Reported by N.'s preschool teacher:
N. wanted to make a special drawing for her little brother, who was not feeling well and was going to have to go to the doctor. N.'s teacher remarked at how kind this was, and then asked if N.'s older brother was as nice to her as she was to her little brother. N. put hand on hip and responded "Not so much."
And as evidence of this observation, the following was recently overheard in the family room.
O.: "N., your room smells like poop."
N.: "No, my room smells like roses and mermaids."
O., classifying playground politics in the same way he discusses Pokemon characters:
"There's different kinds of girls. There's the tag ones, there's the kiss ones, there's the banana peel (?!) ones, and the put you in jail ones. But S. is always the boss of the girl team, and I am sometimes the boss of the boy team. Oh, and sometimes they are hypnotize ones too, and make boys be on their team, but not me."
I have been reading Beverly Cleary's Ramona the Brave to O., and as we read, I felt struck by how accurately the writer portrays the anxiety, sense of injustice, and wonder in the life of a first grader. I wondered if O. was appreciating it too. He asked to continue reading it every night, and asked very appropriate questions as we read, so I thought he probably was. When we finished tonight, he asked if there were other Ramona books we could read. I asked why he liked Ramona.
O. "Because she eats her boogers." (For the record, she does not.)
Me: Geez, O. I was just asking a question. Can't we even have a conversation?
O. "Do you want to smell my butt?"
Me. "Seriously? This is how you talk?"
O. "What, it's manly-like!"
N., in a parking lot, hair flying everywhere: "This is WILD wind!"
N., recent nursery rhyme devotee: "From Wibbleton to Wobbleton is a long, long way!"
Caption on N.'s preschool drawing of her family: "My dad. And he is bald."
N. to me before I go to her parent-teacher conference:
"Is I'm doing great?"
N., looking in the mirror after I fix her hair:
"I like my pink tails. My hair is as gold as coins. Do you fink the leprechauns will think it is their gold?"
O. to N. as they chase each other around the house, both barking loudly:
"I'm hot and you're the dog. Hot diggity dog!"
O., upset at being "counted" (our discipline system that leads to time out after a third strike) for talking back: "Wasn't that 'one' for smart mouth yesterday??" (Why yes. Yes, it was. And today. And probably tomorrow. And probably until you're 23, unfortunately...)