When the Boys Come Courting My Daughters

Eight y/o: "Dad, when boys come over to see us, you are going to ask them if they use correct grammar."

Nine y/o: "Yeah, you're going to put grammar questions on their tests."

Wait, what? I will be using written examinations to screen my daughters' potential suitors? I thought I was just going to be conducting oral interviews with them while ever so casually swinging a very large baseball bat back and forth. Boy, this is going to be more complicated than I imagined.

In Which My 9-Year-Old Daughter Puts Me In My Place in Front of a Class of College Students

S. went to work with me today, which meant she got to sit through a two-hour college-level U.S. History class. But before sitting silently for 120 minutes, she called me out in front of my students for failing to count correctly.

I have 14 students enrolled in that particular course. At the start of class, I made a mental note of how many were present. Then I said, "Looks like we're missing five students today." And my math genius of a daughter said, "No dad, you're only missing four."

Me: "Well, there are only nine students here. That means five are missing."

S.: "No, dad. There are ten students. So you are only missing four."

I counted again and, sure enough, there were indeed ten students in class. My nine-year-old daughter can count better than I can. And proved it in front of ten college students today.

I think I'll leave her home tomorrow.

Little Miss "Elite Gold Honor Roll" Herself (straight A's all year long)

The Making of an Eight-Year-Old Grammar Nazi

A few days ago, the kids and I were in the van headed for home. S. and L. asked about an acquaintance of ours . . .

Me: blah blah blah "She's good people."

L., shouting from the rear of the van: "Dad, you used incorrect grammar!! You're supposed to say 'She is a good person'! Don't you know correct grammar?!"

Oh dear. I have created a monster.

Middle-Aged Growth Spurt

C., age 6, upon first seeing me this morning, "Dad, why do you look so much taller today than you did yesterday?"

Me: "Because I grew a lot overnight."

C., holding her hand level with the top of the couch backrest, "Yesterday you looked like you were this tall, now you're way up there."

Hooray! I've finally hit my long-awaited growth spurt! And just when I was beginning to lose hope, too. I wonder if I'll make it up to six feet tall.

Maybe if I'm lucky my voice will change as part of this process, too. I'd love to be able to sing as low as that guy from the Oakridge Boys.

School's Out for the Summer!

This afternoon, we picked the girls up from school and took them out for ice cream to celebrate the end of the school year. When taking their photograph, I asked each kid to say, "I survived [_] grade!" Instead . . .

L said, "I hated second grade!"

S said, "I'm gonna miss third grade because I LOVE [my teacher]."

And C said, "I survived kindergarten!"

Baby A, meantime, had lots of fun sampling her big sisters' ice cream cones:

But boy was that ice cream cold!

In which my nine-year-old daughter complains about the dearth of electronic devices in our house

Yesterday after S. came home from school, she told me that she got into an argument with her best friend over whose family was the poorest. I do not know what evidence the friend used to support her position, but S. pointed to our alleged lack of electronic devices as proof of impoverishment. Apparently, she was still upset about the matter, because she got right up in my grill and angrily shouted, "Everyone else has smart phones and ipads and all sorts of electronics dad! All my friends have phones! L's friends have phones! But we don't! We don't have any electronics! None at all!"

Pfffft, young lady! What do you call the radio / cassette player I got for my ninth birthday, huh? That's electronic! What about the Sony Walkman I got in 1985? Huh, huh? That's electronic! And so is the stereo system / record player I got in 1987. And the stereo your mother got when she was a teenager.

We also have a desktop computer and two laptop computers. Yeah, I know two of them are broken and the other one doesn't work at all, but we *still* own them. Our house is practically overflowing with electronic devices, kid!

"No electronics," my eye!

Dirty, Sticky Walls

Dear eight-year-old daughter,

That object you are wiping your applesauce-begrimed fingers on is not a napkin. It is a dining room wall. And defending your action by stating that applesauce is "gross" does not provide sufficient justification for sliming the aforementioned wall.

Daughter Number Two Surprises Me

L: "Dad, you're not like Gru." (the main character from the movie "Despicable Me")

Me (cautious, unwilling to supply the child with any ammo): "Yeah. I'm a little different."

L: "You don't have skinny legs--"

Me <thinking>: Oh, crap! Here it comes.

L: ". . . and you don't get big around the middle as you go up from your legs. And you're not bald."

Wait! What?! I'm NOT bald? This from Leila? Stop the presses! Somebody write this down and record it for posterity!

That kid never ceases to surprise.

In Which My Eight-Year-Old Rates My Intelligence Level and Finds it Wanting

Yesterday, L., age 8, told me that on a "weirdness scale" of one to ten, I was a ten.

Then she said that on an "intelligence scale" of one to ten, I was an eight. I asked, "Why eight?" She replied, "Because you didn't know that Michael Jackson's nose fell off, you didn't know that spiders have eight eyes, and you didn't know that starfish stick their stomachs out inside-out in order to catch food. I need you to be smarter than me if you're going to be a ten."

The conversation improved when she told me that on a kindness scale I was a nine. But then she said that on a height scale I was a five. Curious as to her reasoning, I asked why. She said it was because she compares me to "Uncle Glade" (my younger brother, who towers over me). She said she could only think of one adult who was shorter than me but could not remember the individual's name.

Clearly, I need her to spend some quality time with my friend Doug, or perhaps my sisters. Maybe that way I can rise higher than a five on her height scale.

Conversations with L. are sometimes confusing, often bewildering, but never dull.

