(Photo stolen from these guys)
It is foolhardy to try to play outside on a day in which the temperature climbed past 100 by lunch time, but Smedley and Sparky were bored. They took the new white chalk out to the sidewalk and drew a hopscotch court from hazy memories. Two rocks were found to use as markers.
"Do you remember how to play?" Smedley asked her little sister.
"Um," began Sparky. "When it's your turn you take the rock," she guessed, "And throw it at the other person. You ask her how much it hurt, on a scale from one to ten, and that's the number of hops you take."
I can see we're going to have to give Family Game Night another chance. At least the rules reading.
(Original photo from Wikimedia Commons)
Sparky and Smedley had outstanding report cards today. Smedley called me to tell me about hers after school. I found out about Sparky's on the ride home. We drove up Grandma and Grandpa's driveway to go get Smedley, who had been hanging out with them.
"Go into the living room, Sparky, and tell Grandpa about your report card. He's got something for you," said Grandma. Into the living room went Sparky, dragging her feet in advance of the ceremony to come.
"Here's a nickel for math, and here's a quarter for reading," said Grandpa, dropping coins into Sparky's hand. "And here's another nickel for being lucky, and here's a dime for not having hair in your eyes. A dime for not being married. Here's a penny for being lucky again. A quarter for a trip to Hawaii, and here's a dime for not having a stinky diaper tonight, and here's eleven cents, for no reason."
Report card season is always interesting in Fooleryland.
(Original photos stolen from this site and this one and this one too)
Dear Mantel Man,
I'm sorry to have to break it to you, but your niece Smedley totally has your number.
Tonight after reading our bedtime book (which had more than one mention of super powers) Smedley declared, "Uncle Mantle Man is like a mini version of Grandpa."
"He's just like Grandpa. He could be Mini Wonder Dave!" While I wasn't sure of the logic at all, I wasn't going to miss her explanation, which definitely delivered. I was laughing too hard to catch most of it, but I remember this:
So, Mini Wonder Dave, will you order your Spandex suit and cape, or shall I?
The girls and I were looking at family photos last night. A discussion of face shapes and smiles ensued.
Smedley: "Mama, let me see your real smile."
Me: "I can't smile a real smile on cue. You'll have to make me smile. Tell me something funny."
They both thought about it. For a few seconds the room was totally quiet. Then this.
Smedley: "You're a really good mother, Mama."
I stared at her. She tried not to smile, but she couldn't take the pressure. She cracked just a little, and one corner of her mouth tightened.
I laughed and laughed and laughed. "You got me, Smed. I couldn't imagine what would make me smile, but that did it."
(Photo used by permission of Wikimedia Commons)
Smedley is studying similes in school.
"Mama, I need some help finishing this sentence with a simile: 'When I sneezed in class I felt like a . . .' "
[dramatic pause here as she gathered her thoughts]
" . . . doofus that sneezed but that's not right because he IS the doofus that sneezed!"
Smedley brought this to me here at my computer this evening. She had written on both sides of the paper. Side one:
In case you can't make it out, side two reads, "Dear Mom, this is for you because in every heaven, there is a hell. Like getting dogs. Dogs are heaven, cleaning is hell. From, Smedley"
Wanna know what precipitated this? I told them if they didn't get their rooms in order and keep them from going to hell in two hours, like usual, that there is no way I'm gonna invite the dog people here this weekend to interview us to make sure we're a fit home to adopt their doggies. Yeah. Cleaning is hell, gimme a break! Parenting is hell.
And heaven. Aaaaaaaand . . . hell again.
Smedley took her camera outside yesterday morning to get pictures of the sunrise. Then she remembered that her camera takes movies, so she shot a 360 degree view from the fence line south of our house. The bathroom light? is mine. I was getting ready for work. Smedley missed the bus.
When I got home for work she showed me the movie she had taken after sundown. I cobbled them together with a Nick Drake song that seemed perfect. Ever the art director, Smedley insisted upon yellow for the typeface. Here is the result. Watch it carefully; you may wish to take some Dramamine first.
Kids always notice imperfections. Like the illuminated sign at Kohl's department store. Only a child would notice the apostrophe was burned out.
Sparky: "The apostrophe is out of business."
That's my new favorite phrase.
(Original photo stolen from these guys)
Me: "Ewwwww, who did that?"
Smedley: "What? It doesn't smell. Smells like strawberry-banana."
Me: "It DOES NOT, now DON'T do that near me again."
Smedley: "I wonder when I ate a banana?"
(Photo used by permission of Fir0002/Flagstaffotos onWikimedia Commons) GNU Free Documentation License
(Image stolen from this site)
We had a family outing recently which turned out terrible, mostly. Sagging spirits piled on let-down heaped upon disappointment left us irritable and grumpy, trapped in the car together for the drive home. So when Smedley asked if anyone had a hair clip, I barked at her.
"Why would I have one of YOUR hair clips, Smed?" I snapped. This was a familiar theme. "You're supposed to take care of that, right? I'm always telling you that. OF COURSE I don't have any of YOUR hair clips."
"Here's one," Chas said calmly, handing a hair clip back to the back seat. My mouth fell open.
"Are you kidding me? How -- why -- where did you get a hair clip? Wow, Smed, your Daddy saves the day."
Without missing a beat, Smedley turned to her father and quipped, "Got a donut?"
I have not laughed that hard in forever.
(Original image stolen from this site)
Overheard on a car trip recently, when the pressure of being imprisoned in a car together for 12 hours became too much . . .
Sparky: "If I'm a turd then you're a turd and we are turd family."
Foolery: "Hey, don't count me in that!"
Smedley: "I think it comes from Daddy's side."
That's my girl.
Until later when, by myself, I beat myself up for being a crappy mom.
(Photo stolen from these guys)
At breakfast yesterday morning . . .
Sparky: "Mama, when you were a kid, did they have swings?"Smedley, annoyed: "Sparky, she's not from, like, George Washington's time, sheesh."
Nice to know Smedley has my back. Did they have swings in George's day? I'll have to ask Chas.
This is Smedley with her cousin Brady.
All of the little kids in our family LOVE their older cousins Brady and Riley, and treat them like rock stars when they visit. Brady is an especial favorite because he gets down and plays with the kids. This game is called Egg Balancing, I am told.
Sparky, to Brady: "Well, if I can't kill you, will you at least watch me tap dance?!"