, family members enjoy offering Baby Joseph food and laughing at his complete disinterest in this strange multi-colored stuff we’re putting in our mouths.

My youngest daughter said to him in her high-pitched little voice, “You want chips and salsa, Joe? You want some beer?” (Please note that she was consuming neither.)

But the goofiness doesn’t end there. My oldest spilled dry Rice Krispies on the floor. Did she sweep them up right away? No. She brought out

One difference between moms and kids

Kids are funny, like, all the time. Moms are funny some of the time. The fundamental difference, of course, is that moms usually know when they’re being funny. They’re actually doing it ON PURPOSE. Kids don’t usually laugh at something they say or do until they notice you’re laughing. Then their laugh is something like, “Eh-he-he. I don’t know what’s funny, but it must have been something I did. Just go along with it so they think you did it on purpose. Eh-he-he.”

Case in point of a funny mom: Defining Motherhood graciously nominated me for a Leibster Award. Hardee-har-har. That’s not the funny part.