Stuff My Kids Say

“Lizzy, you’re wonderful!”

“I know.”

…

After changing the bandage on Bri’s back, I said, “Brianne, I’m like a nurse.”

“No, you’re not.”

…

“Jacob, go clean the toilet.”

“That’s not on my job list.”

…

“One fish, two fish.”

“Move please.”

“All done.”

Investment Advice from my Fourteen Year-Old

My husband mentioned that Ford stock was above what we’d paid for it.  “Did you tell me that we bought some?”  I asked.

“I don’t know.”  He replied.  “But I told Jake and he suggested we not buy it because he said that there were a lot of car companies who made better cars.”

I looked at my husband and made a thoughtful face.  “Right, he responded.  “I held off buying it for a couple of days because he made sense.”

Growing Up Yankee

I drove Jake home from school.  He casually mentioned that he might want to live in Utah when he’s an adult because he has family there.   I mentioned that his father, Will and I might be considered family as well and we live in Massachusetts.

“But I don’t like the snow and cold.”  He stated.  “Maybe I could move to the south … someplace like New Jersey.”

I didn’t say anything then about New Jersey getting snow too because I was worried he might choose to move to the Deep South … you know, someplace like Maryland.

IEP Season

I switched Jake over to a charter school last year.  Usually kids start there in the 6^th grade but he started in the 7^th.  I like my town schools, I liked Jake’s principle and most of his teachers but Jake was being bullied in spite of their best efforts.  And I was DONE with that!  He’s doing much better socially.  A lot of the kids are quirky at that school either from being brainy or having special needs.  And I thought Jake’s quirky would stick out less there.  

My plan has worked.  It’s a small school focused on Expeditionary Learning.  Kids are divided into 12-14 student crews, each with a faculty advisor.  It has a spiraled curriculum.  For example, one of Jake’s summer reading books was Downriver, after reading the book the class went river rafting, then they wrote an essay about the trip and did science experiments. 

Last week I went the best IEP meeting I’ve ever been to.  Our SP-ED PAC had sponsored four lectures on IEPs.  I learned about the importance of a really good vision statement.  I’d always written one but I decided not well enough.  The sped teacher and I started going over the IEP.  We had two writing goals instead of the previous, very poorly written, single goal.  She suggested a self-advocacy goal which I loved.

It was a brilliant meeting!  We wrote the IEP together which is exactly how it should be done but, somehow has never been.

Brothers

Jake came up to me and very seriously said, “Mom, I asked Will three questions:  What is your favorite color?  What is your favorite shape?  And what is your favorite letter?”  The answers were purple, a triangle and M mmm, monkey.

Jake is currently writing a persuasive paper about why he should take fencing lessons

Jake struggles with writing -- the idea of it, starting a paper and actually writing one.  It’s not because he’s dumb.  He’s actually quite bright but he struggles with Language Arts.  I went to a lecture sponsored by our town’s SPED PAC last year and realized I should be more proactive about his writing.  I found out that my one of my friends worked for a company (EmPOWER) that teaches writing.  She evaluated Jake’s writing for me and told me his writing is at a third grade level.  I decided to spend his college money on tutoring because if he couldn’t write he wouldn’t go to college.  So, for the past several months, once a week I drive Jake 30 minutes away to my friend Stacy’s house for tutoring.  It’s going pretty well.  I assign him twenty minutes of writing homework a day because I’d prefer not to have to do this for more than a year.

I’m choosing to interpret this statement as I’m usually pretty awesome (but, of course, I could be wrong)

My husband called me.  He had taken Jake camping with the other scouts.  “Guess what Jake said to me on the way to camp.”  He laughed.

“What.”  I asked.

“Jake said, ‘This week mom was not very patient and evil.’”  Intrigued my husband queried, “Evil?  Why was she evil?”

“She was angry because we didn’t do our jobs,” Jacob replied.

Naturally, my husband called me to laugh at me for being evil.

Slaughtering Syllabomols

While Jake and I waited in line at a stop sign, we heard someone start honking.  They honked until the person in front of them turned and continued to honk as they followed them – without stopping at the stop sign, I might add; I think they considered the time they has spent stopped counted as an actual stop and unfortunately there wasn’t a policeman around to dissuade them.

