Tag Archives: kids

A holiday Latin lesson…

29 Nov

Image Source: http://www.dumpaday.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/12/funny-unicorn.jpg

Thursday we were all loaded up in Alan’s car, heading over the river and through the woods with his kids in the backseat, on our way to their Grandma’s house for Thanksgiving.

His son, who is in sixth grade, was playing a game on his phone. “Oh no!” he exclaimed. “I just killed a unihorse!”

“A unihorse?” Alan asked. “Is that a single horse or a horse with a small horse coming out of his head?”

“No,” his son corrected, “It’s like a unicorn but it’s called a unihorse.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Alan continued. “Because in Latin ‘uni’ means ‘one’ so technically that means one horse.”

“Yeah,” his son agreed. “It sounds funny, but when I was younger, I used to think unicorn meant one corn.”

“Well, that kind of makes sense,” Alan offered, “Because in Latin, ‘corn’ means ‘horn.'”

After a five second pause, his son said, “Well, that certainly gives a whole new meaning to the word ‘corny.'”

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Sorry. Can’t be bothered to come up with a theme.

6 Oct

I have a half-dozen, half-baked posts that I just don’t have the attention span to finish. So instead, I’ll regale you with snippets.

Snippet #1:

On Friday I made fresh tortilla soup for dinner. The recipe called for a diced jalapeño, so I went to town on the pepper. Unfortunately, my allergies were also going to town, which apparently caused me to brush my nose/mouth at some point after I’d finished chopping.

Alan arrived home from work to find me in tears (from an especially pungent chopped onion), ranting that my face felt like fire ants were attacking it. Pretty sure neither of us wants me to bookmark that recipe for a repeat performance.

Snippet #2:

At work, my battle with the woman who pees on the toilet seat continues. Last week I had to pass over three separate stalls because they had either been dribbled on or had a paper toilet seat cover still stuck to the toilet. Enraged might be a tad strong to describe my reaction, but it was enough to prompt me to post the following sign in the bathroom:

© 2013 pithypants.com

And guess what? No more pee on the seat for the rest of the week. Uh-mazing. Apparently she can read. Just not wipe.

Snippet #3

Alan and I picked his kids up yesterday for his mom’s birthday celebration. On the ride to their house, this was the conversation:

Son (playing a video game): Sweet! I just made this camel spit!

Daughter: I’ve seen a camel.

Um, happy birthday?

Um, happy birthday?

Me: Did it spit?

Daughter: No, but it had diarrhea.

Me: Seriously? Where was this?

Daughter: At my friend’s birthday party.

Me: Were you guys at the zoo?

Daughter: No. They had a petting zoo thing come to their house.

Me: So a camel had diarrhea in your friend’s backyard?

Daughter: Uh-huh. It was gross.

Me: That’s awesome.

Son: Now I’m riding a cockatrice!

Me: Was there one of THOSE at the birthday party?

It wouldn’t be summer without the waterpark.

29 Aug

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It’s become something of a tradition for me to go to the waterpark with Alan and the kids when he has them for the last week of their summer break. So this past weekend… was Splashdown time.

Good news about this year’s trek – the Lazy River did not close once while we were there. (Perhaps because they now sell rubber diapers in the snack shop? Compliments to the chef!)

On a somewhat related note, when we took a lunch break and passed around a bottle of water, Alan’s son suggested we were drinking dinosaur pee. Alan refuted that, saying, urine and water are not the same thing. Helpfully, I chipped in, “But I’m going to guess every one of us has consumed human pee today.”

The kids looked disgusted and responded, predictably with, “No way!”

I raised my eyebrows. “Have you put your head IN the water in the Lazy River?” They nodded. “Fine. Then it’s a lock you’ve had urine in your mouth at some point today.”

Silence.

The kids recovered quickly and soon moved on to more important things.

Alan’s son informed me that you could bleed to death from any cut. “Maybe,” I said, “But in most cases you’d really have to work at it. I mean, you’d have to milk it like a cow.”

Alan’s daughter observed that it would be weird of you milked cows and blood came out. Then pointed out that Dracula would probably like that.

Which led us to speculate that perhaps he would be renamed, “Cownt Dracula” if that’s how he got his blood.

Image Source: http://funnydrive.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/07/apple-crack-funny-fruit.jpgWe all processed that for a minute, then someone said, “These apple slices are GOOD.”

“I would’ve brought more,” Alan explained, “But these were the last two apples.”

“In the WORLD?” we all asked at once. Points for us.

“Yes,” Alan said, “Ever. These slices mark the end of apples on the planet.” Points to Alan for playing along.

