Bullies

There was once a girl; a beefy, brawny, kind-of-hairy girl, with big teeth and sausage-like fingers. I was the scrawny, skinny, short girl, whose ears poked out from my thin, stringy hair; so naturally, I was her favorite target. She beat me up and pushed me around from the third grade until the tenth grade. She hated me because she thought I was Mexican but refused to speak Spanish. I tried explaining that I was Indonesian and spoke Dutch. That concept is hard enough for most rational people to understand, so explaining it to an over-grown 10-year-old was impossible.

One time, she rammed my head into a metal beam in the school library. If only we'd had today's safety codes in 1983. Another time, she shoved me up against a wall and told me never to sing La Bamba. Ever. I narrowly missed being thrown against a giant Saguaro cactus. Another poor girl was not so lucky, and I helped her pull the cactus spines out of her red T-Shirt. I don't know if I'm remembering the red because that's what color her shirt was or if that was just the blood.

The greatest day of my life was in the tenth grade, when Beef Girl got pregnant and left school. I don't condone teen pregnancy in any way, but in this case, it REALLY worked out to my benefit.

So I finished growing up without anymore pummeling and went on with my life. I never really think much about it, except of course, Every Single Time Anyone Mentions Bullying. Which is more often than you'd think.

And now I'm discovering that my son is being bullied and I want to find the kid doing it and ram his head into a metal beam.

Here's the thing. I'm a (mostly) rational, non-confrontational type of person. So are my kids, if you can imagine such a thing. I have always taught them that there will be people you won't get along with or even like. And that's okay. It's human nature. HOWEVER, you DO have to be nice to everyone. It's important to take the high road. To be the bigger person. To not react when someone is trying to rile you.

It builds character.
It teaches them how to handle difficult situations.
It equips them with the ability to rise above.

This Higher Road stuff is so much harder as a mom.

Tales From First Grade

Today I started a two-month long, 1st grade substitute job because, you know, I'm not busy enough. Anyway, first grade is really fun. We were having a little getting-to-know you kind of a meeting, where each of the kids got to tell me something about themselves, and then they got to ask questions of me. This can be a dangerous endeavor, but I decided to go ahead and risk it. One boy raised his hand and asked, "How OLD are you, because you look like a TEENAGER!"

Pretty much decided who my favorite is right there on the spot.

Their regular teacher is on maternity leave, having just given birth to twins. Naturally much of the chatter among the children is about babies and their origination. As they were coloring their worksheets, I listened to one boy tell all the other kids at his table all about how babies are made.

And I quote: "The mom goes to the doctor and he opens up her belly button and sticks a tiny baby inside. Then he covers it all up and the mom goes home and takes a nap. When she wakes up, the baby is big, so she goes back to the doctor and he stretches out her belly button and yanks the baby out!"

It's going to be an entertaining couple of months.

What Their Mama Saw

Well, here we go again. I have a freshman, and I have a 5th grader. They're both attending new schools this year. The freshman was nervous about going to high school and the 5th grader was excited about getting his own locker and sitting anywhere he wants during lunch at the intermediate school. When I came out of my room this morning, he was standing in the hallway, holding onto his bangs.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"I decided to try out a new hair style for school this year."

"And how's that working out for you?"

"Well, I need them to stick out, not up, but they won't stay."

"I've got something that can solve that." It only took two applications before he realized if he left his hair alone, it would stay put.

Here's what they looked like this morning:

And what their mama saw:

Growing Pains

Before I can complete today's post, there are two things you need to know:

1. I have a beautiful and talented daughter who is musically inclined. She has hummed and sung her way through life, filling our home with beautiful music.

2. I have a darling husband who is struggling with his beautiful and talented daughter growing into a beautiful and talented young woman.

Okay. With that in mind, I give you the laugh of the day.

This morning, I was in my room, painting yet another set of doors. Jess was the only other person home, and she would wander in out of my room, and we'd have short little conversations. At one point, she came in singing "I'll Make a Man Out of You" from the movie Mulan.

Jess: "Did you hear what Dad said to me about that song the other day?"

Me: "No."

Jess: "He said it was 'inappropriate.'"

Me (incredulous): "What? Why?"

Jess: "He said I shouldn't be singing a song like that. So I told him that it's a song from a Disney movie and Donny Osmond sings it. I said it was a song about preparing men to go to war, and if Donny Osmond can sing it, then it's probably okay for me to sing it."

