On Monday, we were all driving home from New York, and Bucket was giving me a hard time about my rate of speed (which was impressive, I might add. 3 1/2 hours from West New York, NJ to Cambridge? The only way I could have been faster would have been with wings). I told him quietly (I thought), “If you were driving, we’d still be in New Jersey, dumbass.”
“Excuse ME!!! RUDE!!!” piped up The One Who Hears Everything from the back seat.
“Hey, how do you know that was rude?” I asked Peeta.
“First, you said ‘Dumb’ and ‘Ass’!” he yelled. “Dumb donkey?! Not nice, Mama. Second, I know it was rude because YOU said it.”
Ah, shit. Kid has a point.
Noodle and I are driving in the car and she pipes up from the back seat: Mama, I have a secret.
Me: You do? What is it?
Noodle: I love you SO much!
Me: Oh, Noodle. That is such a nice secret. Thank you so much.
Noodle: Mama, I have another secret.
Me: Hit me.
Noodle: I love you to the farthest star and all the way back.
Me: Hooray! Thank you, baby!
Noodle: Mama, I have ANOTHER secret.
Me: No way! What is it?
Noodle: We need a new car.
Children are supposed to be in bed at 8. At 8:30, Noodle comes wandering downstairs, wanting to chat and demanding to know what is in my mouth. (The answer: chocolate. What I told her: salad.) She is brought back up to bed by her father, who reprimands her and Peeta, who is booby trapping the hallway. This continues every 10 minutes until 9:00, when I hear someone playing upstairs.
“I don’t care who you are, but you better go to sleep before I have to come up there,” I yell.
“It’s just me,” Noodle yells back.
“Noodle. Go. To. Sleep.”
“I’m just washing my cars,” she replies.
“Noodle, you do not need to wash your cars now. You need to sleep now or I will cancel your playdate tomorrow.” (I have been using this threat all night and it is decidedly ineffective.)
“Okay.” Long pause. “But I’ve got poops.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“They’re good poops! I ate vegetables!” she yells back. “Are potatoes vegetables?”
Sometimes I really miss the crib.
First, Noodle starts shouting out, “Leaners!” at dinner for no good reason. The boys and I look at each other quizzically, and then ignore her. It becomes impossible to do as she gets louder. “Leaners! LEANERS! LEANERSSSS!”*
I whisper to Bucket, “Is she saying weiners?”
“No,” he says (somewhat foolishly, in my opinion). “She doesn’t even know what those are.”
Peeta immediately pounces and asks, “Noodle, what are weiners?”
“WILLIES!” she shrieks, before falling into convulsive (and deranged) laughter.
Two minutes later, she leans over to me. “Mama, I love you. I want to marry you!”
And then barks, “KISS ME!”
Next, she climbs into Bucket’s lap to finish her meal, and gets into the downward dog so that her ass is right in her father’s face. Then she yells, while shaking her tiny bum, “This is a lovely meal, Mama!”
That’s my girl–ever the little lady.
*It makes sense now that when we heard that Justin Bieber song about “Selener” in the car today, Noodle yelled, “She said Leaner!!” and cracked up. I just assumed she had gone mad. I still stand by that theory.
After Peeta and I finished his homework this afternoon, he told me he had some news.
“Today, while I was hiding in the bushes at recess, I saw Angelina kiss Zach on the forehead! EWW! And then he kissed her on the cheek, and they came out HOLDING HANDS! DEESGUSTING!”
But it didn’t end there. He pulled out his class photo and started giving me the lowdown on all the hot loving going on in room 211.
“Dashiell and Ella are in SEX! They think they are SEXY!”
“Rowida and Ian are in sweet love.”
“Patricio and Natalie are in love too. One day, I saw him TOUCH HER LEG! EW! It was really appropriate.”
You mean inappropriate? “Yeah, that.”
And so there you have it. All the hot love from Peeta’s second grade class. When I asked him if he loved anyone, he scrinched up his face and said he liked a lot of people, but he wasn’t ready to be in love–that in fact, being in love was FILTHY.
My boy, that is fine with me.