The conversation moved on to other things and, checking his watch, Alan suggested that we wrap up the meal and return to the waterpark. He looked at the kids and realized they were eating very slowly. “Come on! Let’s get moving.”

I’d been watching the situation unfold and said, “Good luck. I think we’ve reached a stalemate.” At some point, the kids had decided they each wanted to be the one who consumed the LAST bite of the LAST apple on Earth.

And so A’s slice remained untouched in the Tupperware container and K hid hers in her hand behind her head. I explained this to Alan and the kids started laughing, busted.

“I have an idea,” Alan said. “Let’s count to three and you can both eat them at the same time so it’s a tie.”

After many attempted psyche-outs, they finally both put the apples in their mouths. We started walking toward the gate. And here’s how the conversation went…

K: Did you swallow yet?

A: Nope. Did you?

K: Yeah.

A: Oh. (GULP)

K: Not really. I win.

A: Me too. I still have some in my mouth.

K: How much?

A: Flecks.

Alan: ENOUGH. I don’t want to hear about or see your apples!

Miraculously, the kids listened.

Now if only everyone at a waterpark could refrain from displaying their fruit. I might not have to barf in the Lazy River.

What’s the definition of a pet?

30 Nov
Pretty much.

Pretty much.

Last week, driving to Thanksgiving, we had Alan’s kids in the back of the car. They’re close in age and both under 10, so their primary goal in life these days seems to be to irritate the living shit out of each other. At least when they’re in the car.

As a result, we try to distract them by asking questions to force a conversation. During this particular drive, Alan asked, “So, how many pets do you guys currently have at home?”

At the same time, his daughter said, “One,” and his son said, “None.”

“So which is it?” he asked.

They started a verbal tug-of-war between One and None. Alan threw up his hand, “Hang on. Let’s figure this out.”

Then he asked his daughter, “Who do you consider a pet?”

To which she quickly replied, “Ladybug.”

His son, outraged, jumped in. “Ladybug is NOT a pet. It’s an insect.”

Now THIS definitely counts as a pet.

Now THIS definitely counts as a pet.

This launched another argument, so Alan hopped back in. “Whoa! There are a few simple questions that will help us determine if Ladybug is a pet. First: would it be in your house if you hadn’t deliberately brought it in?”

Yes: Ladybug was brought into the house.

“OK,” he continued. “Do you feed it?”

Yes: Leaves, a few times a week.

“And last question, does it have a name?”

Yes: Spotty.

“Well,” Alan scratched his chin. “Sounds like it’s a pet.”

His son, not accepting the verdict said, “But it doesn’t have any personality!”

To which his daughter replied, “Does too!”

Then after a minute, she added, “You just don’t hang out with it enough.”

Fair enough.

A terrifyingly wet playground

30 Aug

Pretty Much…

Alan and I took his kids to Splashdown Waterpark yesterday. I’m still recovering, so I don’t have time for a full post. Instead, I’ll just share a few pearls of wisdom with you:

First: the Lazy River is actually pretty fun when you’re not sharing it with turds. Seems obvious, but if your only other waterpark experience was like mine, then this actually comes as something of a revelation.

Also: the Lazy River is also a far cry from lazy. It’s more like a treadmill. We spent the better part of two hours playing tag by swimming laps around the lazy river. Not sure about the kids, but I’m wiped out.

Second: Water Slides? Kind of terrifying. I’ve never liked the closed-tube kind because it makes me claustrophobic, so I thought I was wise by choosing the open slide. I should’ve realized my instincts were failing me when I saw that the closed-tube version had a congo line forming to ride it, while the open slide essentially had a wad of tumbleweed milling about on its steps. Instead, I thought, “Suckers!” as I sprinted past.

Then halfway down, spinning wildly in circles and banking like a professional luge athlete, I found myself grabbing blindly at the sides of the slide, trying to slow myself so I wouldn’t go flying off it. And while they don’t have a mirror at the bottom, if Alan’s expression was indication, my face morphed from “Oh shit!” to “Thank the Lord!” as soon as I exited the slide. One and done.

Third: If you have a weave (by which I mean an elaborate hair piece), please don’t go to a waterpark. Or, if you’re going to go, then twist that mess up on top of your head. Otherwise, you look crazy walking around with butt-length hair, trying to keep it dry when you’re at a place called SPLASHpark.

Finally: I could spend an entire day watching people sit on the in-pool water fountains. At one point, Alan’s son was sitting on one and I caught Alan’s eye. “I’m not sure what’s happening,” I whispered, “but I’m pretty sure it’s either going to end with your son shitting in the pool or sporting a boner.”

And with that we left.

You’re welcome, Splashdown.