No greasy fingers here, Mom.

I allowed my son to eat popcorn, but I wanted him to do it in his high chair. That way, his greasy fingers would be staying put, not potentially running along my sofa.

My son did not want to eat his popcorn in his high chair. He wanted to be free to roam.

And so he found a solution. He would eat his popcorn chair-free and hands-free.

“Look, Ma! No hands!”

I suppose I should applaud his problem solving skills.

Hubby picked up our hold items from the library, including this item:

Uuuuuumm…

“What’s this?” I asked him.

“Looks like it’s called Predators,” he helpfully tells me.

“I see that, but why did you bring it home?”

“It was on the hold shelf. You must’ve ordered it.”

I had not. It was clearly misfiled. I’m not sure if him thinking I had actually ordered this movie says more about him or more about me.

Do you have a favorite unexpected movie or genre?

[I did see the original Predator, actually, and can quote lines from it even, but that’s the extent of Predator movies for me.]

Human jungle gym

Me to my husband: Why are you just sitting there and not getting your work done?

Him:

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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.

When you spot a bug in the house, get a chicken.

At least, that’s what my daughter did.

An earwig was in the doorway between the in and outdoors. Most people would’ve grabbed a shoe and flicked the bugger outside.

But, nope. She retrieved a chicken to eat it instead.

 

We like giving our hens protein, after all.

Where are they learning this?!

My younger two girls decided to dress as tourists, complete with hats, purses, and a camera. Interesting, I thought.

Then one gave me a bright smile and said, “We’re robbing a museum! We’ve got our ninja clothes on underneath.” She lifted her pant leg to show me her black pants. “We packed gloves to cover our fingerprints, and I’ve got ninja stars in my purse.”

The younger daughter pulled out a toy phone. “And I’ve got this to communicate with!”

They set toys up around the room to pretend to steal.

The Write Spot, Part 2

Last week I wrote about my failed attempt to get serious writing done at home. The following week, I decided to venture back to the library.

Instead of sitting in the back corner in the section marked “Silent Zone,” I found a more central area, not directly under the AC, that was, at least initially, quiet.

Then someone I couldn’t see carried on a phone conversation at full volume. Minutes later, a librarian, of all people, explained to a patron the organizational system of the book stacks at even greater volume. And finally, an older gentleman asked if the seat next to me was taken. When I said no, he responded, “Now it is,” and plunked down with a waft of week-old body odor, dropped his pile of newspapers next to him, then crinkled through them one by one, all the while taking rattling breaths that twice made me check to be sure he hadn’t actually fallen asleep and was snoring.

The toddler and the baby

Little Joe was so sweetly and lovingly holding a baby doll, hugging and kissing it, I thought, “Awh, he’ll make a good dad some day, or perhaps big brother.”

Then he banged the doll’s head on the ground and yelled, “Ow!” Not once or twice, but three times.

Nice, baby. Niiiice. A few seconds before “Wham! Wham!”

Boys.

 

It’s not what you think. I can explain.

Some time after the kids had been playing outside my bedroom window, I walked into my room, looked out the window, and saw something that made me freeze, back up slowly, and call down the hallway, “Girls? Could you come here a moment?”

Then, pointing, “What. Is that?”

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.

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