A Good Bye?

The other parents at gymnastics get these huge, unprompted hugs goodbye. I watch their kids rush toward the gym excitedly only to catch themselves, pulled back by some invisible thread, and throw the whole weight of their tiny bodies into their parents’ arms.

“I love you sooooo much! Have a good day!” they say.

I get no such response. Usually, unless I explicitly remind her that I exist, Billie will methodically pull her things out of her backpack, place them into her cubby in a precise order, then rush off to the balance beam without so much as a glance back. 

In an attempt to get some sort of fanfare for my daily departure, I’ve finally incorporated a “find a way to say Goodbye” rule. It doesn’t have to be showy or even involve touch or words, but she does need to communicate that we’re parting.

Today, after her methodical cubby placement routine and in the midst of two other moms receiving the most genuine hugs from their kids, I tell Billie, “I’m leaving now, love. Can you find a way to say goodbye?”

She walks over to me, hands stubbornly stuck to her side, shoves her face in my chest, and screams,
“Oooh! Your boobs are almost as bouncy as the floor. Good job on that. Later, lady!!!”

…I’m starting to rethink my rule.

A Good Bye?

The Things We Say

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.”

The Things We Say


Billie: “What is this show?”
Me: “Oh, I’m watching something where they’re showing clips of the Miss America Pageant.”
Billie: “The Miss America Pageant?”
Me: “Yes.”
Billie: (looking closely at the clips of women walking around in dresses) “That’s not what it should be called.”
Me: “No? What should it be called, then?”
Billie: “It should be called, ‘Do You Like Me?’ Yea. That’s the name of that show.”

Well… Basically.


Lost In Translation

FLASHBACK: November 13, 2013

Me: “okay, you’re almost ready for school. You just need to finish your breakfast, brush your teeth, and put on your shoes.”

Billie: “OK. I need to take off my clothes and play with my baby lion.”

Me: “yea, no. That’s not even close to what I said. What did I just tell you to do?”

Billie: “you said, ‘OOOOOHHweeee Billie Baby you needta dance yo lil booty off bay-beh!'”

Me: “nope. Not what I said.”

Billie: “But, mommy, (starts chanting) you like mah boooooty you like mah booooottttaye!!!!”

Me: sigh.

Billie: (now dancing in circles) “Shake-ah shake-ah shake-ah shake-ah shakin my booootaye! Shake-ah shake-ah shake-ah shake-ah shakin my booootaye!!!!”

…Ya’ll, if I could make it just one morning without this kid showin’ me her butt I would consider it the greatest of all personal wins.

Lost In Translation

My Five-Year-Old’s Musings On Love

Me: “Did you know that I love you?”
Billie: “Of course I know that.”
Me: “What?! Who told you??”
Billie: “Nobody told me. I just love you a lot. And when you love someone really, really a lot, like a super big lotta love, sometimes they have so much love that they give you some back.”

My Five-Year-Old’s Musings On Love

At Least She’ll Have A Successful Career In Politics

Billie: “My picture is better than yours. See? It has a blue ribbon on it.”

Me: “Billie, you drew that ribbon on your picture.”

Billie: “Yes. I did. ‘Cause it’s better.”

Me: “What makes it better?”

Billie: “It’s better because it wins. See? It has a blue ribbon on it.”

Me: “I feel like you’re a little biased.”

Billie: “Not biased. Just right.”

The Blue Ribbon Winner (hers) and the Vastly Under Appreciated Work of Genius (mine)
The Blue Ribbon Winner (hers) and the Vastly Under Appreciated Work of Genius (mine)

Later, Doug caught me looking at the photos and sighing.

Me: “My picture is good, dammit!”
Doug: “Yea, but hers is better.”
Me: “What? Why?”
Doug: “Because it has a blue ribbon on it.”

There is no justice in this world.

UPDATE: due to unfortunate cup placement and bad reflexes Billie’s picture got drenched. Mine remained unharmed. 

I swear I had nothing to do with it. 

But the huge swelling of schadenfreude that I’m feeling at the accident is making me seriously question my parenting skills.

At Least She’ll Have A Successful Career In Politics

“Dude. She’s Fine.”

Doug said Billie was sick.

I said she wasn’t.

“It’s just as cough,” I said. “She’ll walk it off,” I said.

But Doug persisted. “Billie is sick,” he said.

“Right. Yea, Okay. She’ll be fine. If it persists after a week we’ll call a doctor,” I said.

That was 2 weeks ago.

Tonight Billie coughed so hard she threw up on me.

Five. Times.

Hey guys, guess what?

Billie is sick.


Doug is going to be UNBEARABLE after this.

“Dude. She’s Fine.”

Cat’s Got Her Grade

“How was your day at school today?”

Billie: “Good.”

“Were you a good girl today?”

Billie: “No. But I was a great kitty cat.”

“Did the teacher want you to be a kitty cat?”

Billie: “No.”

“Did she ask you to stop?”

Billie: “Yes. Again and again and again.”

“Did you stop?”

Billie: “No.”

“Why not?”

Billie: “Because I was a kitty cat. Kitty cats don’t know how to stop.”

Either she’s as obstinate as her mother or she’s taking method acting to a whole new level.

Cat’s Got Her Grade