Me: "And what did he say to that?"

Jess: "He said, 'OH! I thought it was a song about a young girl making a man out of a boy!"

Need.
I.
Say.
More?

There's a Girl I Know

That's my daughter there in the front with the tan skirt. Isn't she pretty? She has been involved with our local theater's production of The Music Man this summer. This has proven to be a major time commitment for our entire family. She's been rehearsing since March and performances have been running since July 3. Everything we have done for the last several months has revolved around this play! It's our first experience of this sort, and I might have complained to myself a time or two.

But I have watched this girl grow and learn from this experience. Because this is theater, there has been drama. And I don't do drama. They've changed her part several times, which has changed our schedule. But she took it all in stride, never letting it get to her, and she stuck it through. She's made friends, comes home with a smile, and generally has a wonderful attitude about the whole thing.

The reward for me was watching her the first time she came out onto that stage singing and dancing. What a great moment for this proud momma!

Dog Etiquette, According to ME!

This morning I was outside watering the flowers when a couple of ladies, each out for a walk, crossed paths with each other. The first lady was walking her dog and the second lady was pushing her baby in a stroller. They chatted for a moment and the dog lady asked the other lady how old her baby was. The second lady told her she was a year old. The little dog jumped up and leaned its paws against the front of the stroller to get a better look at the baby.

The dog lady gushed on and on. "Oh, how cute is that? I can't decide which one is cuter!"

Hold the phone. She couldn't decide which one was cuter -- the dog or the baby. Might I just tell you, the correct answer is the kid. The kid is ALWAYS cuter than the dog. I don't care if the kid looks like he or she just arrived here from Jupiter, the kid is ALWAYS cuter. I don't care if your living room is wallpapered with Basset Hounds frolikcing in a field, the kid is ALWAYS cuter. I don't care if you have ever pushed a puppy in a stroller, the kid is ALWAYS cuter.

Got it?

Common sense, PEOPLE!

Campaigning

I'm starting to think my 9-year-old has a future in politics -- as long as his platform is built on super-hero Legos. For the past couple of weeks, he has been doing that thing kids do when there is something they really want: dropping hints.

I'm working at the computer when he comes in and says, "Mom, I think the Captain America Lego set is a pretty good deal because it comes with like, 92 pieces."

And I'm too lazy to calculate the cost per piece, so I say, "hmm," hoping that I can just finish revising the current page I'm on.

Another time, I'm painting a piece of furniture in the garage when he comes out to tell me this: "I was just thinking how awesome it would be if I had two sets of the all the Marvel Heroes Legos because then I could really trick them out and even share them with my friends and I was thinking that I could give some to Layton because he is the only friend I have who is REALLY into Legos."

It's a noble and benevolent thought, but those things are stinking expensive, and I'm sweating to death painting a yard sale dresser that cost me less than any Lego set.

Later, I'm battling my wok for homemade Pad Thai when he saunters in and says, "I was just researching the complete Avengers Lego Set and I think it would be a good investment. Plus, they have all these cool details you can add to your Lego guys, and I already have the markers to do it. But I'm going to need some stickers to give Captain America some helmet wings, because, you know, he doesn't come with them."

I fling a noodle at him and say, "You're right. He's supposed to have wings, isn't he?" And then I think what a rip-off it is to pay twenty bucks for a 92-piece set that doesn't even include helmet wings.

I'll admit he did add some pretty cool detail to Loki's sword with nothing but a magic marker. And Iron Man is looking fine with his now bright-blue arc reactor. However I'm far more impressed with his campaign strategy, slipping in subtle hints here and working it into the natural flow of a conversation there. Sometimes he's just so in-your-face about it that you can't help but pay attention. But like most politicians, eventually the sound bites turn into rhetoric and you find it pretty easy to tune them out.

Especially when you're the one who has control of the banks.

Calgon, Take Me Away!

Aaaarrrgghh!

Okay, I need to vent for a minute. As weepy as I got the other day when school started, I was expecting to have a little more freedom by now. Thursday and Friday were fine. Saturday, we spent at the lake paddle boarding (Have you tried it? I love it!). By Sunday night, Jamison was complaining of a sore throat, and he woke up Monday with a fever of 101.

After a much needed work-out this morning, I spent a couple of hours taking him to the doctor and getting a prescription filled. He has strep. After TWO DAYS of school.

