What a difference a day of pre-K can make

Today was Sophie's first day of pre-kindergarten.

I'm still trying to wrap my brain around the fact that both my babies are now in school full-time. I have juggled being a stay-at-home mom and working from home since Emma was three months old. I've always felt so grateful for the flexible work situation that has allowed me to be here - literally here - for my kids all these years. I know just how lucky I am, and I've tried to never take any of it for granted. But the arrangement does come with challenges, and it has often been difficult to manage it all. So after eight years of working whenever I could steal a few moments away (i.e. weekends, late nights, early mornings, naptimes, quiet times, here-girls-watch-a-video-while-mommy-works-just-five-more-minutes times), I am beyond excited at the prospect of having a more consistent structure to my work hours and finding a greater balance between work and family.

It is definitely bittersweet to watch my youngest enter the full-time world of education, but Sophie's almost five years old now. It is time for both of us to make this leap. She's totally ready...and lord knows her mama is.

However, Sophie didn't necessarily share my rosy outlook about the new arrangement when we headed off to school this morning.

 

This wasn't a huge transition really - same building, teachers and kids she had seen at summer camp three days a week for the last three months - so I wasn't too concerned. I knew Sophie would come around. She was just letting me know that she sensed a change, however small, and she wasn't too happy about it. I was sorry Soph wasn't more excited, but I didn't let her bad mood dampen my own enthusiasm one little bit. I managed to restrain myself from shouting "I'm FREEEEEEEE!" and drop-kicking the door open before running full tilt to the car, but I did have a little extra spring in my step as I said goodbye.

Thankfully, Sophie's mood had improved considerably when we picked her up at the end of the day.

In Sophie's words, school was "awesome" and she can't wait to go back tomorrow. We'll see if that holds true after morning dawns and it sinks in that she isn't staying home with me on Tuesday like she usually does. As always, one day at a time. But so far, so very very very very good.

Graduation! (Yes, four-year-olds need rites of passage too.)

Sophie officially graduated today from the preschool she attended in the city for two years, Hoyne Street Playgroup.

We feel incredibly blessed to have discovered this small, shining jewel back when Emma was just a toddler. In fact, I am still astounded at the dumb luck that led us to Playgroup in the first place. I was so overwhelmed by all the preschool options floating around Chicago (ah, choices...one of the best and worst things about living in a big city) that I desperately latched onto the first suggestion I received from a friend and immediately signed Emma up. Fast forward five years and here we are, saying a final goodbye to what has been an absolutely perfect first home-away-from-home for both of our daughters. We will miss all the teachers, parents and children we have met through Hoyne Street very, very much.

And now, onward and upward. Tomorrow...first day of pre-kindergarten! (Cross fingers for us and stay tuned...)

The kids didn't let a little rain slow them down. There was much playing in puddles and stomping in mud. Here's Sophie getting goofy with her friends Ada and Lily.

Full circle, indeed! As a Hoyne St. alumnus, Emma was the one who presented Sophie with her graduation bag. It was awesome to have Em share this special day with her little sister.

Sophie with her beloved Miss Louise. Oh, what this wonderful woman has meant to our family over the years! I am actually getting choked up right now just typing about it. Every parent in the world should be lucky enough to have a first teacher like Louise for their kids. I know, without a doubt, that no one in our family will ever forget her.

Sophie's teacher Ben made tooth boxes for each child as a graduation gift. Emma has one from her graduation three years ago, and it remains a treasured possession.

 Enlarge the diploma and read it all if you can. You'll get a good sense of the philosophy behind what makes Hoyne Street so special.

Group shot! Amazingly, we were able to wrangle all three teachers and every graduate into one photo...plus a couple of strays. (One of the kids was feeling a little lonely without his daddy and little sister with him, so they snuck into the back of the pic.)

Emma the Brave

Emma had her first day of third grade yesterday. (Btw, check out the new accessories in the pic below. Yep, Em finally took the plunge and got her ears pierced on Monday. Every time I see those little earrings twinkling away, I'm struck by how damn mature they make her look. It's semi-terrifying.)

As most of you know, we moved out to the 'burbs this summer after 14 years of city living. So yesterday not only marked the start of a new grade for Emma, but also a brand new school at which she didn't know a soul. I was so lucky growing up because I never once had to change schools. I lived in the same town - hell, the same house - my entire childhood, and the kids I met in kindergarten were the same ones I graduated alongside senior year. I always thought being the "new kid" would be so scary, and I wasn't really sure how Emma would handle the transition. This is the first time we've moved since she's been born, so there was really no precedent. She was super nervous, I was super nervous, and there were a few tears from both of us as I dropped her off. But when the last bell of the morning rang and her class began shuffling inside, she marched right into that school building and didn't once look back. I was so damn proud of her. At pick up, she greeted me with a huge smile and declared that her day was "awesome" and she already had two new friends. I gave her a huge hug and kept chanting in my head, "Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you."

