Signs you may be a teensy bit scatterbrained

1. You try to open the grocery store's automatic door with your car's keyless entry. (This is not the first time this has happened.)
2. While waiting for a red light to change, you idle behind a car for approximately five minutes before realizing that a) said car is turned off; b) said car has no driver inside; c) said car is, in fact, parked; and d) you overshot the exit lane entirely and are actually still within the confines of the parking lot.
3. You ask a department store clerk to please put the refund on your carrot card. Twice.
4. You begin breaking up ice in the freezer and discover the Girl Scout permission slip that has been "missing" for four days is sitting in your icemaker.

You can't have him. He is OURS.

I spent last night laying on our glorious new couch (LOVE IT!), reveling in my high level of comfort and unabashedly watching a smorgasbord of TV shows.

My husband ignored our couch's siren song and instead spent two hours at the dining room table making this for the girls:

This photo doesn't even begin to do this pumpkin justice. I think Chris missed his calling.

Thankfully for both my kids and myself, I really married up.

Slow down there, Willie

Sophie just leaned in and whispered, "What's a sleepover?"

After I explained, she informed me that her classmate Willie would like to have a sleepover with her. Apparently, he is coming over tomorrow and bringing his bed and some snacks. He will be here at fifty-two.

"Fifty two what?" I inquired.

"Fifty two time," Sophie clarified with a sigh.

Then she told me I could call his mom at 43-2 to confirm plans.

I theorized that maybe we should try a playdate before jumping straight into the world of sleepovers. Sophie asked if Willie could still bring snacks. After assuring her that Willie is more than welcome to bring any snack he likes, she agreed that a playdate was probably a more reasonable first step.

I really gotta meet this Willie. He sounds like an interesting dude.

Sophie on a Friday morning

Soph: "Taylore and I sat next to Willie the other day at school and it was so funny because we kept saying 'there's a girl next to you, there's a girl next to you, there's a girl next to you' until he screamed and ran away!"
Me: "You are silly. Why did he run away?"
Soph: "Willie doesn't like girls. He says we are yucky."
Me: "Well, that's not very nice."
Soph: "He's just confused. I told him we weren't yucky, we just have vaginas and he has peanut-ses and we can still play together."
Me: "Penises. Not peanut-ses."
Soph: "I know, that's what I said!"
Me: "Okay. Well, try to go easy on poor Willie. Sounds like you freaked him out."
Soph: "No. He likes it. On the inside. I can tell."
Me: "Hmmm. You are a very wise four-year-old, Sophie. Very wise indeed."
Soph: "Thank you."

---------------------------

Soph: "In Misconsin, is it night or day right now?"
Me: "It's morning in Wisconsin, just like here. Wisconsin isn't that far away from Illinois, so they have morning and night at the same times we do."
Soph: "But the kids go to different schools there, right?"
Me: "Well...yes. I mean, different school buildings. But they learn at their schools, just like you learn at yours."
[long pause]
Soph: "Do they get to climb trees at their school?"
Me: "I don't know, honey."
Soph: "Ugh! I bet they do. Misconsin is so lucky."

I Want To Go To School Where Sophie Goes To School

Emma: "Our substitute yesterday let us do whatever we wanted for 15 minutes!"
Sophie: "Wow. Could you do FLIPS?!"
Emma: "No! We still had to do school stuff, just whatever we wanted."
Sophie: "Did you do a cartwheel???"
Emma: "No, Sophie. I mean we got to read or play with our netbooks or whatever. You know, school stuff."
[pause]
Soph: "Did you get to climb trees?"

Mirror Mirror On The Wall

My children are officially way too smart - and sassy - for me. Here's a sample of our breakfast conversation this morning:

Emma: "Remember at my old school, how you kept trying to get me to not be friends with O?"

Me: "That's not true!"

Emma: "Yeah, it is true. You told me that if she was mean to me, I shouldn't be friends with her."

Me: "Well, yes...but I didn't necessarily want you to stop being friends altogether. Still, I don't understand why you would want to be friends with somebody who makes you feel badly on purpose. That, to me, is not a true friend."

Sophie: "Sometimes I'm mean to Mia Gibbons at school. But then she tells the teacher, and I say 'I'm sorry' and then it's okay. She is still my friend."

Me: "Well...just because you apologize doesn't mean it's okay. Saying 'I'm sorry' is nice, but you also shouldn't be mean to someone in the first place."

Sophie: "But how else will she know that she made me mad?"

Me: "You could just say, 'I don't like it when you do that Mia. Could you please stop?'"

Sophie: "But that doesn't get my anger out. How else am I supposed to get my anger out if I don't yell and scream?"

Me [to Emma]: "Hmmm...wonder where she got that idea from?"

Emma: "Oh yeah. Like you never yell at people. Look in the mirror, missy! I'm not taking the blame for this one."

