#AtoZChallenge: V is for Vader

It’s no secret that the people in the Dorky household have quite a love for Star Wars. I remember the first time I watched Star Wars — when I was 20 — with the guy I was dating who would later go on to be my husband. I was in hysterics over the special effects (we watched an old VHS copy that hadn’t been remastered), and didn’t care too much for the whole space thing at first. (Despite my fascination with Star Wars and Lord of the Rings, I’m not generally a fan of the sci-fi or fantasy genres.)

But, that changed, and I became enthralled by the story. I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve watched various episodes since then, but it’s been a lot. Naturally, we passed this love on to the kids.

Little Man got his first light saber when he was three. We had banned guns, but thought the light saber would be fine. As it turns out, being cracked across one’s knuckles with a light saber does a bit more damage (hello, burst blood vessels) than a toy gun. (Except for the time I shot my husband in the eye with a Nerf gun, anyway.) We let him watch bits and pieces of the Star Wars movies around that time, and Little Man quickly became obsessed with Darth Vader, but later moved to Luke, and now has focused his interest on Princess Leia. Cough, almost tween, cough. Baby Girl also loves Star Wars. I have an adorable video of her when the opening crawl comes on and she starts shouting “Star Wars! It’s Star Wars!” and dancing. She’s also pretty good with a light saber.

For today’s doodles, I’m going to share a couple of things that the kids have said.

Right, the heat from the food was exactly like that.

Baby Girl’s love for Darth Vader isn’t as great as her love for Batman, but it’s still up there. You can sometimes hear her marching around the house humming Imperial March, and she goes all fangirl whenever Vader appears on the screen.

One day she’ll figure out that things don’t usually end well when that red light saber appears.

Are you a Star Wars fan? Which movie was your favorite?

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#AtoZChallenge: U is for Uh…

Yesterday I mentioned how both of my kids have mad skills where talking is concerned. It’s like their mouths are driven by motors, and there is no off switch. That gets a little overwhelming at times for this introvert, but generally I’m pretty enthralled with their chatter (which you can probably tell given that my A to Z Challenge theme is Things Kids Say), since much of what comes out of their mouth is either interesting or funny or so smart.

For example, a couple days ago, Little Man was telling his sister how amazing she was for building something with Legos. That boy has become a Jedi master at making my heart melt. And then the kids were chatting away over what they wanted to be when they grow up when Baby Girl told Little Man not to be a scientist, but to be a doctor like her because he’s a big boy, which made me giggle.

Other times, though, they leave me speechless or monosyllabic, at least. “Huh?” “You what?” or “Uh…” while my brain scrambles to process what I just heard. I feel like my brain has been in the “Uh…” mode for most of the past two years with all the political craziness, so you’d think that I’d be a pro and react a little faster by now, but not really.

The first “Uh…” doodle for today was a couple years ago, when I was planning Little Man’s birthday party…

That’s me, your friendly neighborhood hacker mom.

And then there was this one, when Little Man was five.

Well played, kid.

The last one falls under the “Uh…” and “Gross” umbrella as quite a few posts Baby Girl related have.

This wasn’t as bad as the poop tasting, but is still pretty damn gross. In case you were wondering, after recovering from the initial shock, I got her foot out of her mouth and grabbed the clippers to trim the dead skin away.

What have your kids said that leaves you speechless (or close to it)?

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#AtoZChallenge: T is for Talkative

Both of my kids are little chatterboxes, which came as a bit of a surprise since my husband and I are both fairly quiet people. Picture Lorelai Gilmore, and you have my son. Picture Lorelai Gilmore after drinking a dozen espresso shots, and you have my daughter. (And in case you can’t tell what my recent Netflix binge of choice was, it was Gilmore Girls.)

Like any kid, they often have to be reminded not to interrupt. Over and over and over. They’ll learn eventually, or so I’m led to believe. But for now, we have to keep working on what seems to be an involuntary action that causes them to cut in on every other sentence that exits our mouths.

Parent: “Hey, do you think that chi–”

Kid: “Come see the size of this poop!”

Parent: “Do you want to go to–”

Kid: “Oh my god, I think I’m developing superhero powers!”

Parent: “We need to pay–”

Kid: “I WANT GOLDFISH!”

You get the picture.

A few years ago, when Little Man was five, I tried telling him not to interrupt in a different way after an especially interruptive day.

Sigh.

