“Let’s Get Out of It”

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Kids do and say a lot of funny shit. That’s fact. They even made a TV show about it, but they had to call it Kids Say the Darndest Things instead of Kids Say Funny Shit because of stupid TV censors.

One of my main theories on parenting is – prepare yourself; this is pretty deep – that kids get away with being horrible a lot of the time because they’re also really funny and once in a while, they look cute. It’s a balancing act. Luckily, funny and cute is usually tipping the scales because otherwise they’d be out on the streets.

For example, in one scenario (which may or may not have really happened), Happy Dude keeps us up for most of the night by yelling things like “MOMMY! MOMMY! [I climb out of bed and stagger like one of those zombies in Walking Dead to his room and he says… ] I need my Daddy.” or “WHERE ARE MY CARS? I WOST MY CARS!” (because you know how easy it is to wose 276 Matchbox cars at 3:00am… this is the stuff nightmares are made of).

When morning finally comes, I march into his room with angry eyes, ready to unleash the Mom Fury and he says, “Good morning, Mommy! You find my cars and twucks? We pway cars and twucks now?” And even though I really, really deserve to be mad at that guy because I am SO TIRED, his little head is tilting to the side and his eyes are all hopeful and… forget it, I’m done

Don’t we all have these moments? Daily? Hourly? We’re on the brink of losing it but then our kids pull out their secret weapon – adorability – and we’re sunk. We laugh and forget that they just superglued all the Legos to the dining room wall. (Or we just sneak into the pantry and slug from the box of wine or bag of chocolate chips. Whatever works.)

Adorability: it’s why we don’t send our kids outside to play and quickly change the locks.

Yesterday, I opened the Loud One’s backpack and found a belated Valentine’s Day card to me apologizing for the pencil-all-over-the-white-couch incident that had happened earlier that morning (I think I showed you the picture of my white couch covered in pencil, right?). Here was the card:

Well, I was pissed. Because A) she SWORE that she had nothing to do with it, and B) she is SIX years old and should not be writing on furniture. So when I saw the card, we had this conversation:

Me: Hey LO, are you SURE you didn’t write on the couch?
LO <looking stricken>: I PROMISE I didn’t!!
Me: Then why did you write an apology letter?
LO: Because I felt bad that I didn’t stop [the Nibbit] from doing it.
Me: Why didn’t you stop him?
LO: Because I was laughing instead. (Grrrr…..)
Me: OK, so what does “Let’s get out of it” mean?
LO: You know, it means, “Let’s move on!”

And there it is. I couldn’t stop the chuckle from escaping out of my mouth… and she heard it so she knew she was off the hook. And more importantly, she knew that I knew she was off the hook, which meant she was really off the hook.

But come on, isn’t that so fantastic? Let’s get out of it! I had to forgive her for the whole thing immediately because she coined such an awesome expression. I am SO using it on a daily basis from now on.

“I’m really sorry I spilled coffee all over you. Let’s get out of it.”

“I feel terrible that I stood you up. C’mon now, let’s get out of it.”

“I am so sorry I stole your car. Let’s just get out of it and grab a drink.”

 

MORE FUNNY SHIT DARNDEST THINGS

This conversation happened:

Nibbit: You have lots of prickles all over your face, Mommy.
Me: Prickles?
Nibbit: You know, pretzels… I mean, prickers. Wait, what are they called?
Me: Freckles?
Nibbit: Yeah! Freckers!

Now, every once in a while, the Nibbit will say, “Look at that little frecker” and I’m all, who is he calling a little f***er? when really he’s just trying to tell me that I need to use more sunblock.

 

Lastly, a few weeks ago, a friend of mine mentioned that her son loves this toy called Fort Magic. I may have been slightly under the influence when I hopped onto Amazon on my phone and ordered it immediately (damn you, 1-Click). Got home to find that not only was an Advanced Engineering Degree required for this thing, it also cost $200 (I really wish I could all-cap numbers for emphasis).

So, determined to get my money’s worth, we busted it open that weekend and spent hours building forts of various shapes and sizes. It’s tricky for a kid to build entirely on his/her own, but once we had a base (for a submarine, say), our kids could work from that and get creative.

AND HOW.

One day, the Loud One yells from the playroom, “Mommy, come check out what I built! It’s a Submarine Rocket!”

I’ll let you guys be the judge of that (sorry for the crappy picture… it’s hard to see the ahem… “Submarine Rocket” with the lighting and the mess in the background):

Oh, that’s some kind of rocket all right.

 

Also, my crafty Nibbit built this:

“It’s a snorker. You know the thing that lets you see under the water in the bathtub.”

In conclusion, kids say funny shit.

6 responses »

  1. I wish I was a fly on the wall whenever the kids are talking and playing with each other. They do say the cutest and funniest things. I was laughing through your whole blog. Made my day!

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