Are you kidding me?

Is it a dirty little secret that we moms all breathe a collective sigh of relief, respite, and a glory hallelujah on the first day of school? Or is it just me? My husband gave me a gift certificate for a massage on VALENTINE'S DAY that I was really hoping to have used by now. So there's the side of me that whines.

And then there's the side of me that feels guilty for whining. I'm a mom, and it is my job, after all, to take care of my kids and make them my first priority. And I do it gladly (sometimes most of the time). However, throw in a husband who travels frequently, a small business to get up and running, a household to run, church responsibilities, a myriad of other little things, and well, I'm a little stressed at the moment.

"And technically, there are still a few weeks of summer left," she said, through gritted teeth.

But I'll post about that later, because my daughter just handed me an assignment that we are supposed to do together.

Happy Birthday, Jett!

Yesterday was a bit of depressing day. You know, just one of those days where nothing goes quite right. As I laid down to sleep last night, the last thought that went through my head was this: We have bad days like this so we can better recognize the good days.

Well, when I woke up this morning, it wasn't hard to recognize that this was going to be a GOOD day. I was absolutely delighted (and quite surprised) to find out that my newest little nephew decided to join the world at 2:42 a.m. -- two weeks earlier than expected!

The kids and I drove to Salt Lake City as soon as we could and gave that baby some love!

When my brother, Anthony, was born, I was in second grade and I took him to school for show-and-tell. This blog is now the closest thing I've got to show-and-tell, so here he is!

 Jett Anthony Alvey

Doesn't he have the sweetest little face?

Charlotte, Tony, and little Jett

Can we all just take a moment and be jealous of Charlotte and how good she looks, just hours after giving birth -- WITHOUT drugs?!?!?!?!?

I'm so glad that my brother and his wife moved to Utah and had a baby! I am going to spoil that kid rotten! For those of you who like stats, I can tell you he weighs 6 pounds 3 ounces and he's the same length as two plastic forks laid end to end. We measured. It was very scientific.

Thanks for a good  fantastic day, Jett!

What's Scary to an 8-Year-Old Boy?

Happy Halloween! Another one is here and no Halloween Gala to speak of. It will happen. One day. On Saturday we let our kids have a party, complete with costumes and severed-finger cookies. It was awesome. My husband was worried about the whole worlds-colliding thing as the party was all-inclusive... as long as you were a 12-year-old girl or an 8-year-old boy.

After an hour of Minute-to-Win-It games, the girls gathered around the kitchen island for treats while the boys did the same - around the kitchen table. The girls were enjoying their chips and salsa when one of the boys expressed his interest in said chips and salsa.

"Well go ahead and get yourself some," I offered. Aren't I a gracious hostess?

"But those girls scare me," said the 8-year-old hobbit.

So I fixed him up a little plate of his own. After all, Halloween shouldn't be THAT scary.

Stop This Train

I feel old. Not in the achy-body-where's-the-Geritol sense; but more in the my-kids-are-growing-up sense.

In the last few days I have had two very important discussions with my kids. I had the truth-about-Santa Claus talk with my 8-year-old and the truth-about-where-babies-come-from with my 12-year-old. I've been meaning to have that talk with the 12-year-old for a while now, but she really wasn't ready (nor was I) until now. Her reaction? "That's just gross."

As for the 8-year-old, he's 8 going on 32, so the timing was right. He was helping me take some things down to the basement when he said, "I really hate to bring this up with Christmas just around the corner, but are you and Dad really the ones who get all the Christmas presents for us?" After confirming his suspicions, he kicked a rubber ball across the room (thankfully our basement is empty) and said, "Dang it! I wanted him to be real!"

I suggested that maybe now he would have some fun getting in on the magic for his younger cousins. His reaction: "Yeah, but that will cost a lot of money!" Always the capitalist.

I feel like I've taken away a little something from them now. A little innocence, a little bit of their childhood, a little bit of fun. But then again, I'd be devastated if they found these things out from any other source; because the truth is, I will always tell them the truth. Always. Even if it hurts me a little.

A couple of days later, my son lost a tooth. He walked right up to me and said, "I'm guessing the tooth fairy isn't real either?"

"Talk to your dad," I said.

"Nope," Dan said rather bluntly.

"What about the Easter Bunny?"

"No, But you know who IS real?"

