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Thursday, June 28, 2012

kid sillies

Ella: "When I grow up and am a mom will I be able to drive?"
Me: "Yes, but let's not talk about you getting big and grown up, okay?" 
Ella: "Take it easy Mom.  I'm only 7."

Ella was getting a cavity filled the other day and Maya and I were sitting on the dental chair at her feet holding her hand.  Maya was dutifully stroking Ella's skin, passing gas and exclaiming, "Ella you are doing MAR-BU-LOUS!!!" (marvelous)

All the following are from Ella related to the "how babies are made" discussion:

Ella:  "How do babies come out a woman's belly?"  Explaination given. "I don't think I want to have a baby."

"Really?  You can get seeds from a place?  Like just go and get them?  How do they get the seeds out of the man's body?" Pause.  I said, "Well...they have a process for that."

"What?!  There are real eggs inside my body?  I think Maya doesn't have eggs. I think she has jelly beans."

Maya's favorite show currently is the Fresh Beat Band.  It's about a band made up of 2 boys, 2 girls and their names are Kiki, Marina, Twist and Shout.  Playing the Fresh Beat Band game in the car is currently my least favorite thing to do.  It goes like this:  Maya asks me who I want to be.  I volunteer to be Kiki and play the guitar.  She calls me Kiki while she pretends to be the drum beating Marina in the back seat with her pencils as drumsticks.  I must call her Marina as she will not answer to Maya.  Then she will suddenly say in utter exasperation, "Uggggghhhhh. MOM, I am Twist NOT Marina!!!" and so I call her Twist for a few minutes until she decides that she is, in fact, Kiki.  Wait, I thought I was Kiki?

I tell you, it's a barrel of laughs.

The other night we were having a "family snuggle" and reading books in our big bed.  Maya was displeased with the book we had choosen so she put her feet all over the pages.  She was ousted from the bed but it didn't slow her down.  She ran into her room and returned with a drum.  I said, "Oh no.  Tell me she isn't going to" just in time to hear the pencils touch the taut skin of the drum and Maya shout: "A one, two, three, FOUR!"

Living with Maya is an exercise in patience and near constant hilarity.

The other night Ella was protesting her bed time.  I told her "When you are an adult you can stay up as late as you want to." (Yes, I cringed hearing myself say such a thing.)
Ella: "When I'm a mom I'm going to let my kids stay up as late as they want."
Me (laughing out loud):  "Okay, honey.  Let's talk when you're a mom."

Maya: "Kaylee has influence." (Influenza)

We went out to supper to celebrate the end of the girls' school year and Ella caught site of a waitress at the restaurant who had a blue mohawk and pierced and tatooed all over.  Ella said, "She's pretty."
Wow, have times ever changed.

A while ago Maya and I had been talking about life before her. I had explained that mommy and momma had met and fallen in love and decided to have kids.  She had asked, "Did it hurt?" and it took me a minute to realize she was talking about the "falling" part.

Then came this conversation:
Maya: "Mom, on the Wonder Pets, the ducks had to be saved from the hot lava.  It was so hot that you can't touch it.  Remember when you and Mommy fell in hot lava?"
Me: "What?! No, Mommy and I never fell in hot lava."  Pause.  Think.  "Oh, you mean when we fell in love..."
Maya: "Yes, that is what I meant."

Yesterday, to reward the kids for exemplary behavior I took them to the local bakery and let them pick out whatever they wanted.  Ella choose and eclair.  Maya choose a purple airbrushed flip-flop sugar cookie.  I went next door to the wine store and when we walked in Ella said, "Is this your treat Momma?" Indeed.

We got in the car and Ella was exclaiming about the culinary wonder that is the eclair.  It was the best thing ever.  She was going to get an eclair every time she got to choose a treat.  The filling was more pudding than custard! Oh, the delight of it all- SPLAT.  Out shot the filling all over her lap.

Now I know I could have done a better job teaching her the pitfalls of the eclair. I mean, it isn't as though I haven't been around the block where pastries are concerned.  I tried to help her wipe it up and laugh it off but the tears started.  "This is my favorite shirt!"  "I don't like eclairs! I'm never getting one again.  NEVER EVER!"

Half an hour later I was trying to teach her the merits of laughing stuff off but the sting of the eclair's betrayal was still too fresh.

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