Charlie logic

Remember when Charlie asked me if I would take off his shirt the next time he needed to punch a guy? After some confusion, I figured out he was talking about Wii Boxing. His Mii wears only boxing shorts for the game and being a character is very important to Charlie these days.

I bought him a set of summer-weight pajamas two years ago when I found them on clearance at Old Navy. The top is a t-shirt and the bottom is, essentially, a pair of boxers. They are white and grey with little airplanes on them. Since, despite turning 5 this summer, he shows no signs of ever outgrowing 2T, he has dubbed them his Boxin Pants and wears them at every opportunity.

I find myself arguing that Boxin Pants, despite the clever title, are not suitable for public wear. They're not even okay for the backyard. "But dey Boxin Pants, mommy. Dey are named pants and pants are otay for outside."

"You named them pants, Charlie. They are not pants, they are underwear," I rebut. "No one wants to see your underwear."

We've had this conversation for weeks. Today, he takes a new approach--wearing them inside out.

"Dat way, dey do not haff to see dem. Dey are inverted."


Imparting Wisdom your way

I have long felt that age three was far worse than two. No question. Four is your reward for not beating your three-year-old to death. Then, about the time they start to get sassy again, you send them to kindergarten to be an SEP*

*somebody else's problem


I think she's missing the point

We went to the PTA meeting tonight so that the girls could receive their Proud Eagle awards. Dowlan was at a class, so I took the kids and, as is often the case, the menagerie made for an interesting evening.

We're sitting with a friend from Melody's class and her mother in a middle school cafetorium on the front row, but all the way to the end. I'm not there long when one of my students comes in, looking quite confused. I leave my kids with the friend's mom and walk him over to the band hall for the meeting he's supposed to be at. I return to the cafeteria to find an unhappy Charlie.

He wants the girls to sit in different chairs so that he can be by all of them. I try to explain that there are three girls and only two sides of a Charlie. This does not go over well. I bribe him with gum to get him to sit. It lasts just long enough to be swallowed.

His attention returns to the new source of excitement in his life: his swirly spoon. It is from an eight-pack of yogurt. It's like those wooden flat spoons that came with ice cream cups as a kid, only this is orange on one side, red on the other and has a swirly design. It also, apparently, possesses magical properties. It can change anything into any flavor.

He explains this to me. Loudly.

Meanwhile, the girls have moved to the floor. Charlie goes to sit on the floor. Bored by his spoon, he begins chanting, "Oooh! Oooh! FART! Oooh! Oooh! FART!"

I ask him to pick a better word.

"Choco-choco-chocolate! Choco-choco-chocolate!"

Well, he DID follow my directions. I decide it's time for more gum. He tells me how much he likes it six times before he swallows it.

The talking part is over and now it is time for the Proud Eagles to be awarded. As they work their way through the kindergarten classes, Charlie begins getting worked up. "Am I going to be da pwoud Eagle?"

"No, honey. You don't go to this school. At your school, you are mustangs."

"But I tan't be a pwoud one of dat. I need ta be an Eagle."

"You can be an eagle in two more years. But I need you to be quiet and watch your sisters."

They move on to first grade and I move to the middle to take a pic. I get this one in before Charlie follows me over.


I see the swirly spoon entering my field just in time to move six inches to the left and take this one.


They call a couple of kids from other classes while he pleads, "Take a pickcha of da Tchawie! You need dat pwoud pickcha."


Then I pin him down with one hand to take the next picture.


Since my phone was quickly running out of space, I deleted the two spoon-infested versions of this picture.


Then we returned to our spot while the other grade levels were called. At his insistence, these were taken.

Photobucket Photobucket Photobucket

After hearing about fifty third graders play three songs on recorder, they announce that homework passes are available. The girls ask what those are and I explain them to an increasingly agitated Melody.

"That is irresponsible. Why would a FIRST GRADER want a homework pass? Even if my homework is easy or boring, I do it every day because it full of things I need to LEARN. If I skip my homework, how am I going to do well on my tests? How am I going to know the things I need to know?"

Dixie had a different take, entirely. "Can I save this for second grade when it gets hard?"

Proud of my turkeys, er, eagles

Each six weeks, the teachers at the girls' school pick a boy and a girl to be Proud Eagle. Guess who is the mommy of two proud eagles?

When Melody's teacher announced to the class last Friday that she was Proud Eagle, she told them, "Melody is an -er and -est student. You are all kind children, but Melody is the kindest. There are many in my class who work hard,, but Melody works harder."

I thought that was such a good description of my sweetie.

Dixie didn't learn about hers until yesterday. I didn't get the verbatim description out of her that I got out of Melody, but I know that Dixie is becoming the patient, thoughtful Dixie we always knew she could be.

We get to go tonight and watch them get their awards.


Breakfast FAIL

Dixie: Daddy, this french toast is spicy!
Mommy: How could french toast be spicy?
Melody: Water! I need water!
Daddy: The cinnamon all floats at the top. Let me give you one from the next batch.
Dixie: This is STILL spicy!
Daddy goes to make some new FT, leaving out the cinnamon.
Melody: Daddy, you put pepper in here! This bottle says pepper.
Daddy: No it doesn't, it says . . . oops . . . cayenne pepper. Well it LOOKED like the cinnamon bottle. It started with a C. Same color . . .