Nothing better to do…

We were going to the kids’ viola/in recital this weekend, and I told T that I loved the building it was going to be in (a 1911 theater, the Scottish Rite Center) — especially the ceiling, which has star-shaped lights and is painted with clouds. He grumped at me, “That’s because you’re an audient. I can’t even pay attention to it!”

Me: An audient?

T: Yeah, the audients always get to see things, but the people who are playing have to concentrate on the symbols for facebook” title=”music symbols for facebook”>music.

Me: The audience does have an advantage, doesn’t it? 🙂

So T wasn’t thrilled about practicing the viola this morning, and was stomping around, grumbling, and in other ways expressing this lack of excitement. Remembering one way his teacher diffuses his bad moods, we sent him out of the room and told him we were starting over, and he should come back in ready to practice and in a good mood. Since we’re in a hotel (we’re visiting Carlsbad Caverns this weekend), he went into the bathroom where he hummed and futzed around for a little while before stomping out with an I’m-really-not-smiling look on his face.

“That’s not a good mood!” I said.

“I AM in a good mood,” he said. “I just don’t LIKE being in a good mood sometimes.”

T, playing with his dad’s iPhone:  Too bad this doesn’t come with a stylish.

(he means stylus, of course)

Just out of the shower, I stopped to give N (9, almost 10) a kiss.  He jumped away and said “Ewww!  I don’t like being touched by naked women!”

Peter:  Wasn’t it nice to have a good breakfast?

T:  I’d rather have a hovercraft.

T, sitting on the toilet:  It sorta feels like my head gets smaller when I go poop.
What could that mean except that his head resides up his butt?

So they’re upstairs retelling the story of the Minotaur, in which Theseus kills the Minotaur and then sails home triumphant.  But since in his glee he forgets to change the color of the sails on his ship before setting sail homeward, his father the king sees the black sails and, distraught, throws himself into the sea.  My kids don’t get to the denouement, however; they get caught up in the part where Theseus slays the Minotaur.  I mean, kills the Minotaur.  I mean, destroys.  Decapitates.  Murders.  And so on.

“There sure are a lot of words for making someone die, aren’t there?” says T, and off they go again.  Heck, I don’t know if *I* could have come up with so many on such short notice.

Me, to Peter: You’re SO funny.
Peter, to N: You see, N, she thinks I’m funny.
Me, to N: What he neglected to mention is that that was SARCASM.
N, to both of us: I think you two shouldn’t play with sarcasm. Sarcasm is a dangerous weapon, you know.

T (holding a bar of paper-wrapped soap): “Here, smell this, then think of something that’s stinky. Something that animals do.”
Me: “Okay ….”
T: “There’s some of that by the front door on the rug.”

Getting ready for the farmer’s market, I pull out my clothes. T, 5 years old, looks at me and excitedly says, “Are you going to wear a skirt?”

“Yes, why?” I say, somewhat afraid that he will come out with a chauvinist answer like “because women are supposed to wear skirts” which will precipitate a discussion that will end up with us being late for the farmer’s market and me being grumpy all day long.

” I like skirts,” he says. “Lego guys can wear skirts.”

Discussion averted, we’re off to the farmer’s market.