"Who?"

"Jesus."

The next morning I gave him a dollar for his tooth.

Behavior Modification

My kids are four years apart. One's a bossy girl; the other is a stubborn boy. They do have many really good, wonderful qualities, but that's not what today's post is about.

Because one is bossy and the other one is stubborn, and there's a four-year differential, there tends to be lots of room for bickering. I'm sure if you have kids, you probably have no idea what I'm talking about. Anyway, all the bickering this summer left me pulling out my hair. About a month ago, I finally lost it. Oh man, did I lose it.

After telling them to get out of my sight, I thought to myself, "Why should I be the one to lose it? They're the ones who should be losing something." So I went to my husband, who had a great idea.

"Give them the chore you hate doing the most, and make them do it every time they fight."

Mopping, it is. I called them out of their rooms and taught them how to properly mop our kitchen floor, beginning with removing all the chairs to the living room. Sweep, swiffer, mop. Get down on your hands and knees if there's a stubborn spot. I taught them this while sitting like a queen on a throne. It was all very Cinderella-ish.

Today they were fighting over taking turns on the Wii -- to the point, mind you, that one was ripping the batteries out of the balance board. The old me would have yelled and sent them to their rooms. The new me? I very calmly said, "Turn it off and go mop." They very nearly began to bicker over who would do what, when I calmly reminded them that I could very easily add the bathroom floors to their punishment.

They're about half-way done as I type this.

Let Them Be Little

Ah, summer. Sunshine, shorts, watermelon, and ceiling fans. I am a lover of all things summer. Even my birthday falls in the summer - how depressing to have a winter birthday! One of the best things about summer is the road trip. We took one last week, to St. George, UT. It's down in the corner of the state, full of heat, red rocks, and beautiful golf courses. We took advantage of all of them.

I know I've mentioned that I try to feed my kids healthy things. Except on road trips. All bets are off. Gimme a greasy burger and some piping hot fries and I am one happy road tripper. So you can imagine I was a little disheartened at the local Jack-In-the-Box, when a small sign read, "Kids' meals will no longer include a toy. Apple slices available upon request."

What the?

Jamison was even more disappointed when he opened his bag. "I thought we were in St. George, NOT San Francisco." That boy is sharp.

Please. The name of your establishment is JACK IN THE BOX. Your mascot is a toy in a suit!

Later on, I saw a sign meant to hang on a child's doorknob. It simply said, "Let them be little."

Indeed.

A Glimpse of Things to Come

Last week our daughter turned twelve. We don't typically do birthday parties, but this year we caved in and allowed her to invite twelve giggling, squealing, sreaming 'tweens over for lemon cupcakes and a Wii dance party.

Things spoken during the festivities:

My husband was outside grilling hotdogs. He needed a plate from the kitchen. He said to me, "You go get it. Everytime I walk in there, they stop talking."

In hopes of joining the dance party upstairs, our eight-year-old son came downstairs and said, "Mom, check out these awesome dance moves I've been working on!" I quickly called a friend to come over and keep him company.

More than once, and from more than one attendee, I heard, "Taylor Lautner is so HAWT!"

Finally, as my husband and I were banned to the garage to enjoy our hotdogs and lemon cupcakes, he asked, "How did this happen? Why are WE the ones in the garage?"

I licked my strawberry frosting and said, "Welcome to the future. Get used to it."

A Conversation

The conversation at our house this morning circled around food. Before I even made it out of my bathroom, my daughter asked if she could have some certain cookies for her lunch.

"Grab an apple," I said.

"But I already have a yogurt and that has fruit in it."

"So?"

"That's like having two fruits."

"And the problem is...?"

She went to the pantry and dug out a container of apple sauce, which had fermented. Thankfully we tested it before she got to school.

"There's a crisper drawer full of real apples," I suggested. She rolled her eyes at me.

A few minutes later, my son said, "Mom, I need a snack for my lunch." I repeated what I had told his sister. "But I already have blueberries," was his reply.

"So?" I know I'm asking for it when I say that.

"So NOBODY ever takes two fruits in their lunch. EVERYBODY takes at least two snacks - and you're telling me I can't even have ONE?"

My reply: "First of all, you're not Donald Trump, so quit speaking in superlatives. Second of all, fruit IS a snack. What kind of snacks does EVERYONE have?"

"Fruit roll-ups, fruit by the foot, fruit snacks, chips..."

