Now that her every moment belongs to lovable little “B” (who was at that moment lumbering across the sofa), Kaitlyn’s perspective on time had changed.
Hm. How do I spend my time?
This calls for a pie chart:
from Cari Donaldson, “Clan Donaldson”
Joaquin, my firstborn son, is a very sweet soul. He loves babies and old people. He is the most patient and humble person in the house. He loves making people cards and and paying them lavish compliments.
He also loves tanks, catapults, light sabers, swords, Nerf guns, soldiers, knights, and ninjas. His ultimate bedtime story would involve a knight saving baby Jesus from a Lego castle created by an evil wizard in an armored tank.
If you come across such a story, let me know, ok?
He’s a sweetheart. Sometimes, though, he comes up with some doozies. And they’re all the more memorable coming from sweet little Joaquin.
Like the time we visited Sea World, and while the adults enjoyed their complimentary beer in the “brewmaster club” (which I just learned is a fabulous tradition they’ve since killed- a moment of silence, please), an exhausted and sleepy three year old Joaquin looked around and asked in an angelic voice, “Where are the womens to bring me some food?”
While I found that one hilarious, the gems coming out of six year old Joaquin’s mouth this past week were slightly less so.
On Thursday, for example, as I wrestled with a malfunctioning computer program, Joaquin walked up behind me and asked what I was doing.
Irritably, I told him that I was trying to fix something on the computer. A not-six-year-old would have picked up on the tone of my voice and slowly backed away. But not Joaquin. Oh no. He stood there for a moment, extremely close, and watched me. I tried to bite my tongue and not take my frustrations with Photoshop out on my son.
But then he went and did it.
“Mommy?” he asked. “Why are you even trying to fix that? Daddy’s the brains in the family.”
No, really. That’s the exact words the boy used.
“What? Joaquin what do you mean by that?” That tiny voice in my head warned me to say these words gently, so as to not shut down the conversation. Judging from the immediate tears in the boy’s eyes, I failed. I tried again. ”Baby? What do you mean? Do you mean that Daddy is the head of the house?” Oh, that must be it! He must have heard that phrase before, and it just got twisted into “brains of the family.”
He stared at me for a moment, tears welling up, up, and finally spilling down his cheeks. He shook his head no.
“No. Just that Daddy has the brains in the family.”
Aaaaannnnnd there went my temper. Poof. Read more…