I suppose that looking good is a possibility, but not quite what I was going for. It took a bit of prompting before it finally clicked that I was referring to listening and not just talking over me/people.

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#AtoZChallenge: S is for Sick

Little Man has always had some concerns about germs, but he’s very inconsistent. One on hand, he’ll question the staff at the doctor’s office about how often they sterilize their equipment, and on the other hand, he’ll eat something off the floor without giving it a second thought. I’m not talking about eating a cookie he dropped off a clean floor at home, which isn’t that bad, but more along the lines of scooping up cheesecake with his fingers off the floor at Walmart (which he did with Spidey-like reflexes). The gross factor is through the roof with that one.

Last week my husband asked for a drink of Little Man’s Gatorade. Little Man had just let me have a sip, but he still shot down my husband because of germs. My husband wasn’t sick or anything, so he asked why, and the kid explained how he doesn’t mind too much about drinking after girls, but that drinking after men or boys is usually out of the question because they’re extra germy.

Those are some interesting points; the thought of beard dipping makes me gag, but as far as I know, no one Little Man knows has a beard long enough to dip. For the record, Little Man has grabbed his dad’s drink plenty of times– usually after wiping off the straw or cup rim with his shirt, which we’ve explained doesn’t exactly kill the germs. But that’s where the “inconsistent” part comes to play again.

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#AtoZChallenge: R is for Rollercoaster

Do you remember the first rollercoaster you rode? The first major one I remember riding was the Cyclone at Carowinds, when I was seven. It was fast, went upside down a couple of times, and — most importantly — was scary.  In my mind, I was officially one of the big kids for riding it. For years to come, I never shied away at rollercoasters, no matter how tall or fast they were.

That changed. Hello, anxious mind — ruining, among other things, all things thrill-related.

The last time I went to Carowinds, I spent quite a bit of time looking up the odds of dying or being severely injured on a rollercoaster and discussing the many things that could go wrong while waiting in line. (Dying is one in 24 million, in case you were wondering, but having the thing tower over you makes those odds seem much higher.) I don’t get too worked up on some of the older rides, but the newer ones that tower over 200 feet tall? Yikes. A few people in front of us left the line, which my husband chalked up to my chatter. So, if you’re eager to get on a ride faster, skip the Fast Pass and become the harbinger of doom.

When Little Man was four, we got season passes to Carowinds since he was finally big enough to ride a lot of rides. He was excited to find out that he was tall enough to ride one of the small rollercoasters in the kiddie area. The morning before we made the drive to the theme park, Little Man told us that he had a concern, which isn’t too surprising, as he’s a lot like me. His particular concern that morning wasn’t anything that had ever crossed my mind, though.

Luckily he managed to get through the ride with everything intact, and then rode the same ride another half dozen times.

Are you a fan of rollercoasters and other thrill rides?

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#AtoZChallenge: Q is for Quiet…Not

There are three things a mom wants: rum, Netflix, and peace and quiet. (There might be an “and” in that last one, but we’re still counting it as one item.) Okay, so maybe other moms don’t all want to be couch potato boozers, but they at least want the last thing sometimes, and if there’s one thing you can count on in life besides taxes, it’s kids not being quiet.

Answering an important phone call from your doctor’s office? It’s gonna sound like you’re at a rager from all the background noise. Trying to send an email — or write a blog post — and need to focus so you don’t come across like you’re drunk typing? Obviously this is the time the kids will decide to work on their banshee wailing. Or maybe you want to catch up just a little on all the sleep you’ve lost over the past nine-plus years? They try to set a new record for decibel level.

The one with the monitor is Baby Girl’s version of The Feeney Call.

“Q” is definitely not for “quiet” when it comes to rousing Mommy.

Thanks to Welcome to the Nursery for the inspiration for this doodle!

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#AtoZChallenge: P is for Popsicle

Once again, I’m cutting it close with the A to Z Challenge post. This one is ready with about three minutes to spare thanks to my never-ending day that started before the crack of dawn!

Diving right in — my kids go by the “what’s mine is mine and what’s yours is also mine” rule.

My food? Also their food, even if I have the same thing that they have. My radio? Obviously theirs. My Playstation? Well, you get the picture. I say “no” sometimes, but “yes” is far more prevalent since they’re a) my offspring and b) cute. (My husband, though? You better bet that “no” accompanied with other not-so-nice words happens when he tries to get a bite of my steak or swipes one of my ice-cold Cokes.)

