Mark is out with a friend.
So I am making the girls food without worrying about it being a “meal.”
Cheese and crackers. Peaches.
Spaghettios for Kallan.
And Top Ramen for Maj. Chicken flavored.
Mark told Maj that college kids eat lots of Top Ramen, so when I ask her what she wants for dinner? She tells me she wants, “college soup.”
Done. I am a culinary genius!
We have a half hour until I have to drive them back over to their school for a rehearsal for a school play.
Maj sniffs at her bowl of noodles, “What kind of water did you put in this?”
“What do you mean? Regular old filtered water.”
She takes a little taste, “Tastes like there’s something weird in here. Alcohol. Tastes like alcohol.”
“Yes, Maj. That’s exactly correct. I substituted vodka for the water. My plan? To get you all noodle-drunk and foolish and then drop you off at your rehearsal. Because that’s the sort of mother I am, Maj.”
Kallan giggles, “Maj drunk would be really funny, Mom.”
Maj takes a bite, “If I do get drunk eating this soup? Don’t think I will keep your bad-mothering secrets, Mother. I already tell on everything! And if I am drunk, who knows what I’ll say?”
Kallan is delighted, “Maj will totally lie about you!”
Maj agrees, “Yes, Mother. I will tell vicious falsehoods.”
“Vicious falsehoods, Maj? Really?”
Snort!
Kallan scoops up the last bit of her spaghettios and carries her dishes to the sink.
Then she walks back and forth across the kitchen like a small stalking panther. Or like a top fashion model, 4th grade style. As she stalks, her little girl hips sway, and she keeps the beat with this phrase . . .
Oh, yeah. She’s got the moves. Oh yeah. She’s got it. She’s got it.
“What the heck, Kallan? Where did you learn to walk like that?”
“My friend taught me. You just have to pretend that there is a stick up your butt. Your hips move, but your butt is patient.”
I am laughing hysterically, “Your hips move but your butt is patient? Oh my god, Kallan. You make me laugh.”
She stalks across the room to me and reaches out to smack me on the butt, “Come on, Mom. Let’s see you get those old lady hips moving! Walk like a model, Mom!”
I . . . am . . . dying, “I do not have old lady hips!”
“Let’s see you swing them, then!” And Kallan stalks away, smacking at her ass as she walks so I can appreciate the subtleties of the walk.
Oh, yeah. She’s got the moves. Oh yeah. She’s got it. She’s got it.
I . . . cannot . . . breathe.
Maj walks into the room, “Why is Kallan all trampy walking?”
“I AM NOT TRAMPY! I AM A MODEL!”
Maj turns away, puts her dishes in the sink, “Whatever you say.”
Maj digs through the bowl that contains the last remnants of our Halloween candy, “You want one, Mother?”
“Sure, babe.”
But before I can turn and say thank you? A small piece of hard candy hits me in the ass and then falls to the floor.
I turn, “Maj, did you just throw a piece of candy at me?”
Maj is pretty sure she is in huge trouble, “I don’t know why I did that. I’m sorry. You guys were talking about old lady hips, and I thought it would be funny. Let’s pretend that didn’t happen. I’m drunk, Mother. Noodle drunk.”
“Fine. Let’s try that again, then,” and I make the Wayne’s World finger motions and sounds in front of my face, “Doodle-oodle-oot . . doodle-oodle-oot. We are traveling back in time to the moment right before this candy hit me in the butt.”
Maj races to pick up the candy and hand it to me, “Mother, would you like a piece of candy?”
“Sure, babe. Thanks!”
Cinnamon!
We gather up our coats. The girls gather their scripts.
Kallan stalks out to the car, hips swaying.
Stick up her ass, but her butt is patient.
Maj yells after her, “You are a frog in the play, you know! I read the script. It does not say anything about the frog being trampy! Frogs hop, Kallan. They hop!”
Kallan turns as she reaches the car and throws a hip out, looks back over her shoulder, “I know how to hop, Maj. And when the time comes? I will hop.”
She climbs into the car, stopping short as she does so that Maj almost runs into her butt, “But now, Maj? Now is the time for the butt.”
She wiggles her butt as Maj shoves her forward, “Appreciate it, Maj!”
I finish locking the front door and walk to the car.
Kallan screams out, “Work it, Mom! Work those old lady hips!”
And so I do.
Maj is all heavy sighs as I climb into the car, “Really, Mother? Really?”