Her first homework assignment of the year was to fill a paper bag with three items that really describe who she is. She decided one should be a picture of her doing a cartwheel. (Sadly, just a few minutes after the below photo was taken, Em's foot got into a fight with the entertainment center during a cartwheel-gone-wrong and the entertainment center won. Now she's rocking a nasty slice the whole length of her foot, which I think she's rather proud of.) The other two things she selected were a pen to represent her love of writing, and a smiley face because she likes to tell jokes. She's not particularly adept at telling jokes, but it's true that the girl definitely digs telling them. 

THIRD. GRADE. Wow. It feels unreal. If anyone out there knows how to stop time, drop me a line please...sooner rather than later. In the meantime, I'm just gonna keep watching this little girl of mine blossom and try to stay the hell out of her way.

Movie trailers, bats, and all other kinds of awesome

We just returned from our annual Ohio vacation with the Dippel family, and as always, we had a blast. We played lots of board games, ate lots of food, and battled lots of bats. Yes, BATS.

In the early morning hours of one fine gaming evening, we endured three separate visits from the flapping little beasts. The kids miraculously slept through the entire thing. The adults each played a role in bat control...some more effectively than others. My Chris stormed right into the fray and caught the little buggers. Claire planted herself on the stairs and protected the children by flapping a pillow maniacally whenever a bat neared. Chris D. started screaming M. Night Shyamalan quotes and flying a toy helicopter into the bat cave living room. I ran for my life and took cover, hiding in the bathroom (bat attack #1), the laundry room (bat attack #2), and under the table (bat attack #3) before finally barricading myself in the bedroom when a bat that looked an awful lot like a helicopter flew a little too close for comfort. After Claire and my Chris chased the last bat downstairs and then actually followed it into the bowels of hell unfinished basement to verify the point of entry, "Mission: Bat Containment" was accomplished with a blanket and lots of duck tape.

I tell ya...we all felt like superheroes after that crazy encounter. (Shut up. Hiding is too a superpower.) So, we decided to make a movie trailer about it.

Luckily, we had movie-trailer-making whiz Charlotte Dippel on hand. An ipad camera prodigy at the tender age of 9 years old, she made two awesome and gloriously creepy trailers featuring the kids: The House of Seacrisy and The Haunted House of Indiana. Charlotte and Chris D. shared directing duties on the trailer that includes all of us, Super, Ohio. Take a gander below. (Watch them on full screen if you can - they are so much better that way.) Enjoy, and be sure to look for all three flicks not so soon in a theater near you!

Life According to Emma

Despite my best efforts to raise a future oncologist, it's becoming more and more apparent that my oldest child is a born performer. They gave out awards at Emma's camp today. Other kids were declared Most Likely To Be A Judge or Go To The Olympics or Travel The World. Em was crowned Most Likely To Be On America's Got Talent.

Her camp counselor gushed about what a great dancer Emma was and asked if I'd ever seen her "moves." I assured her that yes, I most certainly had. That didn't stop Emma from breaking into dance right there in the parking lot. I didn't catch everything she did, but it somehow involved monkeys, chickens, and a lot of hip-shaking. She would periodically spit out "What you got?" while wiggling around, and she ended the routine by shouting "Touch THAT!" and dropping dramatically to all fours on the ground. The counselors erupted in applause while Emma basked in their praise. 

On the ride home, I asked Em about her day.

Em: "Well, I accidentally did the splits. For real. I know they were the real splits because my privates touched the ground."

Me: "Ouch. Be careful, baby. You have to work up to doing the splits or you can seriously hurt yourself."

Em: "I know, it did hurt! But that's okay. Like Ashley says, 'No pain, no gay.'"

Me: "Um...I think the saying is...oh, never mind. So, what did you watch for your movie today?"

Em: "Journey 2."

Me: "I don't know that movie. Do you mean Journey to the Center of the Earth?"

Em: "Nooooooooooo, I mean Journey 2. I think they are related, but they're not the same movie." [Note: I'm 98% sure it's the same movie.]

Me: [sarcastic] "Related? What, like sisters or something?"

