Parenting 101

May 30, 2015

I am no poster child for parenting:  I often speak too plainly, curse too much, drive too fast.  I have, however, always spoken to my two with respect and with the expectation that they have a view of the world that is not less important or less funny than mine.  And I love them fiercely and they know it. As a result, every once in a while, a zinger flings about.  I have decided (much to their eventual chagrin, I am sure) to catalogue some of our finer moments here.  

This is just a start…more will come as a) they happen or b) I remember them. And please ignore the ball theme...I swear we aren't pervs.

Just this morning, my 10-year-old son was instructed to vacuum his room.  He met with difficulty one of the hoses that really sucks up the nasty *&%$.  He asked me to help, but I also couldn’t unstick what was stuck.

Drew: would you go in there and ask dad to fix the vacuum?
Me: why don't you go?
Drew: he might be changing
Me: so what? what are u, afraid of seeing him nekked?
Drew: (eye roll) no...but you're the mom and he's the dad and he might yell at me
Me: Drew, when Daddy yells at you, does a little piece of you die inside?

Drew: (no answer, but his eyes said yes) 
Needless to say, I asked for his father's vacuuming assistance

Getting Drew ready for baseball a few weeks ago:

Me: don't you need to wear your cup?

Drew: no. Don't tell dad, but I don't really wear it. 

Me:  Drew, what happens if you get hit in the balls?

Drew:  it's fine.

Me: don't blame me if you get hit there and you aren't able to make any little Drews when you grow up.

Drew: mom, I don't have a vagina. I can't make babies.

Me: but...you...never mind

 😳



It was Memorial Day and Grace was three. I grew up in a family for whom cemetery visits were not uncommon. On this particular day of remembrance, Grace asked what the holiday was and why I was not at school.

Me:  it's Memorial Day.

Grace: oh...then I guess we should go look at some graves.

Me:  I guess we should. Which ones should we go see?

Grace:  well, Aunt Grace and your mom and dad...

Me:  Grace! My dad is still alive! That's your Papa!

Grace:  oh, yeah.

My very much alive father stopped by soon thereafter.
Me to him:  sorry, Dad, but Grace already has you in the ground


Grace was two and strapped into her car seat one morning when I was trying to get us both out the door. I couldn't find my car's garage door opener anywhere. I searched high and low, inside and outside. Nothing. All the while Grace watched from her perch in the back seat. I continued to hunt until finally, exasperated, I opened the front door of my Ford Explorer and leaned in against the driver's seat. I assumed defeat. Garage opener 1, Nance 0. I looked back at blondie, taking it all in.
Grace: whatcha looking for?
Me:  the garage door opener. I can't find it anywhere.
Grace: Oh, it's back there, she said casually, her thumb wagging toward the back of the car.
Without hesitation, I opened the back hatch to find the elusive garage door opener waiting for me.
She was two.
I was grateful and a tad terrified.