Kallan buckles her seatbelt, “Don’t mind her, Mom. She’s drunk.”
Snort!
Drunken noodles and trampy butt patient modeling frogs with old lady hips.
This post has it all!
Seriously . . . my daughters are crazy.
So much fun, though.
Snort!
A patient butt. Oh my god, those girls are hysterical.
Today, my 4 year old & 6 year old were (miraculously) not fighting over the Wii. Charlotte shot her hip out and bowled a strike and then turned to her 6 year old sister and said “See, Isobel, it’s all in the booty butt.” And then I died.
I do not know how I ever get anything done around here.
My daughters are either driving me insane or making me giggle hysterically.
Oh, how I love the giggling.
Snort!
It’s all in the booty-butt.
Love that!
Noodle drunk and patient butts…I’m dying.
I pretty much read this whole post out loud to my husband and he also thinks your girls are hilarious!
Happy sighs at that delightful thought.
I was going to post something deeper, but then my girls went all crazy and delightful.
So I just write that down instead.
Sometimes, I just want to capture their giddy moments.
Damn it Kris, you really know how to make me wish I had daughters. How much do I love those girls and their candy-ass throwing and old-lady-butt calling ways? You know.
But then? In about three years or so? Might want to steer clear for awhile as the womanly hormones will fly. I remember how I tortured my mother from the ages of 13 to 17.
My son Ethan, on the other hand, used to tell me that I’m the most beautiful woman in the world and that he wanted to marry me.
That’s nice, Oedipus, as long as you love your mother.
We have had some hormones and some temper.
But then there are also lovely silly moments like these.
I hope I can remember these moments when the more difficult ones arrive.
Sigh.
I don’t want to be tortured.
They’re great. “When the time comes to hop, I will hop.”
I’m afraid Kallan is learning all sorts ways of speaking from Maj.
They have a lot of word wars don’t they?
make that, “when the time comes, I will hop.” Don’t want to misquote~
They are both big big talkers.
My whole life is filled with sister word wars.
They word war a LOT.
A LOT.
“old lady hips?” Really?
dear lord.
I need some college soup.
Dear lord is right.
And she smacked me on the ass!
These girls kill me.
I need a beer.
Hahaha. I love the “Your hips move, but your butt is patient.” Patient? HILARIOUS.
I can’t wait to have similar hilarious conversations with my boys. Tonight I got “Mommy’s don’t have pee pees” and “We don’t say butt crack cuz it’s not nice” from my 2 year old. I can’t wait until we’re past the potty talk phase…If that ever happens.
I know, right?
Patient?
What the fuck?
And the potty talk phase?
Ugh . . . I remember that.
It was deadly.
Mine do the chica bow wow dance and my two year old shakes her bum and says “Everyone shake ya booty.” Booties sure are popular.
Fairly certain though you don’t have old lady hips.
My hips are just fine.
But to 9 year old Kallan?
I am old, old, old.
Snort!
And yes . . .Kallan’s booty features prominently in most of her dancing.
Lots of shaking.
Snort!
I hope in seven years can enjoy my daughters as much as you do yours. But I fear all four of them will have completely made me…what’s the politically correct term? Oh yes. Bonkers.
I am bonkers.
I am so sure that I have mentioned that before.
Pish posh. Bonkers has many levels. I am talking about the drool on yourself level not the fun levels. You know the ones where your self control and impulse control are shot to hell, like a hillbilly on his third twelve pack of the night.
OK.
Let me check.
No drool.
I’m all good.
Do you hear your own voice coming out of their mouths? The words they choose are not like the words of other children. It is hypnotic!
Their words ARE like the words of other children!
I do not write about their friends.
But Maj and Kallan?
They have some sassy brilliant friends.
And you are hypnotized by the swaying of Kallan’s hips.
Pretty sure.
Snort!
And just so you know?
As I type this?
Maj is yelling from upstairs, “I am eating a lollipop and I am trying not to chew it because that would be bad for my teeth, Mother! Remind me in a few minutes to not chew this lollipop! I do not want to harm these braced teeth! Mother, are you listening? My teeth are in your hands!”
Seriously.
My children talk like that.
Bratchild is always doing the model walk…and generally winds up looking afflicted bless her heart. In my house we call ramen giggle noodles because my mom used to say they giggle in your tummy, I miss them now that I have to eat gluten free. Stupid food allergies.
