Kids Are Funny - Part 3

Yes - I still have more funny/adorable things my kids said from 2011 to share with you.

Yes - the picture of Zeca and Miguel that accompanies this post is from 2011.

Yes - we did enjoy the fact that they were buried in the sand and couldn't move.

It is a damp, gray day here in Minneapolis so I'm taking the funny where I can get it.

Enjoy!

Miguel: "When I'm 15 I'm gonna be a cake decorator at Lunds because if you're going to get minimum wage, you might as well have fun." (2011)

Miguel to Zeca: "I think mama is the only joker this family needs." (2011)

Me to Miguel: "Don't argue with us just for sport!" Miguel: "But sports are fun." #firstdayofschool (2011)

Miguel re: the end of vacation - "It's worse than being shot in the leg with an arrow." #dramaking (2011)

Miguel: "Why are there so many Pennsylvania license plates?" Me: "Because we are in Pennsylvania." Miguel: "We are?!" (2011)

Miguel: "Would you like to shut me in this box? I'm going to be the next Houdini." (2011)

Morning quote from Miguel about him and his sister: "We're quite clever but not the best at making good decisions." (2011)

Me: "You need to learn how to untie double knots. I won't always be around to do it." Miguel: "I know. That's why I'm going to have a wife." (2011)

Miguel:"Is it true that poor oral hygiene can lead to heart problems?" Me: "Yes but who told you that?" Miguel: "You." Me:"Well, I am wise." (2011)

Me to Miguel: "Hurry! I have court this morning." Miguel: "What have you done now?" (2011)

Miguel: "Mom, Super Heroes always have slightly curved faces and arrogant smiles." (2011)

Kids Are Funny - Part 2

I'm hoping to bring a little levity to this Wednesday by posting more of my kids' quotes from Twitter. Apparently,my kids were very funny in 2011 because there were 35  quotes just from that year.

I'm going to spread 2011 over a few posts because I can do that.

Because I'm the boss.

So there.

In 2011, Miguel was 10 and Zeca was 6 and I searched through my pictures from that year to find one to accompany this post. This picture was taken in Obidos, Portugal - one of my favorite places. The window behind them is a couple of feet deep and beyond that is a sheer drop. I asked to take their picture and they both immediately climbed inside the window and started goofing around which freaked me out because I imagined them plummeting to their deaths. I assume this picture was taken after I extricated them from the window. Obviously, they were still goofing around but at least there was a stone wall to keep them from falling.

Keep those little faces in mind as you read some of the best quotes of 2011:

"Recently I've become interested in the exciting art of cheese carving!" - Miguel, age 10 (2011)

Me (aloud to self): "How bad is my hair?" Miguel: "Very bad. It's very messed up." (2011)

Miguel: "That's my hobby - reading trashy tabloids. I really like the People magazine." #fb (2011)

Zeca: "To be a man, you must know your Disney princesses." Miguel: "To be a woman, you must know your superheroes." (2011)

We were talking about pediatricians and Zeca said, "I thought Nicki Minaj was my doctor." (2011)

Playing legos - Zeca: "The mom is eating chicken." Miguel: "No - the mom is ziplining!" (2011)

Miguel said Zeca punched him in the face. We freaked b/c his eyes looked bruised. Later he said, "I just remembered its eye shadow!" (2011)

Miguel just got in the car reeking of garlic. Me: "How much garlic did you eat?!" Miguel: "Just two bulbs." BULBS! (2011)

Miguel: "It's nice to stare at something fuzzy and cute before you plunge into a world or horror." cute=kitten and horror=homework (2011)

Miguel: "What if I made a giant plastic hamster ball and I ran inside it?" #fb (2011)

Me: "Hey now! Sorry is not a game of revenge." Miguel: "Um, mom. It says revenge right on the box." #gamenight (2011)

When I'm Old...

Each day for a week, Zeca and I walked to the neighborhood music store where she was taking a class and making a cigar box guitar.

On the last day, it was hot and humid as we walked and the cicadas buzzed incessantly and her sweaty hand felt hot and gritty in mine. I carried the almost finished guitar in my other hand because she didn't trust herself to carry it the few blocks that we had to walk.

I complained about the heat but she said nothing until the music store came into sight and then she said, "Someday, my cigar box guitar will break and I'll be sad. It will break when I'm old and I'll think about my childhood and say, 'I remember when I made this and used to play...'"

I stopped and looked at her and suddenly felt the weight of the guitar in my hand.

She looked up and said, "It's very special to me."

Of course.

She'd cut the neck herself and sanded it until she could run her hands up and down without feeling a nick or splinters. She'd carefully drilled holes into the top of the neck and made grooves in it to place the tiny brads that served to mark the frets. She'd glued those markers in place and carried it home in both hands to make sure that everything dried as it should. She'd attached the cigar box with help from her teacher, the box she'd chosen because it was plain and she liked the deep color of the wood. She'd run the strings to the wing nuts that serve as tuning pegs and tightened them as best as she could.

She made something.

She made something that could make music.

I'd spent the week grumbling internally that the timing of the class was inconvenient. It interfered with getting to the pool when it opened. I'd considered sitting in the music store waiting for her a waste of my time. I could have been writing or returning emails. I could have been doing something.

To me, it was just a class to help pass the summer days, something she would forget about in a month.

That may still be true but, as we stood on that hot city sidewalk, I realized there was honor in the work, unseen value in those pieces of wood and steel strings. It mattered and I hadn't known until that very minute.

When we reached the store, she went into the workshop to put the finishing touches on her instrument and I sat in the front of the store surrounded by guitars and violins and ukeleles. I took a guitar down from the wall and played and took in the smell of the wood and relished the feel of my fingers on those steel strings.

I thought about my daughter and her quiet mind. I thought about her childhood and all the ways we are making it together. I thought of my place in her life and vowed as I often do to be more mindful, more present.

And I thought about the future and wondered about all that is still to come. There will be many moments that bump into each other and pile up over the years until I am old, until she is old.

I think it will be me who sits down with her someday and says, "Remember when we walked to the music store? Remember when you made that cigar box guitar?"

The unspoken question will be, "Remember when you reminded me about reverence?"

This post was written for Just Write. Check out Heather’s post and all the posts of all who joined in this week.