Em: [completely serious] "No, more like cousins."

Me: "Okay. So, what was the movie about?"

Em: "It had Daddy moves in it."

Me: "What's a 'Daddy Move'?"

Em: "Come on Mom, everybody knows what a Daddy Move is."

Me: "Well, I don't, so can you explain it to me please?"

Em: "A Daddy Move is when a guy jumps up and down and makes his boobs bounce around, and then he flicks cherries with his boobs like a drum." [Note: Has anyone seen this movie and can explain to me what the HELL she is talking about???]

Me: "Wow. Well. Um...on that note, I'm kinda scared to ask you any more questions, so let's just listen to the radio, okay?" 

Em: "Okay."

Sarcasm Takes Practice

Emma went camping with her friend over the weekend. She was gone for three days, and we missed her terribly. She called every night before going to sleep. This was our conversation on Friday night.

Phone rings.

Me: "Hello?"

Em: "Let me tell you about my 'adventurous' day."

Pause.

Me: "Well, hello to you too. Yes, please, tell me everything. What did you do?"

Em: "Mom. That was sarcasm. Didn't you hear it?"

Me: "Oh. Um...not really. I mean, it's hard to know if you are being sarcastic unless I know what you are being sarcastic about. I need a little more context, you know what I mean?"

Em: "Oh. Okay."

Click.

Pause.

Phone rings.

Me:  "Hello? Em? Did you just hang up on me?"

Em: "Let me tell you about my 'adventurous' day. First, Charlie [the dog] threw up all over me. In the car. On the highway. My shirt was ruined and I had to sit in it the rest of the car ride! Then, I had to go to the bathroom REALLY REALLY bad and we couldn't stop, so I had to pee in a cup. A cup! Can you believe that? Boy, do I love camping!"

Pause.

Me: "Oh honey. I'm sorry you've had such a rough day, but I must say...I think that's the best sarcasm you've ever done. You really nailed it. Great job."

Em: "Thanks, Mommy! I worked really hard on it."

Gettin' It Right, One Father At A Time

There is something about fathers and daughters.

I have gotten a lot wrong in my life, and a lot right. But whether it be luck or providence or instinct (or, more likely, an amalgam of all of this and more), something divine and lovely led me to the best decision I have ever made: choosing the most kick-ass man in the world to procreate with. Whenever I despair about trying to raise two confident, independent, centered, and unapologetically strong women, I comfort myself with the knowledge that they already have a major leg up. They have a Daddy who loves, respects, accepts, and champions them. A Daddy who would do anything for them. A Daddy who works tirelessly to provide for them. A Daddy who celebrates who they are and nurtures who they will be. A Daddy who is constant in his love and attention. A Daddy who relishes living in a house full of women. A Daddy who will always, always, always be there for them. So, I figure Father's Day is a wonderful excuse to honor the best damn father I know, Mr. Christopher Robert Mathews. We love you, baby.

Today is also a great time to acknowledge ALL the amazing fathers out there that are doing their best, and doing it well. I came across a blog post the other day from one such father that touched me so deeply. I don't know this person at all. He is just someone I stumbled across online whose words and thoughts reminded me of my own husband and the wishes we have for our daughters. Click here to read his open letter to his daughter. Seriously. Go ahead. You'll be glad you did.

Happy Father's Day to all the daddies far and wide...especially to my own Daddy, Larry P.

Beauty. Love. Safety.

Rough night in the Mathews household.

Emma was a grumpy, mouthy mess most of the afternoon. Finally, after multiple reprimands and consequences, I asked out of sheer frustration, "What is wrong with you?"

She climbed onto my lap, put her arms around me, buried her face in my chest, and started unloading a jumble of thoughts that were clearly weighing heavily on her. She doesn't like the way she looks. Her hair has holes in it and doesn't "stick together" and hang straight like she wants. Her face is a mixture of mine and Chris's, but she doesn't look like either one of us, just a weird blend of both of us that doesn't add up and makes her feel "like I'm not yours, like, for real." She likes her legs and her feet and her arms, but what does it matter if her face and hair are not perfect? Kids at school tell her she looks weird. Her teeth are crooked, her eyes are too big, her nose is "fat," her ears stick out. She hates all the clothes she wears because they don't cover up her face, and she wants me to help her change it, change her, so she looks like somebody new, somebody beautiful.

I was completely, utterly stunned. I tried hard to take in what she was saying and not just rush in with compliments and contradictions. I endeavored to keep my expression neutral, but my mind was churning with despairing thoughts: Dear god, this starts at eight years old??? I am wholly unprepared to tackle these issues so soon. What do I do? What do I say? What do I not say? How to proceed?

