About five years ago, I started a post about funny things my daughter was saying at the time, but I never finished it. I forgot about it until last weekend, when I stumbled on the draft in one of my files. So today, Iâ€™m including three things Baby-Girl said when she was probably six or seven, and Iâ€™ve added two additional gems; one dates back to last fall, and the other is fresh from last weekend, said hours after Iâ€™d discovered my unfinished draft.
One afternoon, my sons and I were mid-conversation when Baby-Girl interrupted to ask a vocabulary question relating to something weâ€™d said.
â€œWait, what does â€˜cheesyâ€™ mean?â€ she asked.
I tried to think of synonyms she might know. â€œOh, you know, tacky or tasteless, dorky maybe.â€
She looked stumped for a second and then offered, â€œWait, I do know what â€˜cut the cheeseâ€™ means.â€
She was quiet for a beat. Then, she stage whispered, â€œBut I wonâ€™t say it out loud.â€
I forget now the setting in which this happened, but somehow, my younger son bumped his head hard enough for some concern. In trying to assess the degree of his injury, I asked him a series of questions like who the president was and what the answers were to simple math equations. He answered well, and I forgot about the incident until the next day, when Baby-Girl came downstairs announcing she had bumped her head on her lamp pretty hard. Yes, this sounds like a random injury, but there were no eyewitnesses.
â€œBut donâ€™t worry, Mom,â€ she assured me. â€œI tested myself by asking myself what two times two is. I answered â€˜four,â€™ so Iâ€™m okay.â€
Baby-Girl went through a â€œpuma phase.â€ Over a period of about six months, she began acquiring several pieces of apparel with puma patterns on them. One Sunday morning, she stepped out of her room wearing puma-patterned shoes, puma-patterned pants, a denim shirt with a puma pattern in its collar and sleeves, and a puma-patterned scarf. She stood quietly by her doorway for a few seconds, then turned and ran back in her room. When she emerged again, she had removed her scarf and changed her shoes. I gave her an inquisitive look.
â€œI think it was just too much puma,â€ she announced before running downstairs to the car.
Last fall, Baby-Girl asked me to quiz her on her vocabulary words for an upcoming test. She instructed me to give her the words and she would provide the definitions.
The list was extensive, but she flew through the first thirty or so, barely pausing for breath. This continued until we hit the word â€œbuffoon.â€
She furrowed her brow, slumped in the chair, and gripped its arms, thinking. Then she sat up and, in this rapid-fire voice she has, said, â€œOh, I know this one! Itâ€™s a place where bad people go to have drinks.â€
(Her hearing may be in question, but her exposure to old westerns doesnâ€™t appear to be.)
Around dinnertime last weekend, I noticed one of my sons had not showered yet for the day. As someone who sometimes showers twice a day due to workout schedules, this has always dumbfounded me, that there are people out there who have to be reminded or even cajoled or commanded into completing basic hygiene practices.
LCB, Baby-Girl, and I were sitting outside on our rocking chairs, and my son popped his hasnâ€™t-been-shampooed-in-a-day-and-a-half head out the door.
â€œDude, weâ€™re almost ready to eat dinner. Go take a shower already,â€ I told him.
You would have thought Iâ€™d asked him to plow the back eighty before nightfall, the way he groaned.
â€œItâ€™s too late, Mom,â€ he tried.
Baby-Girl, rocking on my lap, beat me to the punch. â€œIf itâ€™s too late to shower, then itâ€™s too late to have a wife.â€
Itâ€™s hard to parent well, or even with mediocrity, frankly. Itâ€™s enough, some days, to drive you to the
buffoon saloon in search of a drink with all those bad people. So itâ€™s nice when one childâ€™s wit makes up for anotherâ€™s laziness and allows you to sit back and, for once, just smile and say nothing.