Ingrained Nonification

Ingrained Nonification: noun. A fact, set of numbers, or other very important item that is so ingrained in your head that you could recite it in your sleep, and yet very inexplicably and suddenly forget it.

Picture it. Target. The year: 2009, a mere three days before Christmas. I was having a lovely evening with the Boys and Husband. We went out to a very uncrowded but fantastic Asian restaurant that served both Chinese and Japanese food. I tried sushi, the raw kind, for the first time (I think). Viking Toddler and Philosopher Child pretty much ate a whole bowl of those fried noodle things. Lovely evening.

We popped off to Target afterwards because we needed a few things. We got our items, got in line, and while Husband was entertaining the Boys and generally just looking about about 3 feet away from me I swiped my card and punched in my pin.

Click. Something inside says I've just done something wrong. The machine asked me to put the pin in again.

Click. Something says that still wasn't right. It wasn't. The machine asked for my pin again. If machines could talk, it would probably say, "Please enter your pin again. The CORRECT one this time, if please."

Click. A third time. Pin still not right. I stood there, dumbfounded, and realized that I have no idea what my pin is. I have completely forgotten that little number that I've used without thinking hundreds of times.

Husband stepped in and swiped his card. Good thing he was there.

And I'm still not sure what my pin is.

Eclectic Christmas Tree

Eclectic Christmas Tree: noun. A Christmas tree on which the ornaments don't go together in any way.

I'm sitting here tonight looking at our unlit Christmas tree. In case you are wondering, it's unlit because the outlet is being used so that we can watch a movie. I'll plug it back in tomorrow. Two outlets on one wall, or even anywhere near each other, are unheard of at our house. But, as usual, I digress.

This brings me to my point. Who out there has a Christmas tree where the ornaments actually match each other? You know how you go in the department stores and you see the spectacular (and over-achieving) trees with ornaments that coordinate perfectly? Does your tree look like that? I don't mean you have a set of ornaments, I mean more like you only have that one set, or that set is balanced by another brilliantly matched set. Not judging, really. No, really, not judging. Just curious.

Me? Somehow I don't think the plush yellow duck that reads "baby's first Christmas" match the silver "unbreakable"* balls or the ceramic blue teardrop-shaped ornament. But that's my tree.

*Unbreakable, huh? We'll see about that. My kids don't back down from a challenge.

Letter Drop Part IV

Letter Drop: verb. The act of mispronouncing a word by young children due to missing letters.

OK, this isn't quite a letter drop, but a letter add. But I'm feeling too lazy to make a new definition. Also too lazy to link back to parts I, II, and III. It's been a long day.

Anyway, Philosopher Child came up to me this evening and said, "Mommy, will you make some slushie?"

"I don't think I have the right things to make slushies," I said.

"Slushie is a type of food," he added.

"It's more of a drink."

"No," he said, "It's made from raw fish."

"...Not slushie. It's sushi."

Jaws TV

Jaws TV: noun. A show or number of shows that you only thought were safe for your kids to watch. How foolish.

Christmas time is nearing, is it not? It must be, since I'm constantly yelling at Viking Toddler to get away from the Christmas tree and continually setting our wooden nativity upright again after there have been small children near it. And, of course, musing about how much I hate our tree skirt. But that's a little thing in the grand scheme of life. At least we have a house to put a Christmas tree in, and that is truly a blessing.

But I digress. As usual. I'm told that I do that. "Meander" I think is a term that has been applied to my stories by loving family members. *Cough-Younger Sister-cough*

But again, I digress. Anyway, we've been watching A Christmas Story lately. You know, the one with Ralphie and all of the "You'll shoot your eye out," and "Only I didn't say fudge." A perfectly safe family movie. You can now imagine Jaws music.

I was standing in the kitchen when Viking Toddler ran up to me and start to hit my legs with closed fists. I was confused, but told him no hitting and sent him out. Generally, that's all it takes. He went off to play, and a short while later asked to watch A Christmas Story. No problem. I put it on for him, and then everything clicked. At the point when Ralphie is beating the tar out of the neighborhood bully, Viking Toddler again ran up to me and began hitting my lges (the only thing he can reach) with closed fists. Ah ha!

Now we utilize the fast-forward button. Liberally.

So, we went to Disney World...

And my children didn't know who most of the characters were. Unlike our parents before us, we don't have a trove of Disney movies, but not because we are anti-happy-little-animated-characters. We just happen not to have any.

But, rather from detracting from the experience, Philosopher Child and Viking Toddler had the unique ability to see things as they were. They could ride the rides and see the shows without any previous knowledge (and a little confusion) of any of it.

The result? They had a fabulous time. Really. They had a spectacular time on the Dumbo ride, despite having no idea who Dumbo is. Same with Goofy's Barnstormer. And the tea cup ride (Mad Hatter's Tea Party? Mad Hatter's Mad Tea Party? The Mad Tea Party?), although Philosopher Child was a bit amused (and no doubt baffled) by the giant door mouse popping up from a tea pot in the center.

Now, I suppose you'd like a word and a definition. We haven't had one for a while, have we? Well, here you go:

Random Fear: noun. A seemingly random thing that a young child is frightened of.

Viking Toddler was (perhaps still is) freaked out by bugs. I mean, really, really freaked out. I showed him a rolly polly once and he screamed that it was going to get me and generally wigged out that I had picked it up. But he rode the Barnstormer (which scared me!) four times and loved it. Huh.

And that's why he's called, "Philosopher Child"

In case you weren't getting the idea of why I call him that, here's a couple of real head scratchers he's said in the past few days.

"Does God eat breakfast every day?"

"Was I always real?"

"Did God make our house?" After all, He did make everything, so... Um...

"He has pointed teeth, so he's a vampire." No amount of reasoning would cause him to let go of this one. I tried.

Happy Halloween!

Or for those who don't do Halloween, Happy Harvest! Or, Happy Fall!

Did you know their are not one, but two vampires at Philosopher Child's school? He told me so. It's true...or so I've heard. See what happened is there are these two kindergarteners...

Kindergartener Richard* claims that kindergartener Peter* turned him into a vampire. It must be true, because one of them has pointy teeth, says Philosopher Child.

Husband and I have told him over and over that they're not vampires. Made no effect. So finally I said, "But he comes out in the daytime. He can't be a vampire."

"No," said Philosopher Child. "He can because he goes to school."

Well, there you go. If you are a vampire and want to be out in the daytime, you must be enrolled in school.

*Names have been changed to protect the questionably innocent.