I told her I thought she was beautiful. She said I was just saying that because I am her mom. I told her that what she was feeling was common, that many people struggle with accepting who they are and how they look, including myself. She said she didn't believe me. I told her that nobody is perfect, and that our imperfections are actually what make us most beautiful, both inside and out. She said she didn't understand.

So I just shut up and held her. After awhile, she mumbled into my neck, "I don't want to leave here."

I thought she meant that she didn't want to leave our apartment, because we are moving in three days. But she clarified that she meant "here" literally, as in where she was at that exact moment.

"When I am in your arms, I feel safe. Your skin is warm and I can feel your heart beating and I know that you love me no matter what. I wish I could always be with you, and then I would never be scared."

I leaned down and whispered in her ear, "Emma, what you just said was beautiful. That is beauty. Love is beauty. All the rest of it - the hair, the face, the clothes - those are just distractions. Please don't let yourself get distracted."

She took this in, looked into my eyes, and said, "Okay. I think I understand, Mommy. That I understand."

I held her for a bit more before Sophie got tired of sharing me and wiggled her way in between us. I watched Emma resume cleaning her room, still struck dumb by the most mature and profound conversation I have ever had with my daughter. Then I prayed that the next time she feels unworthy - whether it be five minutes, hours, days, months, or years from now (oh please god, let it be years...can it please be years?) - she will remember the safety of my arms as she navigates the twisty road of self-doubt and self-loathing. Because honestly, as much as the knowledge terrifies me, I know that a safe place to fall is the only true and tangible thing I have to offer her. The rest she must do on her own. And I think she knows it too...which is a pretty shitty lesson to learn at eight years old.

Emma Bloomers Turns Eight

Emma's eighth birthday was Saturday.

It's always a hectic time of year for us because her big day is surrounded by several other important events: Chris's birthday, several close friends' birthdays, her Paw-Paw's birthday, and Father's Day all in a one week span. It's been an especially hectic time this year because we just closed on a new house (FIRST. HOUSE. EVER!) and are preparing to move this Saturday. So amid the chaos of boxes, to-do lists, and elevated stress levels that currently make up our lives, we squeezed in a birthday celebration for Miss Emma Bloom.

We went out to lunch and then to the pool for the afternoon. Although it was a pretty laidback celebration, the day still required some planning and an extra vehicle (thank you, Aunt Jayme!). Luckily, it all went off without a hitch...with one troubling exception. Emma invited three friends along, and two of the girls were utterly delightful. The third? Um...well, since I don't really derive any joy from denigrating second graders, I'll just say that one of Em's friends was apparently having a bad day and decided to bring some screaming and public tantrum-throwing to the party. Chris and I handled this alarming and oft-repeated behavior with as much compassion as we could muster, while exchanging looks that essentially translated to, "Hmmm...maybe our eight-year-old isn't as bad as we thought?" Ultimately, I had to have a rather uncomfortable conversation with the girl's mother and father, who were as lovely as any parents could be under such awkward circumstances. The whole thing was unfortunate, but Emma still had fun, which is all that really matters.

Because life seems to be moving at warp speed at the moment, I haven't had a chance to really process that my first baby is now eight years old. Truthfully, only one thing comes to mind as I think on it now: I feel really, really old. Of course, I also feel really, really lucky to be the parent of such an amazing, fierce, and dynamic little girl. But that has nothing to do with Emma's age, and everything to do with her heart.

Love you, Emma Bloom.

 Pay no attention to the boxes that have completely overtaken our apartment. 

I'm trying not to dwell on the fact that our home currently feels like an obstacle course.

Emma with her friend Juliette. 

Nothing like a birthday sundae and several waiters singing to you in a crowded restaurant to put a smile on a girl's face.

How Many Movies Am I Holding Up?

Sophie and I went to Target today so she could pick out a birthday gift for Emma. We found ourselves in the DVD section, where Sophie promptly pointed to a movie on the shelf.

Soph: "We could get her this Despicable Me. She hasn't seen this one."

Me: "Yes, she has. You both have. That's the one you have at home already."

Soph (pointing to an identical copy): "What about this one? Let's get THIS Despicable Me!"

Me: "That's the same movie."

Sophie frowned, but kept silent. Then she spotted yet another copy of the movie.

Soph: "Okay, let's buy this one! This one we haven't seen!"