I said to Jake, “That person has anger management problems.”

Jake agreed.  “They need to see a philotropoligist.”

“You mean a therapist?”

“A physicoligist.”

“Oh, a psychologist,” I stated.

“A theaterologist,” He agreed. 

Date Night

We went to Jake’s scout fundraiser on Saturday night.  It was a tag sale and auction.  We ended up with a craft tool set, a coupon for a “wicked-good” hairdo (I figure Bri needs one for her 8^th grade dinner and dance), a brand new Lands End coat for $30 (thank you very much – I can’t believe that no one bid me up), 90 minutes of face painting, 90 minutes of balloon tying, a brake replacement, a photography sitting, a Thai food cooking lesson in our house, ski goggles ($2) and a PackMan game thing (also $2).  We pretty much scored.  

Jake’s two big disappointments of the night were that I was outbid on the “go to a video game designer company get a tour and play games that haven’t even come out with three friends” and that I didn’t buy a console TV from the 80s.  

“Mom, you could put that in your room.”  He said.  “Then you wouldn’t have to watch TV downstairs.  You could just watch until you were tired then turn it off and . . .,” he pantomimed fall asleep.  I told him that if I wanted a TV in my room I’d have one.  “Mom, I’m begging you!”  He pleaded.  Surprisingly it didn’t sell.  And at the end of the night Jake pleaded for it again.  But I hardened my heart and refused.

Imitation New York: The Kids Edition (Actually, we just drove into Boston to see Lion King.)

Friday night Marcy took Dave, and I took Lizzy and Jake into Boston to see Lion King.  My husband took Bri to see it in New York and they said that the rest of us should go.  Jake barely shut his mouth for the first half.  And this was only partially because he wanted food to be placed inside it.  Almost as soon as we entered the Opera House he started asking for food.  I mentioned that he just barely eaten dinner before we came; about an hour previously.  He ignored my attempt to reason and implied I was uncaring and neglectful.  As I am a completely hardened individual, I naturally told him to stop talking.  Because I am “that kind of mother”, I added that if he had eaten more vegetables for dinner he would not be hungry now.

Lizzy was entranced with the show.  However, when she started asking me plot questions I realized that she’d probably never seen the movie.  That’s what happens when you are the youngest and everyone else has moved on from Disney movies.  Instead of Disney princesses you watch Hannah Montana or other miscellaneous, crappy Disney or Nickelodeon shows.  And I am not about to start renting Disney movies for her.  She prefers Scooby Do anyway, and keeps her stash of DVDs hidden from William in her underwear drawer.

The costumes and puppets were fabulous!  I loved the animals and the brightly, colored African clothing.  The elephants, giraffes, and rhinoceros were very cool.  The musical was visually stunning. 

And on our way back to the car – Marcy scored the kids bottled water from a limo driver because that’s the way she rolls!

Seconday Cook

Background:  I made spaghetti for dinner tonight because I didn’t plan ahead and I knew that no one would complain about eating it.

Jake walked in the kitchen, saw what I was making, and exclaimed, “Mom, you’re a great secondary cook.  I think you’d agree that dad is the best cook and you’re a secondary cook.”

After listening to Jake’s monologue for several minutes, dad was promoted to chief, I to primary cook and secondary cooks were described as producing barely edible food.  I didn’t disagree because he was trying not to hurt my feelings and admittedly from his perspective I probably make barely edible food such as scrambled eggs, or waffles on Sunday nights all the time! (It’s as if I didn’t know that waffles are BREAKFAST FOODS and it is probably ILLEGAL in several countries to serve them at night!)  I also cook non-Mexican foods on occasion . . . Wow, the more I think about the foods I actually expect him to eat the more I think I should be relegated to a tertiary level of cookery.

But, and I’m very serious here, I don’t understand why my husband is regarded as my cooking superior because, after all, he makes curries, Indian foods and greens which Jake never touches.  Jake merely eats the accompanying rice with an obscene amount of soy sauce dumped on top! 

It’s not as if I want to be the primary cook.  I’m looking forward to my husband’s retirement when he shall truly become the primary cook.  Unfortunately, that day will not come until all, ok three out of the four, of our children move out and he will not have to listen to years of disparaging cooking comments leading him to hate cooking and contemplating cooking oatmeal with boiled raisins for breakfast every morning, followed up with liver and onions for both lunch and dinner!