I couldn't resist. "How sad for them. There is a fridge full of REAL fruit in this house. Aren't you lucky? And when you say 'snack' you mean junk food. So ask me for junk food."

"But if I ask for junk food, you'll say NO!"

"I think you're getting it, kid."

He rolled his eyes at me and opted for a cherry yogurt.

"Why don't you ever let us have junk food?" He asked in that very whiny, spoiled-brat kind of voice that gives me immediate desires to take away all happiness forever.

"I believe you enjoyed both jolly ranchers and a fireball after school yesterday. And what about that bowl of ice cream after dinner? You get plenty without me actually giving it to you on purpose. I want you to grow up and have a long, healthy life, even if it means griping at me forever."

A pouty look was all I got in response.

"If you want to grow up and be a famous scientist/inventor, you need a good, healthy, strong brain, and fruit by the foot is not the answer."

Being the typical mom that I am, I couldn't resist one parting shot before I left for work.

"I don't think Einstein ate a single Fruit by the Foot EVER!"

My Middle School Initiation

I'm old and I'm cheap. But that's okay.

A little background: my daughter, who is about to turn twelve, has had a favorite store for the last 2-3 years called Justice. I can't stand it. Their clothes are expensive, for the most part ugly, and poor quality.

Last week, she came home from school and announced, "I think I'm pretty much over Justice." I breathed a small sigh of relief. "I want to start shopping at Aeropostale."

"Why?" I asked.

"Well, Sophie's mom took her shopping there, and she got a ton of cute stuff!"

Thank you, Sophie's Mom, for what follows.

Yesterday, I was out and about, when I decided to pop into Aeropostale and check things out. I thought I'd do a little birthday shopping. I found "a ton of cute stuff," all from the clearance racks. I mean, why would I buy a $24 yellow polo when I could buy one in a slightly different shade of yellow for $4?

So I took my picks up to the register, where the sales clerks, who were half my age and who had half my wisdom, proceeded to ring me out. We chatted, and I learned that this was a favorite store of many middle-schoolers. "Yeah," said Clerk 1, "lots of middle-school kids shop here, but it's not a great place for moms like you to buy clothes." As if I would want to wear shorts that were made of nothing more than a waist band and a pocket (nor would I want my daughter to wear them - but that's another post).

Clerk #2 whispered to me, "It's also a great place for CHEAP people to shop."

Oh just wait girls.

Swiss Miss

March was truly one of the busiest months for me that I can remember in a long time. I've had busy days, busy weeks, but a busy month? This is one fool who is glad that it's April 1st.

One of the biggest contributing factors to my busy-ness was a little thing called the Swiss Miss Pageant. The first settlers of Midway were Swiss immigrants, and their descendants are mighty proud of that fact. Many of the houses here (including the one I live in) are based on Swiss-themed architecture. The bell tower at the local resort plays Edelweiss* at 4:00 every day in the summer. We also have Swiss Days, a two-day festival before Labor Day that causes the entire state of Utah to descend upon our tiny town. And every year in March, there's the Swiss Miss Pageant. Local girls, age 9-13 can try out, and if so crowned, five of them become Midway's ambassadors for the year. My daughter was so crowned. And my year just got a whole lot busier.

But I am bursting at the seams for this kid. She's a good one. She came home two months ago and said, "I think I want to try out for Swiss Miss." I am sooooo NOT a pageant person. But she dedicated herself to it, practiced a piano piece for the talent number, and kept a positive attitude the entire time. The day after winning the pageant, trophy in hand, she said, "I'm a little nervous about seeing my friends at church. I don't want them to feel bad because they didn't get in." I told her that as long as she left the trophy at home, I didn't think she had anything to worry about.

Three days after winning the pageant, she played an original composition on the piano at her great-grandmother's funeral. I had the vantage point of being able to see everybody's faces as she played. There are times when I have been proud of her, but that one takes the cake.

Five days after winning the pageant, she brought home a straight-A report card.

I know. I know. Nobody likes to hear someone go on and on about how wonderful their children are. But sometimes, a mom's gotta brag.

*Yes, I am aware that Edelweiss is the AUSTRIAN national flower (but nobody in Midway seems to care).

Sometimes...

Last night my son said something that pierced me right through the heart.