Me: "Honey, yes you have. They are all the same movie. There is only one Despicable Me."

Sophie: "No, there isn't. There is three of them. See?"

Me: "Well...yes, there are three copies of the movie here, but they are all the same. See? Look at them side-by-side. The pictures on the front are all the same. It's the same movie."

Sophie: "But it's NOT the same movie. They are three DIFFERENT movies. I staring at them!"

Me: "I know it's confusing, but inside the box, it's the same movie. It's just Despicable Me in all three of them."

Soph: "I KNOW that. But they are different despicables, and I want to get the one that Emma hasn't seen."

Me: "Sophie. No. They are not different. That's what I'm trying to tell you. They are all the same movie."

Soph: "Mommy...ugh! Just...LISTEN to me. I KNOW they are all Despicable Me. I want the Despicable Me squeakuel. Like the chipmunks. WHICH ONE IS THE SQUEAKUEL?"

Me: "Honey, there is no squeakuel...er, sequel, for Despicable Me. It's not the same as the chipmunks. There is only one movie."

Sophie: "NO THERE ISN'T, THERE IS THREE! ONE, TWO, THREE!"

Me: "Sophie, stop screaming and listen to me. I know there are three boxes, but..."

Soph: "I AM COUNTING THEM. ONE! TWO! THREE!!!"

Me: "SOPHIE! Yes, there are three movies in my hand, but they are ALL THE SAME MOVIE!"

Suddenly, a heavenly angel Target employee who had overheard our entire exchange grabbed all three movies right out of my hand and said, "Whoops! These aren't supposed to be out here. They're broken! We can't sell any of these today. Sorry!"

Sophie and I both looked at him for a few seconds with our mouths hanging open. Then my previously apoplectic four-year-old merely shrugged her shoulders and said, "Oh. Okay."

Before I even had a chance to thank him, he turned abruptly and skedaddled down the aisle and through an "Employees Only" door with all three bothersome copies of Despicable Me stuck snugly under his arm. After he was completely out of sight, I turned to Sophie.

Me: "Well? What do you want to get Emma?"

Sophie: "Um...let's get the Alvin and the Chipmunks movie...the SQUEAKUEL one."

Me: "Done."

Sophie: "Do you think that movie will be broken too?"

Me: "No, baby. I think that movie will be perfect."

Anyone Know of a Drama Exterminator?

Sophie just went on this giant, rage-filled tangent about how Chris hid her Nintendo DS from her and now she can't find it and he had NO RIGHT to do that because it is her DS and she doesn't understand why he would do something like that and then just LAUGH about it because it is NOT nice to laugh and do mean things to other people and why would Daddy DO that to her? When she finally stopped to take a breath, I pointed out that her DS was sitting in full view, for all to see, on the dining room table. She paused, cocked her head, and said, "Hmmm. Maybe I just dreamed that Daddy hid my DS? Or....maybe he hasn't done it yet? Ohhhhhh. I bet that's it. He is going to do it tonight at family dinner. Mommy, you need to tell him NO, that hiding things is NOT NICE."

I woke up this morning to the sounds of Disney's "Victorious" shaking our apartment's walls. I peeked in the living room and found Emma completely dressed and eating breakfast in front of her TV show. She said she'd been up since "5:25am, in the morning." I asked her to please turn down the TV before she woke her sister. We played cat-and-mouse with the volume; she'd turn it down a couple of notches, I'd ask for more, she'd turn it down one more notch, I'd demand still lower. Finally, I told her to turn the volume below 20 or else the TV goes off. "20?!?" she shrieked. "That's, like, whispering. Ugh. I can't wait until I'm a grown up and can drink soda and make the rules. I hate being a kid. How am I supposed to bear it?"

A Rocken Mother's Day for a Rocken Mom

Because my birthday is on Christmas (which, yes, has always kinda sucked), and Christmas is really all about the kids (and rightfully so, in my opinion), Mother's Day is my best "me" day of the year now. My family goes out of their way to make it really special, and this year was no exception. Check it out!

A bouquet of flowers from each girl to start my day...pink-tipped roses from Emma and "rainbow flowers" from Sophie. (Clearly, Sophie has inherited my knowledge of plants b/c I would have dubbed them the exact same thing.) They were both quick to point out that they picked out their own ribbons too.

As you all know, I am obsessed with photo books. Well, my husband has apparently jumped on the bandwagon. Welcome to the funhouse, Chris! Emma made and decorated the green paper house for me, and Chris put together an awesome Mother's Day photo book that I will seriously treasure forever.