And You Think This Is My Fault?

“And you think this is my fault?”  Every time I turn around Jacob seems to say this to me.  Usually in aggrieved tones but sometimes angrily or as if offended.  If I tell him that Will is writing on the back of his homework, or that something he did or didn't do caused something else to happen "and you think this is my fault" is his usual response.

I try to be matter of fact when responding but occasionally a “yes, I think it’s your fault” slips out. Then I exchange a glance with my husband and try not to laugh.

Scout Camp

My husband took Jacob on a scout camp out Friday night. It rained, of course. Some of the scouts were having a difficult time lighting the propane stove. Jacob exclaimed in disgust, “You’re going to melt the polar ice caps!”

Once my husband told me this story, Saturday night made more sense. I took Will downstairs to watch TV before he fell asleep. Jacob was watching a show on Scientific America on Alaska’s warming environment. He was very excited it. He said that he’d only seen part of it before and wanted to watch the rest. I had planned on watching something highbrow like Survivor but changed my mind when I realized how interested Jake was in the show. It ended up sucking me in too.

Yes, I really had this conversation with Jake

Yelling: "Jacob where are you?"

I wander around the house yelling his name. Finally, I stick my head out the door. "Jake are you out here?"

"Yes."

"Have you done your homework?"

"No, not yet."

"What are you doing?"

"I'm talking to myself."

"Come in and do your homework. You can talk to yourself later."

At which point, I thought about what I had just said and giggled.

Things Are Changing … Well, Not Everything

Jake and a friend were playing Wii when Will walked by in a shirt and underwear carrying a pair of pants on his way outside. “Put your pants on.” I commanded as I followed him.

“William!” Jake exclaimed in a horrified tone.

“It’s ok. He’s autistic.” I explained to his friend as I followed Will outside.

But, maybe I misinterpreted the “William.” Maybe the scandalized tone meant Jake was embarrassed for himself rather than for Will. I tried to imagine myself as an eleven year old boy who has a new, older friend over for the first time and decided that Jake was definitely embarrassed for himself.

Poor Jake, he has a mother so immune to embarrassment that Will could have walked past the kid stark naked and I would have said the same thing. “It’s ok. He’s autistic.”

Because, as you all know, that excuses everything.

It’s Practically a Farm

My conversation with Jake.

Me: “I mowed the back yard.”

Jake: “Oh, sorry. I don’t like to mow the back yard because it’s so vast.”

Jake is wild to get a BB Gun

He's trying to convince me it is a brilliant idea.

Suggestion #1. "Mom, we can leave it at my cousin's house."

Response: Then what's the point of owning it?

Suggestions #2. "Mom, if someone breaks into our house; it'll give dad something more than his bare fists to defend us!"

Response: Really? You're proposing that a BB gun is a "defensive weapon"? My mind overloads at how many things could go wrong with that scenario! The idea that I'd say, when someone was breaking into our house, "honey, go get the BB gun!" is ridiculous. And as one of my sister said they'd probably take it away and club me over the head with it.

I Don't Understand Eleven Year-Old Boys

I asked Jake to take off his sheets and bring them to the laundry room. A couple of hours later I went in his room and noticed his fitted sheet was still on his bed. I complained that I’d already washed his sheets and that he should have taken them all off. “I’m sorry, I forgot.” He apologized.

Fast forward another couple of hours, I went in Jake’s room to find him lying on top of three pillowcase-less pillows on top of his mattress pad. I said, “Jake, why don’t you have a sheet on? That’s gross!”

“Oh, I thought you said I couldn’t use one.” -- I can only assume he thought I was trying to punish him but taking away his sheets.

Girls are Magic

On Sunday, one of the teachers played a couple of notes of a song then asked the kids to guess the song. A couple of girls were excellent at the game and guessed a couple of songs in a row. The teacher asked them in amazement how they did it. Jacob piped up from beside me, “Because girls are magical and boys aren’t.”

It’s Genetic

Me: “Jake, come here so I can comb your hair. Jake … Jake?”

Jake: “I’m busy reading.”

Me: “You’re a bookaholic! Books are your drug of choice.”

Jake: “You need to stop talking now.”