A Visit to the Chick-fil-A One Launch Party

This evening, the girls and I attended the Chick-fil-A One Launch Party at our local CFA. We did not go to see the unveiling of the new app, however, since we do not have smart phones. We went so the girls could get stickers, free cupcakes, and, most importantly, see the Chick-fil-A cow.

Bringing the baby along was a serious miscalculation on my part. It started off well, with the baby, who is 11 months old, happy to have a seat at the table.

But then the cow arrived. Baby A was more terrified than I have ever seen her. When she first saw the cow, I was holding her. I felt her whole body stiffen up. She dug her fingernails into my forearm as she held on tighter. Then she burst out screaming. I took her back to our table, far away from the cow. But as the cow made the rounds through the restaurant and got closer to us, A. kept turning around in her seat to check on it. Each sighting brought on another round of hysterics.

The other girls and I tried to block her view with our bodies, but then she tried even harder to spot the perceived danger. She kept craning her neck, spotting the beastly bovine, and bawling loudly. She kept this up until we left the restaurant.

In the meantime, the other girls enjoyed a photo op with the cow.

Baby A has probably never been more relieved in her life to see her mommy. When we arrived home, she practically leaped out of my arms and into her mother's.

I don't think she'll be rejoining us any time soon on a trip to a CFA event!

My poor baby! I think I've scarred her for life!

Colette the Kindhearted, episode 2

Remember how Colette (age 6) was kind to Savannah yesterday morning? This morning it was Leila's turn to be on the receiving end of Colette's generosity. During the ride to school, Leila accidentally dumped out the contents of her lunch. While picking the scattered items up off the van floor, she noticed that one of them was a bag of chocolates. She freaked out, loudly complaining that Colette and Savannah got Samoas (Girl Scout cookies) in their lunch, while she was stuck with crummy ol' chocolates. (Earlier, Colette had consented to let Savannah once again have some of her cookies for lunch.) So, for the second day in a row, Colette offered to trade dessert items with a sister. Leila jumped at the chance to offload her Easter candy in return for Colette's cookies.

I asked Colette if she was sure she wanted to do that again, since the cookies were hers by purchase. She assured me that she was fine with the transaction because she still had one cookie left at home.

Bless her big heart, I hope Colette doesn't end up being taken advantage of by her big sisters.

Colette the Kindhearted, episode 1

Have I ever told you that Colette is a real sweetheart?

This morning Katie put Girl Scout cookies in the kid's lunches. Leila got Thin Mints, which she had purchased with her own money. Colette got Samoas, which she had purchased with her own money. Savannah, having long since run out of the cookies she bought, got the kind with raisins that doesn't sell well.

While I drove the kids to school, they inventoried the contents of their lunches. Savannah was completely distraught to find raisin cookies in her bag. She started crying and kept wailing about how unfair it was that her sisters got yummy cookies and she got gross ones.

As Savannah raged on, Colette cheerfully asked Savannah if she wanted to trade cookies. Savannah readily agreed. The transaction took place, and Savannah's potentially "catastrophic" lunch experience was averted.

Without even being asked, Colette offered her oldest sister the delicious cookies she had bought in exchange for "gross" cookies in which she had invested no money.

I sure love that big-hearted little girl!

My Daughters' Obsession with My Hair, Part 3

The following day . . . 

I got my hair cut on Thursday. Neither my wife nor my daughters noticed. Either that or they simply did not say anything about it. Until today, that is. Little Miss "Dad, you look ugly with a bald face" was standing behind me and suddenly said, "Dad, why did you get your hair cut?!" She said she wanted me to grow it back out again to the same length that it had been. (To actually quote Savannah: "Dad, I *order* you to . . .") Colette then suggested that I grow my hair out as long as Rapunzel's. I told her that it would take me at least forty years to do that, assuming I had any hair left by then. (As Savannah pointed out earlier today, "Dad's hair isn't thriving.")

Sad but true. My hair is not exactly thriving. Thank you for reminding me, dear daughter!

My daughters' obsession with my hair, part 2

The next day . . .

In which Savannah continues yesterday's facial hair conversation . .

Savannah, looking at my reflection in the mirror: "Dad, you shaved!"

Me: "Yes, I--"

Savannah: "I told you not to shave! I want you to grow a beard! You look ugly with a bald face!"

Well, it's a matter of degree, my dear child. I may look ugly with a bald face, but I look even worse with a hairy one.

If you'd like a second opinion, you could always ask your mother what she thinks.

Sincerely,

A man who wants to stay on his wife's good side.

Exhibit A:

Exhibit B:

My daughters' obsession with my hair, part 1

A couple snippets of conversation from today . . .

Incident 1)

Colette: "Dad, I can tell you are a man. Guess how? Because you have really hairy arms. <Runs her hand along my forearm> Look at all this hair!"

So *that's* how you tell the difference between men and women! I've always wondered.

Leila: "But he doesn't have any hair on his head. It must've fallen down onto his brain."

Colette: "Yeah. Dad must have a very hairy brain."

Incident 2)

I mention in passing that I am going to shave today. Savannah says, "No! You look silly with bald cheeks!"

Leila: "Yeah, keep your whiskers. Don't shave your cheeks bald!"

Me: "I'm sorry, girls, but mom outranks you. I'm going to shave."

Savannah: "But dad, I have one vote and Leila has one vote. So we outvote mom."

Me: "Mom has lots of votes. She wins.

Savannah: "Leila and I have lots of votes, too. We can outvote mom."

Uh, no. No, you can't. However many votes you girls have, mom has thousands more. Trust me.