Sprout wrote this poem at school, I hope it isn't wrong to share it.
I think it is awesome.I Am by SproutI am smart and weird.I wonder if my PopPop likes dogs.I hear a choo-choo train puffing along as I fall asleep.I see smooth thestrals flapping their wings.I want an electric scooter.I am smart and weird.I pretend I am a famous director.I feel uncomfortable in the presence of a crowd.I touch my snack of apples and peanut butter.I worry about black bears chasing me.I cry when my mother doesn't buy me candy.I am smart and weird.I understand how people get jittery if the expectations are too high.I say "eat at Moe's Southwestern Grill".I dream I have a huge house.I try to make a good impression.I hope I get a sister that gets along with me.I am smart and weird.I don't know how much to read into this. They were given a set of prompts to frame out the poem...but I think her responses are very cool. It is amazing all of the places that the mind of an almost-10-year-old can go.Sorry about the sister. Sprout - that isn't happening.
But your brother is super cute and you (mostly) get along great!
Tater was getting ready to work on his spelling last night.
He was going to type out his words on the computer.
He turned on the computer, turned to me and said:"Should I start up Microscopic Word?"
How cute is that??
Actual conversation that took place earlier this week. During toothbrushing, I think - or I guess during the procrastinating before the toothbrushing, or else it wouldn't have made any sense, right?T: Mommy, it must be hard to be one of the richest people in the world.M: I guess it could be - why do you say that?T: Well, first you have to make all the money and stuff. And then you have to go look up what number you are.Because seeing where you are on the Forbes list is the most exhausting part of being wealthy...all that thumbing through the list, when you are SO tired from counting your money. Whew. Good thing I don't have THAT to worry about...Inspired, I am sure, by an episode of The Suite Life on Deck - our touchstone for reality.
We just concluded a 24-hour period which included a basketball practice/party, set-up for a school event, a playdate, a dinner out (including ice cream to celebrate the end of basketball), a trip to Dunkin' Donuts, a basketball game, the school event (including lunch, games, new jackets, lots of candy), and a softball practice.On the way home from the final event, Sprout said the following:"While we were practicing, I slid on the field and got goose poop on my pants and shoes - so you are going to have to scrape off my shoes and get it off so I don't have to wear poopy shoes."Um, no - I am not. Last straw. No more. I draw the line somewhere before scraping the goose poop off of their shoes...Although eventually I probably will wind up being the one who does it. Because as much as I want nothing to do with scraping poopy shoes. I also don't want to be the one who puts the poopy shoes back on the kid.This seems like some kind of maternal catch-22. To scrape or not to scrape?
A few years ago this little exchange took place...I think of it frequently...Me: Tater, when I look at your face, it makes me smile.T: Mommy, when I look at your face, it makes me laugh.
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