Billie: “Moooommmm. I can’t go to the bathroom. It’s dark in there.”
Me: “You have a flashlight to get you to the bathroom and then you can turn on the light once you get there.”
Billie: “BUT WHAT IF A ZOMBIE ATTACKS ME?”
Me: “Then I will grow wings and fly to you, bite off the zombie’s head with my bare teeth, and fly on a unicorn back to bed. Where I belong. Because I’m sleeping.”
Billie: “But- but unicorns don’t exist?”
Me: “NIETHER DO ZOMBIES.”
Billie: “BUT I’M SCARED AND I WILL LITERALLY PEE ON YOU.”
Parenting: Wherein you can solve the problem, be totally right, have completely sound logic, and still 100% lose the battle.
Billie: “Mama Ma, I get to see you soon!”
My Mom: “I know! I’m excited.”
Billie: “T-minus 91 days!”
My Mom: “Wait, what?”
Billie: “It means I get to see you in 91 days!”
My Mom: “I know what it means, but how did you come up with 91 days?”
Billie: “I counted. I need to know these things.”
My Mom: “Oh, my Billie. You are too funny.”
Billie: “I am actually entirely serious.”
You tell ’em Billie.
Me: “Billie, make sure you brush your teeth. And remember your lunch. And your pants are on backwards–”
Billie: “Mommy? I thought daddy said you were losing your voice.”
Me: “I am. But slowly. My throat is just sore now but I’ll probably lose my voice in a couple days.”
Billie: “Oh. Well, could you lose it sooner?”
…walked right into that one.
Let me set the scene:
My kid, in the middle of an empty schoolyard (empty because the first bell has just rung and the classrooms are full) flapping her arms like a frantic baby bird, screaming at the top pf her lungs, “IT’S A CALM DAY! IT’S A CALM DAY! YA HEAR ME, HUMANS!?? CALM!!”
“That is so great, sweetie,” I whisper at her, ” but, if that is the case, we might need to calm our energy.”
“NOPE. THE DAY IS CALM AND MY ENERGY IS VERY EXCITED ABOUT THAT.”
She eventually skipped away but, as she pounced into her classroom, I could hear her mumbling something about being so happy she would do “circle handstands” if she could.
I can only assume she meant cartwheels.
And I can also only assume that her teacher will not be as thrilled as she is about the day…
Things I have said to my six year old today:
“Wait, what? What about a T-Rex’s vagina?”
“No. No buffalos in the restaurant. That’s a rule.”
“I don’t think you can do that and call it a ‘face five.’ Let’s be real: that’s a headbutt. Also: you should probably apologize to your father.”
“Can you please finish sitting on the toilet singing ’99 things of poop on the wall?’ There are people outside ready to use the bathroom.”
Billie: “That boy right there is the one who keeps knocking my blocks down.”
Me: “Really? I’m so sorry, Billie. That must be frustrating.”
Billie: “Really frustrating. I build and build and he just knocks my stuff down. I ask him to play but he just pushes my buildings over.”
Me: “Sometimes, when people destroy our buildings they actually help us see the flaws in our design. So that, next time, we can build something even stronger.”
Billie: “Like the pigs and the big bad wolf?”
Me: “Exactly like that.”
Billie: “So, then, I can build something so strong his tiny muscles can’t even touch!”
Billie: “But also- he kinda did a mean thing.”
Me: “Oh, yea, dude. That was a totally mean thing to do.”
Me: “Yes, love?”
Billie: “Didn’t the big bad wolf fall into a fire place and catch fire?”
Me: “Billie. You cannot set someone on fire because they knocked your blocks down.”
Billie: “Ok. Just checking.”
FLASHBACK: April 28, 2014
It took us ten minutes to get Billie to brush her teeth tonight because she insisted she didn’t know how to use her legs.
Now, an hour and a half after her bedtime, she’s wide awake on her bed singing to her building blocks and drawing giraffe kitty cats.
Billie: “Daddy! Come in here and see my drawing!”
Doug: “I would, Billie, but I forgot how to use my legs.”
…I feel like 90% of parenting is passive aggressive retaliation.
And I’m totally OK with that.
Billie: “Good night, sweet bubble. You may be dead in this world, but you live in my heart. Bless America, you friend of my soul. Find your bliss.”
Me: “Did you… Did you just hold a funeral for a popped soap bubble?”
Billie: “Of course I did.”
Billie: “I get nervous. And that means sometimes I start to feel light. Like, all of my emotions are just so big. They are bigger than me and heavier than me. & I feel really light. And every emotion and every memory ever comes into my brain and I float away with them. That’s what I mean when I say I’m getting nervous.”
I’m not going to lie. This was ridiculously fun to make.