Just so you know?
Maj dances like Elaine from Seinfeld.
Just like that. NO sense of rhythm whatsoever.
Kallan is all wiggle and sway.
I am somewhere in the middle.
With my old lady hips.
Snort!
Wow.
Vicious falsehoods?
Patient butts?
Noodle drunk?
Trampy Frogs?
Old lady hips?
Seriously hilarious.
I’m gigging my old,yet patient, hips and butt off.
See?
That’s why I had to sit down and write this down.
They were all loony and fabulous!
Totally ridiculous and nonsensical.
And fabulous.
Love these silly girls with the words.
Love them.
These days I got to rereading Don Delillo’s ‘White Noise’, and damned if your Maj is not the embodiment of the character of Denise! (technically impossible, I know, but everything’s allowed in postmodern literature.)
“There was no warning on the pack then. They put a warning, which I would have a hard time believing you didn’t see.”
Now tell me Maj didn’t say that.
Your daughter is a character in one of my favourite books!
(Holy crap, which character is C gonna turn out like?)
She would SOOOOO say that.
That is like a perfect Maj line!
I have never read that particular Delillo book.
Making a note.
One of my faves, I’m sure you will like. So much sass it is unbelievable.
Look! Your girls, postmodern style:
In bed two nights later I heard voices, put on my robe and went down the hall to see what was going on. Denise stood outside the bathroom door.
“Steffie’s taking one of her baths.”
“It’s late,” I said.
“She’s just sitting in all that dirty water.”
“It’s my dirt,” Steffie said from the other side of the door.
“It’s still dirt.”
“Well it’s my dirt and I don’t care.”
“It’s dirt,” Denise said.
“It’s my dirt.”
“Dirt is dirt.”
“Not when it’s mine.”
(Oh wait, this is so not the first book I’ve recommended to you! I’ll be damned if I remember what the previous one was, tho. You’re off the hook!)
OK, I have to read this book.
What other book did you recommend?
“White Noise” is my hands down favorite DeLillo book, too. I loved it. Unfortunately, it was the first book of his I read, then kept reading everything else he’d written and found them all quite good, but not as thrilling as that first one.
In fact since it’s been about 20 years since I read it, I’m probably due for a re-read, thanks for the reminder.
See, and I have read other DeLillo stuff and just not been that impressed.
I will seek out White Noise.
I will let you know what I think.
I’m hoping it holds up on the re-read. Will keep you posted.
Tangentially (because that’s my favorite direction) do you know what book I love? Although it is considered the most minor of his oeuvre, a footnote to his early, much (correctly) lauded books, I adore James Baldwin’s last novel “Just Above My Head.” It is a messy shaggy ramble. Also deeply moving and just terrific.
Highly recommended. But not if you’re feeling fragile, then it will just rip you up.
OK, I just got off the phone with a very good friend of mine . . . and so I am a little freaked out to return and see your face.
Because guess what?
Your photo looks so much like my friend. Have I mentioned that before? So much.
She comments here once in a while, and she has noticed you as well.
More than noticed, she has been all, “Hey! What am I doing commenting on Kris’ blog as Varda?”
So funny.
And that book? Just Above My Head? I read that several years ago.
Well worth reading again . . . it was fabulous.
Kris,
Drum rolls. Trumpet blares.
“Naked Butting” – still solid at Google No. 5.
But sneaking by on the inside is “Your Butt is Patient” – Google No. 3! Woo-Hoo.
Every butt wiggle story takes me back to when my niece Kim was 5 or so. And always dressed like a Princess or an Olympic figure skater. And always shakin’ her little booty.
Wish I could’ve bottled all the laughs she gave me. You should keep yours in a big, fat, laugh vat.
Cheers
Bill
Seriously?
I am #3 on Your butt is patient?
How can there be people ahead of me on that search?
Let me check.
OK, without quotes?
You bring up booty plastic surgery . . . different kind of patient.
But with quotes?
I am #1!!
OK, that makes me laugh.
That I am #1 with quotes. . . like it’s not real or something.
Oh, it’s real, babe.
I will rule the world!
Kallan calling Maj drunk had me on the floor laughing.
You are the best storyteller, btw.
Love that.
Thank you!
I wish someone had told my butt to be patient, it was always in such a goddamn hurry it didn’t get much done in high school. Wait, maybe that was a good thing, lol.
Snort!
High fives on limited butt action in high school!
What?