Archive for the ‘Overheard’ Category
Overheard at my house:
I don’t know. It’s this stabby pain in my ovary. It’s relentless.
~Oh, I hate it when that happens.
You hate it when your ovaries hurt? You have those now?
~I have sympathetic ovaries. . . I grew a pair.
He thinks he’s so funny. Of course, me falling down in the kitchen laughing only encourages him.
Boy Wonder: “Mom! You should be on Project Runway. You probably wouldn’t make it very far, but I’d be rooting for you all the way!”
Boy Wonder: “Mom! You should be a model on Project Runway. You’d score lots of cool clothes that way!”
I suspect my child is the embodiment of blind faith. Or Yogi Berra.
Boy Wonder: “So with my computer locking up it was like dÃ©jÃ vu from that episode of Andromeda. . .”
Me: “Wait, wait, wait. You can’t have dÃ©jÃ vu from a television show. Even if it is Science Fiction.”
Boy Wonder (turning back to his father): “Like I was saying. . .”
I’m seriously outnumbered here.Â
Overheard at my house. . .Â
Boy Wonder: “Mom, could you get Picasso ice cream?”
Me: “Picasso ice cream?”
Boy Wonder: “Yeah, you know, it has chocolate and cherries. . . ”
Me: “The one with pistachios? Â I’m thinking you meanÂ Spumoni.”
Boy Wonder: “Oh, right. Spumoni. That’s what I meant.”
Me: “You know, I don’t think our bedroom is all that girly.”
IZ: “Uh huh. . .”
Me: “In fact, I’d say it’s the most masculine it’s ever been.”
IZ: “Could be.”
Me: “You really are the King ofÂ NoncommittalÂ language!”
Me: “You think?”
IZ: . . .Â
Seriously, folks, his spidey-sense is telling him this conversation is a trap. Â
IZ: You know this colon cleansing stuff is for the birds. Oh, I know what all those woo-woo health people say, but seriously? They Â can keep their clean colons. I’ll take mine dirty any day! I’m proud to say that the very first thing I polluted my colon with was McDonald’s!
Me: Is that so?
IZ: Yes! (pumping fist in the air)Â I’m striking a blow for dirty colons everywhere!
Boy Wonder: “I like that movie.”
Me: “Seriously? You like ‘The Sound of Music’?”
Boy Wonder: “Yeah. Why? You don’t?”
Me: “Meh. You are so not my child. You are your father’s child.”
Boy Wonder: “I like some of the things you like . . . such as trouble.”
(He gets that smart-mouth from me, too. Shhhh)
Me: “If I were London I’d be embarrassed right now. I don’t think they should even bother with an opening ceremony in four years.Â Just march the athletes into the stadium, ‘Hey kids, wave at the camera’, raise a few flags, sing a few anthems, and break out the brew.”
IZ: “Well, you know who has to be worried right about now, Vancouver, BC.”
Me: “No kidding. They could just spend the whole time pointing out that they have snow and reciting all the names for it. ‘Snow. Snow. Snow,’ two hours later, ‘Snow. Snow. Snow. Did you know no two snowflakes are alike? Look, we have SNOW.'”
Boy Wonder, “No, you’re saying that all wrong. That should be, “Snow, eh. Snow, eh. Snow, eh. Did you know no two snowflakes are alike, eh?”
We love you Canada, but seriously—go OLD SCHOOL and just introduce the athletes, eh?
Boy Wonder: “You cannot sell this.”
Me: “Why not?”
Boy Wonder: “Because I LOVE it!”
Me: “Yeah, but would you really use it? I mean, you’d carry that onto a plane?”
Boy Wonder: “Sure! It makes me laugh, Mom.”
Me: “Yeah, but I didn’t exactlyÂ make those for 11 year olds; frankly, I didn’t think it would appeal to your age group.”
Boy Wonder: “Yeah, I know. It’s for little kids and adults who don’t care what people think. . . So don’t tell my friends, m’kay?”
Me: “Nope, I won’t tell your friends.”
Yesterday, I had the most delightful conversation with my favorite five year old on the planet. Five is such a special age; but this little boy takes my breath away. When he was three, he drew me a picture chock full of golden yellow scribbles. I asked him what he called his picture and he said, “Luck. It’s for you.” It hangs on my refrigerator to this day.
M: So do you want me to tell you something?
M: I love birds.
Me: Really? (You can see what a witty conversationalist I am here!)
M: Yes. I love wild birds and pet birds. . .
Me: So, you love all birds, then.
M: Well, no. Not the dead ones. The dead ones make me sad.
Me: So what is your favorite bird, M?
M: Oh, I don’t think I have a favorite.
Me: I’m very fond of Ravens, myself. And I like Hummingbirds, too.
M: I just don’t see how they survive on only sugar water. It can’t be very good for them.
M: You want me to tell you something?
M: I had a bad dream. I don’t know if it was a nightmare because I’ve never had nightmare in my entire life.
Me: What’s the difference between a nightmare and a bad dream?
M: Well, my bad dream had Harry Potter and Hermione in it. But none of the teachers. And Ron was not there either. Just Harry and Hermione.
It’s good to be five. It’s even better to be asked, “So, do you want me to tell you something?”