When my husband and I got married, one of our many topics of conversation included how many kids we wanted. We always thought 3 or 4 would suit us just fine. But, like so many things in life, things don't always go the way you've got planned. As I've mentioned before, pregnancy and I do not get along... to the tune of 5 miscarriages. And I'm suspicious it might even be 7. We never got a real explanation as to why, except that my body doesn't produce enough of the hormone needed to sustain a pregnancy. I'm good at getting pregnant; just a slacker when it comes to staying pregnant.

Anyway, we're absolutely thrilled and blessed to have the two children we have. It did, however, take me a long time to accept the fact that two was our number. But I got over it, made my peace with it, and we're in a really good place now. We're past all the baby stuff, we're not as tied down, we go on great family trips; and I can run errands with nothing but my cell phone and my wallet (and my chapstick, of course).

However, no matter how far you think you might be past something, the littlest of things can still hurt. Last night my son said that when he grows up and has kids, they're not going to have an uncle, and that made him sad. Which made me sad. It's not true, of course. His sister's husband will be their uncle, and he better be the best uncle on the whole damn planet. Also, I'm a solid believer in the whole eternal life concept, so I'm gonna be busy raising 5-7 kids in the afterlife. Does that sound like heaven to you?

But I digress. I was surprised at how sad that little statement made me. I had to go away and cry for a few minutes. I woke up with a sigh this morning. I realized that the pain and disappointment of miscarriage will never ever fully go away. But that's okay. I've got something to look forward to later on. And the happiness will be exquisite.

I write this not for sympathy. I've had plenty of that. I write this for two reasons: 1. Sometimes it helps to write through the pain. 2. If you know of anyone who has had a miscarriage, send them this way. No one understands like someone who's been through it.

What it comes down to is this: miscarriage sucks. Of the many injustices in life, this is one of the biggest. How the most irresponsible, drug-abusing, child-abusing people can have baby after baby (I've taught some of them) and other people can't, is something beyond explanation to me. It stinks to say good-bye to someone you've never even met. Sometimes you don't even get to say good-bye. You wake up from surgery, are given a pain pill, and get sent on your merry way. You have to mourn and grieve without closure. But there's still hope. Life goes on. You can be happy. God will work it out in the end.

You might feel the sad from time to time, but that just makes you appreciate the happy even more.

The Brain of a 'Tween

Warning: celebrity gossip to follow. I really couldn't care less about celebrity gossip, but I promise this is going to be good.

So we've established that I'm a John Mayer fan. He's got the chops, but he's what I like to call a "mimbo." You know, male bimbo. His song, "Half of My Heart," to which Taylor Swift adds some harmony, is up for a grammy.

Yesterday, my sister called to ask me if I'd heard the song "Dear John" by Taylor Swift. She told me it has been rumored that the song is basically for Mr. Mayer, in retaliation for a brief relationship gone wrong.

When I got home, I asked my 11-year-old daughter to grab her Taylor Swift CD and play me the song. Let me tell you, this kid idolizes Taylor Swift. She plays her music, wears her beret, and sings her songs in the shower. So she plays me the song. Then she asks why I wanted to hear it. I tell her it's because the song is supposed to be about John Mayer.

Her reaction: "Oooooo, busted! I'd be mad if I was her too! She sang on one of his songs and she only got to sing the same six words over and over!"

Oh, the innocence. I'm locking this kid in a tower.

Heard Around My House

The following is a random list of things my children have said to me this week:

Not to make you mad or anything, but when you walked across the kitchen just now, I could seriously feel the floor shake.

Hey Mom, can you open this?

Seriously, you need to get me a flight simulator.

Hey Mom, can you open this?

I'm guessing since you just made bread, I can't have school lunch?

Hey Mom, can you help me with this?

Why are you driving DAD'S car? Is that even allowed?

Hey Mom, have you seen my ______________? (Fill in the blank)

Oh come on! Chicken again? You HAVE GOT to be kidding me.

Hey Mom, can you pick up my ziggurat?

Why hasn't anyone invented flying shoes yet?

Hey Mom, can you sign this?

That stuff you're mopping the floor with smells like cherry chocolate ice cream.

Hey Mom, do you have a magic eraser? I ACCIDENTALLY did something.

It was an ACCIDENT!!! (A different "accident").

Hey Mom, how do you turn this math problem into a percent?

Why is your shirt so puffy?



Question: where does a kindergarten teacher go when she needs a mommy break?