I’m used to sharing, but there’s one thing that I thought would remain mine and mine alone, for at least a decade, and that’s feminine hygiene products. However, since both of my children are like dehydrated people in deserts who see mirages of water everywhere in cartoons, the kids see candy everywhere and have tried to make me share my Aunt Flo-inators as well.

Note to Baby Girl: this is the first red flag that you need help with your popsicle addiction.

Now Little Man won’t think the fact that he’s called me “Mommy” is the most damaging thing I’ve posted online anymore.

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#AtoZChallenge: O is for Obey

Last summer the kids went to vacation bible school. When I’d pick them up each day, Little Man would tell me about the lesson for the day, while Baby Girl would mostly focus on the fact that they had snacks. (This is still what she mentions first when picking her up at preschool — snacks are important.) One day Little Man told me that the lesson covered The Ten Commandments. I asked if he could name them all, and while he remembered a few, a couple were probably not quite chisel-on-a-stone-tablet worthy (and a couple others should probably be chiseled on a tablet and dropped on some people’s heads).

Which non-biblical commandment is your favorite? Mine would have to be #9.

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#AtoZChallenge: N is for Name

Remember Rumpelstiltskin? It’s one of the more screwed up stories I remember reading as a kid. A dad says his daughter can spin straw into gold, the king says she has to do the gold spinning or he’ll kill her, and a little creepy, unnamed dude makes the magic happen by taking something that belongs to the girl as payment. (Because obviously someone who can spin straw into gold needs a ring or necklace.) And then the little creepy, unnamed dude wants the girl’s firstborn to work his magic one last time, which she agrees to. She then marries the king who wanted to kill her, gets pregnant, and the little dude wants her to uphold her promise. Naturally she doesn’t want to and has to guess the dude’s name to keep the baby.

Spoiler alert: the name is Rumpelstiltskin.

Okay, so I probably didn’t need to summarize that story since everyone likely knows it, but I do like to emphasize the screwedupness of some of the stuff we read as kids, so there’s that.

Now for the relevant stuff.

If Baby Girl became a creepy little dude who went around doing favors and taking firstborn babies, victimized miller’s daughters would have a hard time guessing the name she calls herself, too. She has a a bunch of nicknames she’ll use, and rarely will she use her real name when asked. At first it was cute — well, mostly it still is — but I’ve been pushing her to say her real name, just in case she gets separated from us. So far that isn’t working out too well.

Here’s how her name has progressed since she started talking:

See? The miller’s daughter would be screwed.

Mostly Baby Girl will use parts of that mouthful, but occasionally she’ll go with the unabridged version. I imagine that when she learns to write her name in a couple of years, she’ll shorted that up a bit to either her real name (which isn’t Ona, in case you were wondering), or maybe SBOKKSP. Or, maybe I’ll just teach her to write “Batman” and have a laugh at her teacher’s reaction.

Did you have a funny or cute nickname as a kid?

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#AtoZChallenge: M is for Marriage

First came love (yesterday), today comes marriage (as promised), and then comes…eh, I’m not promising any babies in a baby carriage.

Little Man has had a few thoughts on marriage, which is no surprise, since he has thoughts on everything. One is that all wedding ceremonies are like Jim and Pam’s wedding in The Office, and that they all start out by guests dancing down the aisle to Chris Brown’s Forever and end with a kiss. Another thought is that my best friend and I should never end texts with “Love ya!” because I’m married. (And so is she, but I guess he’s not too concerned with preserving sanctity of her marriage.)

Both of today’s doodles occurred when Little Man was five. With the first one, you should know that I’m a big fan of The Lord of the Rings. I’ve got the poseable action figures, Sting replica, and tattoos to prove it. One day I was talking LOTR with Little Man when he informed me that there could be no future between Gandalf the Grey and me. (No, I don’t have a thing for wizardly looking older men — this is one of those random things.)

Another thing you should know is that I’ve got freckles. Lots and lots of freckles. Depending on the lighting and how much time I’ve spent in the sun, sometimes I look like the bucket-of-blood scene in Carrie, only if someone dumped freckles instead of blood. I choose not to doodle them because it’d probably look like I had a tick infestation or something. Anyway, Little Man asked about my freckles one day, and I told him that they were angel kisses, which is what my grandmother told me when I was little. As a little girl, I loved the idea. Little Man? Not so much.

And lets not even get into the time I referred to Robert Downey, Jr. as my other husband. But at least he’s looking out for his dad, right?

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