Happy Frickin' Halloween

The four of us recently went costume shopping for the kids. We were all pretty excited about it. Chris and I even confessed to each other later that we'd been looking forward to the outing all day. Slightly pathetic, I know...but we are always striving to do more things together as a family, so just the fact that both parents were along for the ride made the excursion feel extra special. Plus, it's Halloween costumes! Pretty fun, right?

I'm not exactly sure when things went wrong, but in hindsight, I suspect the trip was doomed from the start. The girls were tired and hungry, and I should have been more on guard the moment I sensed restlessness and felt the need to promise dinner at the kids' favorite restaurant if they behaved. But I decided to soldier on and hope for the best.

We entered the store with a clear plan: Emma wanted to be a vampire and Sophie wanted to be Minnie Mouse. That plan went hurtling out the window the minute both girls saw the entire wall of costume choices before them. After about 20 minutes of back and forth, several polite "Are you ready yet?" inquiries from the store clerk, and a lot of whining and tears from both girls, we were no closer to making a decision. Sophie managed to choose every costume in the store that was not available in her size while inexplicably turning her back on Minnie Mouse, and Emma dismissed several cool vampire ensembles in favor of a zombie prom queen getup that her Daddy quickly banned for being inappropriate. (I have no idea why Chris had such a negative reaction to that costume, but once he laid down the gauntlet, I had to back him up. Lord knows he's supported several unilateral decisions on my part that he didn't understand, so I definitely owed him.)

Finally, we successfully coerced the girls into each selecting an outfit to try on. And then, we entered the dressing room...or, as I like to think of it, the seventh circle of hell.

First of all, the space was really small and hot. We were wedged in pretty tight, and soon we were all grumpy buckets of sweat. The girls started shoving at each other to "make room" and an argument broke out over how to best get the costumes out of their packaging. At one point, Em took Sophie's outfit in an attempt to open it, and Soph broke out her signature move: A shout of "Em-MA" accompanied by an indignant foot stomp. (Classic Sophie, and always a harbinger of bad things to come.) Sophie's witch outfit barely made it over her head before being ripped off, thrown to the floor, and declared "the ugliest costume I've ever seen." But the situation didn't reach Level 5 status until Emma started complaining that her costume was scratchy. By the time we got it all the way on her body, she was shrieking and wailing like someone had just driven a toothpick under her fingernail. She actually edged toward full-out hysteria, clawing at her face and screaming for at least ten seconds in high C territory because the costume was "itching like ants, oh my god, oh my god, get it off get it off GET IT OFF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" I would love to say that I observed this behavior with a zen detachment, but the truth is that I lost my shit and started yelling phrases like, "Calm DOWN!" and "Have you lost your mind?" and "You have got to be kidding me!" as I ripped Emma's costume off as quickly as possible.

As we emerged from the dressing area, I took one look at Chris and declared, "I. Am. Done." I can only imagine what my poor husband was thinking at that point, but to his credit (or not...I waffled on the point myself), he kept trying to tempt the girls with random accessories in a misguided attempt at salvaging the outing. However, none of us was having it. I told Emma she could wear a tank top under her torture device costume to help with the itching and gave Sophie the ultimatum of Minnie Mouse or nothing. She opted for the mouse and we quickly paid for both costumes.

Both girls were firmly attached to me--Sophie on my hip and Emma at my waist--as we exited the store. (After my girls act out, they also get very clingy. Of course, the timing is highly suspect. Demanding affection at the precise moment that I would prefer to be as far away from them as possible? Children are masters at emotional manipulation.) Everyone had finally started to calm down when Sophie had the audacity to ask if we were still going out for dinner and was promptly told HELL NO. (Well, the "hell" was implied. Strongly.) So we rode home to the relaxing soundtrack of Sophie weeping and gasping between sobs, "But...I...Want...Panda...EXPRESS!!!!" approximately 7,242 times.

After a tense dinner and early bedtime, I asked Chris why these types of routine excursions often go so wrong for us. He shared some very sound and rational theories that did absolutely nothing to deter me from my utter conviction that we are horrible parents raising demon children.

Of course, those same little demons gave us multiple hugs and kisses before bed and apologized for their actions more than once. The little one even said, "Thank you for taking us costume shopping, even though Emma ruined it." (Um...clearly her perspective of the evening was not exactly the same as mine, but I still appreciated the gratitude.) Those imps know exactly what they are doing. Just when we are ready to wring their necks, they go and do something to remind us how much we adore them.

So...that's how we do Halloween prep in the Mathews household. I don't really have a tidy wrap-up to this post. No epiphanies or anything. Depending on the moment you catch me, I'm either totally in love with my children or ready to ship them off to boarding school. (Often both at the same time.) At this point, I don't really see that changing much. My main goal is simply to document the lunacy so that someday, when my grandchildren go ballistic over...well...everything, and my dear grown daughters come to me for sympathy, this blog can help explain why I always greet their desperate cries for help with maniacal laughter.