Quincy Learns the Value of Work

On the way to Karate:
Quincy: "I don't want to go to karate."
Mom: "Just think, in a few years, you'll have your black belt and you'll be glad you stuck with it."
Quincy: (Thinks for a while) "Can't we just buy me a black belt?"

Classic Quote

Quincy: "Mom, can you help me?"
Mom: "Just a minute. I've got to get Batman out of the toilet."

Comments from your kids that you DON'T want to hear

Voices from the kitchen floor:
"Look, Claire, we made a muddy lake."

Plog

I love the word "plog." It's a combination between "clog" and "plug." It perfectly describes what happens to the toilet when there's too much toilet paper in it: "Claire plogged the toilet" or "The toilet's plogged" (for those refusing to admit guilt). My kids think it's a real word. It should be.

One of Those Days

I went to pick up Quincy from karate the other day, and was talking to his teacher afterwards. During the conversation, as every mother does, I was periodically counting my children to make sure they were all there. At last count, I located Alyce, Quincy, and Claire, but didn't see Xander. I quickly scanned the room with no luck. "Where's Xander?" I asked to no one in particular. Starting to panic, I raced toward the doors thinking he had walked out the door and was on his way into the street. Alyce ran after me, saying, "Mom, Mom..." I turned around, irritated at this distraction. "What?" I asked curtly. She calmly replied, "Mom, you're holding him."

Hatching the Egg

I started fixing scrambled eggs for the kids for dinner. Into the kitchen skips Claire. "Can I help you, Mom? I want to hatch the eggs." "How cute," I thought, "Only a four-year-old would call it 'hatching the egg'." I let her hatch one egg into a cup. As she hatched...and hatched...and hatched the egg over and over again, I cringed when bits of shell found themselves amongst the hatchings. I carefully picked the shell out while another egg was scrambledly frying on the stove, browning faster and faster. My attention diverted between shells and smoke, I did not notice five little fingers reach up to carefully wrap themselves around another egg. A little voice asked, "Mom, can I hatch this egg?" Feeling somewhat frazzled, I couldn't catch myself in time. Unbidden, the words slipped out, "No, don't hatch that egg yet." Did I really just use the word "hatch?" Flipping the rapidly cooking egg, and retrieving the last of the shell, I finally felt back in control. That feeling of control does not last long in a mother's life. When I heard the splat, I realized what had happened. Claire's egg had just hatched itself all over the floor. Just another typical mother moment.