Brace yourself.

George (who is 7) takes tumbling. Which is the perfect extracurricular activity for him since he’s been cartwheeling his way through this house for the better part of 8 months.

He’s one of only 2 boys in a sea of girls in there, but he holds his own pretty well. I mean, as long as Ross shows up.

Tonight as they were stretching, they went into the splits. The gymnastics coach commented that the girls should all be embarrassed since George (who has rubber bands for limbs) can get all the way into a split, and most of the girls cannot.

So on the way home, David informed George that when they got here, George should tell Grace that he had mastered his splits.

(Grace shares George’s enthusiasm for all things gymnastics but she’s 5′ 3″ and counting, and having her doing cartwheels throughout this house is flat-out dangerous, so she just lives vicariously through him.)

To this suggestion, George responded, “I can’t do it again tonight. I’ll break my nuts.”

“George, you can’t say that,” informed David.

“What do you mean?” asked George.

“Well, you can’t say ‘nuts’ in that context. It’s not really appropriate. Just so you know.”

“Well, I just mean my penis!” clarified George.

“Um, okay, but…” stated David.

“And plus, this is confusing,” continued George. “I mean, if I can’t say ‘nuts,’ what if I’m at a baseball game and I want to buy some nuts because I’m hungry and I like nuts. Can I not order nuts?”

“George,” said David, feeling a bit manipulated, “Of course you can order nuts at a baseball game. Those are two different uses of the word ‘nuts.’ Like, take the word ‘dam.’ If I say, ‘I want to drive over and look at the dam,’ that’s fine, but I can’t say, ‘Damn, this traffic is terrible!”

“OH, I GET IT!” exclaimed George. “I’ll go home, show Grace how I do the splits, and then say, ‘I just broke my damn nuts!”

We have a long way to go here folks.

bible image
The following is so absurd it leaves me speechless. And it leaves this post title-less.

Please keep in mind that we are not heathens. However David and I may be going to hell.

The kids had their first swim meet last Thursday night. It was held at the Y.

“What does ‘Y’ stand for?” asked Henry.

“It’s short for ‘YMCA’,” I answered, “which stands for Young Mens Christian Association.

“What’s Christian?” asked Henry.

Flabbergasted, I looked at Henry and asked, “Henry. What’s a Christian? A person who believes in — ?”

…wait for it…

“Fairy Tales!” chimed in George.

If you can think of a great title for this post, do let me know. I’m off to pray.

old fashioned bicycle on cobblestone street

Listen, I don’t even need writers. Around here, the material writes itself. Seriously.

Two days ago we bought Jack and Grace new bikes. Which they actually want to ride to school badly enough that they are ready two hours before school even starts. Why did I not think of this sooner?

As I pulled up this afternoon to pick up Henry (and confirm that Grace and Jack were on their way home via their new bikes), I saw Grace flying up the sidewalk with a look of complete despair on her 10-year-old face and maniacally gesturing for me to roll down my window.

I caught the tail end of “AAAHHHHMMMMMM!” as she has a penchant for speaking when she’s ready whether or not I’m yet able to listen. “Someone STOLE Jack’s bike!”

“Let’s just calm down,” I advised. “I’m sure there was just a mix-up.”

“Uh, no,” she continued. “They TOOK his helmet OFF of his bike, THREW it on the ground, LEFT it there, and then TOOK his bike.”

I’ll admit, that sounded like a bit more than a mix-up.

As we trudged to the bike rack to confirm that the bike was indeed gone, it struck me that all of the remaining bikes were locked up. Which made me feel stupid. And sad. Because who would think that kids in elementary school had to lock up their bikes to prevent theft?

My sadness was interrupted by Henry.

“Mom, now you’re going to have to buy him another one. That’ll be $68. PLUS tax.”

“Thank you, Henry.”

“Do you even realize that that’s, like, almost $140 you’ve spent on a bike that only costs $68? PLUS tax?”

“Again, thank you.”

As we drove home, George said, “I feel so sad for Jack.”

Jack responded, “I feel so sad for MOM! She’s gotta go spend more money on another bike!”

Henry: “Yep. $68. PLUS tax.”

That’s clearly my payback for teaching them that a $1 item really costs $1.08.

As I turned down our street, our neighbor approached with my daughter hanging out his car window. I rolled down my own window in turn.

“…..AAAAHHHHHMMMMM,” called Grace. “My boyfriend found Jack’s bike!”

Until today, the word “boyfriend” sent Grace running for the nearest bush to hide behind. Today, she seems intent on making it every other word that comes out of her mouth as though she’s Elaine Benes.

“I’m sorry, WHAT?”

“Well, my boyfriend found it up the street, and then my boyfriend rode it home. Then…”

It’s 5:00 somewhere, right?

Tagged with:  

 

 

Contact

Please contact Elizabeth directly via:

author (at) elizabethlyons (dot) com

© 2011 Elizabeth Lyons. All Rights Reserved.