Time for some quick quips from the boys. Oh how I love the things they say! Here we go:
One day when we were driving, Andrew looked up into the sky and yelled excitedly, “Look mom, an airplane rainbow!” (It was a jet stream.)
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One night while Andrew was playing with my cell phone, he activated the voice command option. The conversation went like this:
Phone: “Please say name or number.”
Andrew: “What number?”
Phone: “Please say name or number.”
Andrew: “I SAID what number?”
Phone: “Did you say, Gwen P. house?”
Andrew: “No I didn’t!”
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Isn’t it something when you hear your own words or intonation coming out of your child’s mouth? After repeated requests for chocolate, I finally told Andrew to stop asking me, the answer was no. He folded his arms across his chest and said, “Mom, if you keep talking to me that way, you’re not going to get any girl things for Christmas, because the Elf on the Shelf will tell Santa you weren’t being nice.” That Elf on the Shelf did creep me out. It was certainly more than just an idle threat!
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Recently, when Andrew hurt his finger, I was getting dinner ready and not able to kiss it for him right away. It wasn’t really hurt, so I told him to just kiss it himself. He said, “my kiss doesn’t work, only yours does.” Aw…
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Whenever Andrew doesn’t want to do something, or doesn’t like something, he says his back hurts. For example, when we are walking somewhere that he has deemed too far away, he says, “My back hurts. My walk is broke.” When Jacob wants the music turned up in the car, Andrew inevitably wants the music to be turned down. He will say, “Turn the music down! It’s making my back hurt!” When I ask him to pick up his toys, his excuse is – yep, you guessed it – “Cleaning up toys hurts my back.” The all time worst, however, is when he refuses to eat vegetables, because apparently green beans can cause one hell of a backache!
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Both of my sisters are named Megan. Growing up, we always called them Big Meghan and Little Megan to differentiate. The names have nothing to do with size. Neither one of them is big, actually. "Big" really meant older. My step sister is a few years older than "Little Megan," my biological sister. Through the years, the titles stuck. We tried using their middle names for a while, but it got to be too much to say, and force of habit drove us back to using Big Meg and Little Meg, respectively. Andrew has picked up on the difference, but has a little trouble with articles in his speech. He endearingly calls them “The Big Meghan” and “The Little Megan.” The Big Meghan? Yes indeed, there is no other quite like her...or the Little Megan either!
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Speaking of Megans...while family was home over Christmas, in Andrew's longstanding gender confusion, he started calling “The Big Meghan” “Uncle Meghan.” In her defense, Andrew calls everyone a “him.” He points to me all the time and says to whoever is around, “Do you know his mother?”
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Yesterday, Andrew proclaimed, “Mom! My butt cracked open!” That’s good, buddy. You’d be in a world of hurt if it were sealed shut.
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Some words in Andrew-speak:
Kisses Kisses (Hershey Kisses)
Chip and the Chunks (Alvin and the Chipmunks)
Hell Tell (Hotel)
Crap n Crunch (Captain Crunch...maybe this one isn't so far off base, after all!)
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The last two excerpts are from Jacob. He spent a majority of the Christmas break with my parents (big surprise there!), so I don’t have a lot from him, but here is what I have:
One day Jacob came flying down the stairs yelling, “Mom! The cat just fittit me!”
I said, “The cat fittit you? What does that mean?”
“Yeah, he went 'fffttt!' I think that means, ‘leave me alone!’”
“Yes, I think it’s a pretty safe bet that he wanted you to leave him alone!"
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And lastly, as we were walking out of my mother’s house the other day, Jacob noted her discarded Christmas tree along the curb. “Mom,” he said, “If there’s one sight I hate to see, it’s a thrown away Christmas tree. It’s just so sad.” I swear I never read him that Hans Christian Andersen story about the fir tree! The Little Match Girl, yes. The Fir Tree, no way!
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