Archive for March, 2013

3/27/13, Pee Brain

The time had come for the six-year-old monkey to master the art of brushing ones teeth without help mostly because the time had come to drag the three-year-old to his room kicking and screaming.

“Mom, how much toothpaste do I use?”

“Less than the size of a pea, honey. . . HENRY! We don’t kick Mommy!”

Several minutes pass while mommy and the three-year-old battle over pajamas.  I almost completely forget about the other monkey until he wanders in holding a tube of toothpaste.

“Mom, what kind of pea do you mean? Like the kind you eat?” He pantomimes eating a pea with a fork. “Or the kind you spray?” Then he demonstrates what it would look like if he drenched the walls and ceiling in urine.

“The kind you eat, honey.”

3/19/13, Raise Your Hand!

Sitting around the table with a couple of monkeys, the oldest begins taking the daily polls.

“Raise your hand if you like toast!”

Hands go up.

“Raise your hand if you like juice better than milk!”

Fewer hands go up.

“Who’s better – C3PO or R2D2?” Before anyone can chime in, the pollster answers for everyone, “R2D2.”


“Raise your hand if you wish your name was “Duke!”"

Huh?  Duke?  Really?  The absurdity of the question almost makes me laugh until I notice one six-year-old hand is reaching for the ceiling.

“Mom, how old do I have to be to change my name?”



3/5/13, Battle Math

“Mom!  Noah and Henry are teaming up against me.”  The monkey’s foam sword is dragging on the floor as he pulls off his storm trooper mask.

“Well, you are the oldest.”

“But I can’t defeat two little strong people.  A five year old and a three year old equal an eight year old!  And I’m only six!”

“Hmmm . . .” Must summon some serious Mom-logic. “But you’re so clever, I’m sure you’ll find the weakness in their defenses.”

His face lights up at this new complicated language.  “A ha! Of course. I will find the weakness in their defenses!” With that he charges off to the basement.

Phew!  Crisis averted.  Until three minutes later footsteps come rushing back.  It’s the six-year-old again.


“Yes, honey?”

“Can you put on some battle music?”

3/2/13, Call me Jango

The littlest monkey has demanded to be called Jango Fett.  He is now referring to himself in the third person.

“Jango Fett wants a snack.”  “Jango Fett is sleepy.”  “Jango Fett needs to poop.”

Mama Fett wants a glass of wine.

3/1/13, Are You Done Battling Now?

“Frankie, it’s story time.  Let’s see what happens to Harry, Hermione, and Ron!”

“My Ninjago wants to come too!”

A Lego minifigure with a helmet pops up next to the six-year-old’s shoulder.  In a falsetto, it says, “Yeah!  I want to hear the story too!”

“Uh, okay you two.  Let’s go.”

We settle down with the book.  As I’m turning to the dog-eared page, I hear, “Ah!  You got me.  Hiyah!  No. No. Ugh! Kapow!”

My monkey is holding the Lego figure.  He bops himself on the nose with it and flops violently on his side.  “Argh!”  He struggles to sit back up.  The little piece of plastic then jabs into his stomach.  “Oof!”  He’s thrown into the corner.  He jumps up and body slams the tiny toy.  “I gotcha now!”  But no, he doesn’t.  He’s repelled back, “Hiyah!”  The one-inch long lego pinched between two fingers delivers a vicious uppercut.


He smashes the toy against a pillow before answering, “What?”

Don’t laugh.  Don’t laugh.  Don’t laugh.  “Are you done battling now?”

“I think so.”

“Okay.  Let’s read the story.”