Emma made me many wonderful drawings and cards, including a meticulously rendered sketch of Gir from "Invador Zim." (And really, what mother doesn't want a drawing of a weird-looking robot for Mother's Day?) But the above poem that she wrote for me was my absolute favorite gift. She was so proud and insisted on reading it out loud. I LOVE how this girl's mind works. (p.s. I've never had carrot juice in my life.)

I loved the outside of Emma's poem-card too (above). I am particularly fond of the exclamation point family.

Sophie was in a bit of a mood on our family walk...I think she was regretting her decision to adamantly refuse to draw or make me anything all week long after she saw the huge haul her sister gave me and all the extra hugs and kisses of thanks Emma received as a result. :) (Don't worry - she got plenty of hugs and kisses of her own! But everything's a competition with sisters, you know.) She was pouty, and she needed major coaxing to sit and smile for the camera. Right after the above picture was taken, the girls ran off to fight over who could pick the most dandelions and Chris and I screamed at them to get out of the way of bikers flying down the jogging path and Sophie's shoe kept falling off while she ran and she eventually ended up bursting into tears because she didn't want fish sticks for lunch, even though no one had mentioned fish sticks for lunch. So all in all, a typical Sunday...which is to say: AWESOME. I love my sweet, combative, nonsensical, divinely imperfect family just the way we are, and I'm grateful every day that they love me too.

Happy Mother's Day to all the "rocken" moms out there!!!!!

Photo bombs

Chris and I actually went to a fancy smancy gala a couple of weeks ago. It was really nice to have a dressy, adult evening together, and we are grateful to our friend Robb for hanging out with the wee ones for the night.

I finally got around to downloading the photos of that evening from my camera, and I discovered some surprises. I learned two things: 1) It really sucks to see yourself captured on film during a moment in which you actually thought you looked good and realize that, in fact, you looked the exact opposite of good; and 2) Below is what happens when you leave your kids and your camera with Mr. Robb Rabito.

 

 

 
 

 

Sophie on a Tuesday

A lot of ground can be covered on the car ride to school...

--------------------
Sophie: "Where do mustaches come from - caterpillars or butterflies?"
--------------------
Me: "You have a substitute at school today. Miss Louise isn't feeling well, so Cary will be your teacher."
Soph: "Cary is a nice guy." [pause] "Yeah. I think I can work with him."
--------------------
Sophie loves to chew her food into weird configurations and then "play" with them. For about 10 minutes this morning, all I heard from the back seat was oddly-shaped pop-tart bits talking to each other: "This is the ladder. This is the sliiiiiiide. This is the ladder. This is the sliiiiiiide." When I finally hit my breaking point and asked Sophie to stop, she replied, "But it isn't me, Mommy. It's the pop-tarts. And pop-tart mommy said it was okay."
--------------------
Sophie: "If I had $5 and could get anything I wanted from the grocery store, I would get reg-lee-er juice, a candy bar, fun dip, cowgirl rope, a ring pop, and a pair of boots."
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Soph: "I miss Emma."
Me: "I know honey, but you'll see her tonight."
Soph: "I love my sister. I love what she says. She is the smartest sister that I ever have, did you know that, Mommy? It's true! Look it up!"

Emma on a Monday

Em: "Why did the chicken cross the road?"
Me: "I don't know...why?"
Em: "To get a chicken roast!"
[crickets]
Em: "Get it? Chicken roast? Cause 'roast' is like 'road', but you just switch the last letters and you have R-O-A-S-T? It's like a play on words."
Me: "But that doesn't make any sense."
Em: "But it's FUNNY! It's a lot funnier than 'to get to the other side.'"
Me: "I agree, 'to get to the other side' isn't very funny either. But I think 'to get to the other side' is supposed to be ironic. It plays with expectations. Like, people usually expect jokes to have a twist, but 'to get to the other side' is a sensible answer. So I think they are going for irony."
[pause]
Em: "I have no idea what you are talking about."
Me: "Well..."
Em: "'Chicken roast' makes sense! The chicken wants to eat a chicken roast - get it? Get it? And that's what makes it funny!"
Me: "Okay. If you say so. But I think the general rule with jokes is that if you have to explain why the joke is funny, that might be a sign that it's not the best joke."
Em: "Well, that doesn't make any sense. If I don't explain that the chicken roast man is on the other side of the road and he's giving away balloons and the roast smells really yummy, then people won't know why the chicken wants one so badly!"
Me: "Okay. You win. I take it all back. Great joke."
Em: "Thank you."