Shit My Family Says To Me, Round Two

My family is hilarious, as some of you know, and my memory is nonexistent.  So I have notebooks, journals, post-it notes, and random scraps of paper all over the house with quotes from my husband and kids.  I’m sharing their funny today, because my funny is still in recovery (but well on its way back).  Thing 1 is my oldest, a 15-year-old boy, Thing 2 is the middle child, an almost-12-year-old boy, and Thing 3 is the youngest, a 5-year-old girl.  They are all a mess.  Husband is old enough that his beard is turning gray but younger than me, which is why I get to be the boss.

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Thing 1, trying to use an old school calculator:

Me:  I know this is ancient technology, but….

Thing 1:  I’m not an anthropologist, mom! I also don’t know how to work a trebuchet or a Game Cube.

Husband:  He doesn’t know how to use a catapult either.

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Overheard:  Thing 2 convincing his sister that he was magic and he had turned her invisible.  She was amazed, and I was just glad he was speaking to her.  A few minutes later:

Thing 2: Now, if you want to be magic like me, all you have to do is smell my feet.  Yep. Just sniff.  HAHAHAHA!  YOU’RE MAGIC!

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Thing 3:  I think I got a rash. Do I? Do I got a rash?

Me: What? No. But why are you all wet? Did you spill your milk?

Thing 3: No. I been at the pool.

Me: We do not have a pool.

Thing 3: It’s my new pool. I just got it.

Me:  I’m not going in the living room. I’m afraid of what I might find.

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Thing 3 refuses to eat her vegetables.  She just came up to me, as sweet as can be, and said she could not eat her dinner because it “makes her boring.”

Me:  Haha.  Eat it anyway.

Thing 3:  I really need something else to eat, so I can like you.

Dammit. She’s only 5 and she already doesn’t like me. It took the other ones a bit longer.

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You know you’re raising your child right when you tell her “not right now” and she says, “Fine. Then I guess monsters will just eat your brain and face.”

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Thing 2:  MOM!  MOM!  I think I’m catching the puberty!

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My cousin, about 15 years ago. His dad was in the house getting ready to take him squirrel hunting. Matt just went out in the yard and caught one.

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Me: Listen you, I have to have those invoices from last month. Or else.

Husband: I don’t think most secretaries are this indignant.

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Me:  So they won’t put me to sleep, but I guess I’ll be sedated enough that I won’t know they are putting a camera down my throat, and I won’t remember anything.

Husband:  Let me get this straight.  You’re not going to be able to tell what’s going in your mouth, and you won’t remember anything?  I’ll drive you.

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Me, getting ready to take a nap: Ok, so behave and don’t answer the door and if someone calls take a message but be polite, it could be my boss or something.

Thing 2, very seriously:  Oh, I know what your boss sounds like, I’ve hung up on her before.

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Me: What are you doing?

Thing 2 (from inside a box):  Now, mom, don’t just jump to conclusions.

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Husband:  Well, Laura said-

Me:  Wait, wait, wait.  You call the weather lady by her first name?  What are you guys, friends?

Husband:  There’s Laura, and Drew, and-

Me:  That is so weird, please stop talking.

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Thing 3, to her teacher:  My mommy is making me a little brother so I can have a prince in my game.

Husband, embarrassed:  Um, no, she’s not.

Thing 3:  I NEED A PRINCE.  If the baby turns into a girl we will give it to another family, but if it is a boy who is nice and doesn’t eat his boogers, then we’ll keep him.

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Written in one of my notebooks, don’t know why:

This shit is reasonable.

Poison mice with Tylenol!  (I’m a little worried about how excited I apparently was with this idea.)

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Husband:  I’m not going to ask you to do anything today that you can’t do lying down.

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Thing 3:  Momma, what’s your favorite thing for Mother’s Day?
Me:  Going fishing with my kids.
Thing 3:  I don’t believe you. You always say, “Just a minute” and that is NOT spending time with your kids. What do you really want?

Thank you, child, for calling me out on my parenting skills on Mother’s Day.  Awesome.

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Oh, how I love those little smartasses.

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