delaWHERE?

We went to Delaware last week. It was far.

Traveling with kids. This topic is one of my mainstays. Travel, feminist mom/gender issues/pink glitter lint, and, of course, cheese.

I feel like traveling with children is just an endless loop of running interference and going to great lengths to avoid meltdowns. I am on high alert at all times. It's freaking exhausting. And then DM is like, "No naps? Going to bed at midnight? Feeding them nothing but warm grapes and granola bars for 24 hours? Eating out at restaurants with white tablecloths at 8 o'clock at night? They'll be FINE! Stop being such a stress-ball." Ha! All of motherhood for me is this constant struggle between wanting to placate them so they'll STFU, and wanting to hold the line so that they'll learn that their actions have consequences, and so maybe they won't grow up to be total douche bonnets, even though I know doing so is gonna ruin the next 30-90 minutes of my life.

*Sigh.*

Anyway. There's a post in the pipes about the actual traveling experience (also one about not raising miniature douche canoes). But for now, a few funnies that were said:

Grandpa (Baba), cutting cantaloupe for Colby, near Colby.
Colby: Uh, Baba? Did you know kids are not supposed to have knives?
My kids are nothing if not rule-abiding. Just like their mama. (I just re-read this (yes I read my own blog posts. Probably more than anyone else's, by a long shot) and was like, Wait. My kids are ANYTHING but rule abiding. Unless said rule allows them to boss other people (e.g. Colby LOVES telling other babies/children "It's not a crying thing,") and/or is the most effective way to inconvenience their mother. Then they are all about STRICT adherence to the letter of the law.)

Then, Baba tries to feed Colby the canteloupe.
C: I'd rather feed myself. Fanks doh.

Grandma ("Ima," who grew up in Iran and still has a bit of an accent): I have to get the scissor.
Jack: Who's Caesar?

Oh yeah, also, my baby turned 3. Waaaa. I was showing her baby pictures and there's this one where she's sitting on an old suitcase that belonged to my great grandmother.

Colby: Is your gweat gwandma dead?
Me: Yes.
Colby: Did she get killed by bad guys?
Me: Um, no.

Also, it was COLD.

I mean. Not zero degrees. But not 82. Jack wanted to open the car window while we were driving.
DM: No way! Do you want to turn into a Popsicle?!
Colby: I'm gonna turn into a popsi-GIRL!

This guy was obviously an escaped mental patient, out and about dressed like this.
I was wearing three coats.

Reading Dinosaurs Love Underpants at bedtime. Spoiler alert: The dinosaurs die.
Jack: What happened to the dinosaurs, mama?
Me: Um, I think they're sleeping.
Jack: Daddy said they were dead.
Me: Oh.
Jack: Mama? Tomorrow, can you show me a picture of a dinosaur and dinosaur bones? And a wooly mammoff and woolly mammoff bones? And a saver-toof-tiger and saver-toof-tiger bones? Cuz I willy want to learn about dat stuff.
Me: Yes, absolutely bud.
Colby: Mama, tomorrow, will you learn me pictures about pwincess bones and baby bones?
Me: Ummmm....

TV room with lazy boy recliner couch = "Da Woom Wif Da Magic Chairs"

Jack: Daddy! Stop eating stuff off my plate, I don't want you to be fat!
DM: Well you're not eating it.
K: So. That doesn't mean you have to eat it. Just leave it dare!
DM: ...
Colby: I don't want daddy's belly to be wittow! It's comfy!

Colby: Hey how did you lock that door? [Auto-lock car door.]
DM: I did it with my brain.
Colby: No you didn't cuz you don't has one of doze.
Ohhh snap! ;)

DM: I feel like if you squint your ears a lot of the songs today sound like they're from the 80s.

Oh, and, for the past two years, I have been holding a grudge because I believed that DM tricked me into eating an actual meat cheesesteak from Capriotti's sandwich shop. (I'm a vegetarian, or rather, a cheese-a-tarian, so this did not sit well with me.) I believed this because they opened a couple shops in San Diego, and we went, and they do not have a veggie cheese steak. I simply did not believe that the Wilmington, Delaware contingent would have a tofurkey cheesesteak when California's didn't. But. The man was vindicated. I'm just happy I didn't inadvertently eat cow.

Who knew?

Finally, here's a little gem from today:

Text from DM this morning: What do I do with her hair when you Elsa braid it at night? Undo the braid? ["Elsa braid," otherwise known as a braid-braid. I have a limited repertoire.]
Me: Yes, take out the braid, get it wet, and then do whatever. (Or else it's an Elsa-braid-tail with a big snarly halo on top. Business in the back, party in the front.)
Ten minutes later I get this:

"So... not this?"

Lol. Not bad actually. I like his problem-solving skills. Good daddy ;)

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McCutlet

i've always had a sneaking suspicion that i sort of suck at cooking. the fact that, on occasion, my children will willingly eat dog kibble or leaves off the trees in our yard or bite-sized rocks, but stage a nightly revolt at dinner time, probably should have been my first clue. then there was that time when DM said the kids were probably going to grow up saying, "sorry, mom! we already had dinner at Millie's house!" or i might have been tipped off when, every couple of months, DM eats something i cook and his face is awash with awe and he says, "this is good. i mean, like, really good. you made this? where did you get the recipe?" still, while no great gourmet by any stretch, i always imagined my meals were perhaps boring, repetitive, unoriginal... but at least edible. i am now beginning to question even that very basic assumption.

i was gone for five days last week. a work trip to Atlanta followed by a quick visit with my aunt and uncle who live there. my in-laws flew across the country in the other direction to visit and help DM with the kidlets while their absentee mother relaxed at the ritz carlton in buckhead. incidentally, five days is too long to be away from the kids. and 48 hours is the amount of time it takes before i'm ready to leave again :) (i'm mostly kidding, actually. they are being SO cute and sweet and snuggly and lovey lately and i *almost* can't get enough of them. swoon.)

anyway. apparently, when Ima (grandma) cooked, the kids ate like champs every night. maybe it was just a coincidence. i'll keep telling myself that ;)

then, last night, someone was coming to the house in the evening, i didn't feel like cooking, the housekeepers had been there earlier so the kitchen was actually clean, and i really wanted to keep it that way for more than 97 seconds, so i asked the kids if they wanted to get mcdonalds for dinner. i thought this special mid-week treat would be met with great enthusiasm, but instead, Colby asks, "do day have cutlets at mcdonowd's?" i.e., please mama, may i have real food instead of junk food for dinner? cue instantaneous, all-encompassing shame. (for those not in "the know," Persian cutlet, or "kotlet," is kind of like an oblong hamburger patty made with ground beef, potato, onion, egg, breadcrumbs and spices. and the kids lurve it.) i do have Ima's recipe for cutlet (such as it is - she is one of those lucky folks who just throw in a little of this and a little of that and create deliciousness). i've made it before. and it looked like cutlet, but of course, i cannot personally vouch for its verisimilitude. so i told Colby, "i can make you cutlet." but she wasn't havin' any of that. "no! you non't know how do it." sigh. luckily for us, before she left, Ima stocked our fridge and freezer with plenty of cutlet, rice, and tadig. i have enough to handily sidestep supper skirmishes for a week.

Mash Donald's

Pizza Hat

my Persian (BatGirl) Princess
(wearing nothing but shoes and a cape <3 )