Rachel is the same age as my Susan (4) and Jacob is the same age as my Spot (2). Rachel is the most placid kid I’ve ever met. Even in the minivan, where she’s exiled to the lonely middle seat while the others ride in the back and watch the movie, Rachel is content.

But Jacob is another story. That boy is not quiet or incurious or eagerly agreeable, if you know what I’m saying.

Things are fine on Tuesdays and Thursday mornings though, when Sally is busy negotiating the social structures of the second grade.

On a fine Saturday morning, however, when we are babysitting while Chrysanthemum and her husband dress rehearse for the church Christmas program, it’s a whole new dynamic.

(And it’s almost enough to make me wish I were at bit more musically inclined.)

Sally is used to being the leader of the little people. She objects to being lumped in with “the kids,” but she condescends to being known as the leader of the little people, despite my sweet mother-in-law’s objection that this might be offensive to the persons in TLC’s Little People, Big World reality TV show.

(I think if you’re willing to be filmed for a reality TV show, you probably won’t get your knickers in a twist over a seven-year old calling her sisters “little people”). (Because reality show stars are big-hearted like that).

This morning Susan shared her paints with Jacob, who refreshed his muddy water at a rate consistent with his fascination for the water that comes out of the door of the fridge. Spot did some hard time in the laundry room after slapping Rachel for breathing on her dolly stroller, and Sally decided, after repeatedly expressing her gratitude, loudly, for not having any brothers, that the fort in the loft is now a Girls Club.

Dick objected.

Dick is, after all, male. Also, his ears were being pierced by the screams emitting from the other male person in the room.

Sally said she would make a separate Boys Club for whenever Jacob is over to play.

This satisfied no one but Sally, Susan, Spot, Rachel, and me. Which is to say that it satisfied everyone but the two male persons who found that to be rather discriminatory. Or, in other words, the screaming from the short male person was not stopped by Sally’s campaign promises of equal facilities and equal opportunities for hiding from the grown-ups.

And I guess I can’t blame Jacob. It probably wouldn’t be any fun to hide out in a Boys Club by yourself. For one thing, one of the main components of a club is the other members, so how could a club of one be even remotely equal to a club of four?

I thought about taking Sally aside for a quick rundown on Civil Rights, beginning with the War Between the States and Brown v. Board of Education and continuing on to Rosa Parks and Caroline Kennedy, who deserves that senate seat even if her husband didn’t cheat on her because DANG she wears pearls well.

But by the time I had prepared to fight this threat to justice everywhere, Jacob had agreed to Sally’s suggestion that they go string bracelets from the plastic bead collection.

Because, you see, there are no girl toys and boy toys, no Girls Club and Boys Club. Only love and harmony and SHARING, at our house.

But last week she was positively loquacious on the subject of what she would be missing if we were late. (I don’t know where she gets this compulsion to be on time for things).

If we were late, she’d miss DOL and weather and calendar and jobs. Jobs is especially important, because everyone has a job to do to make the classroom work, and it changes every day.

What kind of jobs? I asked (because I’m an interested parent).  Sally said the jobs are like messenger, eraser, line leader, Yurelli’s Buddy, librarian, lunch count. I asked which was her favorite (because I’m also an involved parent). And then I said, Wait. What’s Yurelli’s Buddy?

Well, she said, Yurelli doesn’t speak English, so if you’re her buddy then you sit by her all day and explain everything to her and if you get your work done early, you can take her around the classroom and point things out to her. Miss Thompson put labels on the “door” and “cabinet” and “rug,” and you can teach Yurelli how to say those things.

But you don’t speak Spanish, I said. How do you explain things to her if you don’t speak Spanish and she doesn’t speak English?

Sally couldn’t really explain how this language exchange works, and apparently Yurelli is still struggling with English, but the kids in the class like getting the Yurelli’s Buddy assignment, and Sally likes it when Eurelli plays with her posse on the playground.

Probably the whole class should be learning Spanish (and German and French and Chinese). And maybe Yurelli should be in a special bilingual program that celebrates her unique heritage, blah blah blah, but I think it’s kind of cool that Yurelli gets a new buddy every day and that the kids enjoy touring around the classroom with her.

If we ever move to Italy or Argentina or Tasmania, I imagine there would be tons of kids lining up to be Sally’s Buddy, if only so she can teach them how to draw a pegicornasus.

Jane

But no place is perfect, and even with nary a princess in sight (we had a witch, a Heffalump, and a ladybug), the coveted 10 of Halloweens is yet to be experienced.

So how did Seagull Fountain do on the individual measures?

(On a Scale of 1 to 10):

Ease of Collection: 7. It was safe; drizzly but not cold. We could use some more streetlights out here in the SF, but the stars are nice in a pinch (and on a clear night).

Friendliness of Fellow Parents: 8. One lady asked who we were, and we started our spiel about being new in the neighborhood. No, she interrupted, who are you supposed to be? Another lady asked if I was a Ninja. No, I said, I’m Michelle Obama. (JUST KIDDING. I DIDN’T SAY THAT. NOT EVEN IN A JON STEWART SORT OF WAY). Dick and I were Egyptians, because we’ve had those costumes forever and they don’t require hair-brushing or makeup.

Appeal of Candy (ratio of name brand chocolate to generic crap): 5. I bought mini candy bars to set out in case my Costco-bulk stuff was bringing down the whole neighborhood. It was not.

Presentation: 7. One family invited us in for a haunted house. Sally was the only one who made it through, and she didn’t like it. Spiders, mummies, witches, and skeletons are okay, but the mist-maker is going too far for an almost-8 year-old.

Also, I don’t know where I was when they passed out patterns for the jack-o’lanterns. Our pumpkins definitely were letting the neighborhood down.

Comparing to Trunk-r-Treat: 6. Spot refused to dress up at the Trunk-r-Treat, but since she looks fairly orphan-like in her daily life, she made a passable Annie.

Dick thinks we shouldn’t make the candy such a taboo that the kids crave it even more. Instead, we should let them eat what they want and eventually they’ll get sick and learn that too much candy isn’t a great thing. Only, THAT STRATEGY HASN’T WORKED ON ME IN 31 YEARS.

Jane

How was your Halloween? Does your neighborhood score a 10?

Other than that, I got nothing.

I told Grandma (yes, that Grandma) about this exchange, thinking that she and I could have a “What do men know? This is how children behave” bonding moment.

She said, “Well, you could ask your dad about it, but we just tend to think that Susan is Susan.”

Now, I am not one to say that my children are extraordinary. Not extraordinarily good or extraordinarily bad, extraordinarily smart or extraordinarily mischievous. I mean, clearly they are well above-average, but nothing is more tedious than a parent who acts as though their child was the first to ever sing the alphabet or to need seventeen timeouts in one afternoon.

But, as Susan turns four and heads off to preschool (Finally! Note to self: Never give birth in October), I’m left to wonder: What exactly makes Susan Susan?

When we visited our friends in Idaho earlier this month, I remembered many meals shared with them during which we played a game with their son called “Trick Jimmy Into Eating.” On one memorable occasion we got him to eat a chicken nugget that he didn’t exactly digest, if you know what I mean.

We have never had to play “Trick Susan Into Eating.” We play “You can have one more piece of bread and then you HAVE TO GO TO BED I MEAN IT” with Susan. My friend noticed that, of all the healthy appetites in our family, Susan’s is possibly the most healthy.

How did she put it nicely? She said: “Wow, you’re lucky that Susan’s metabolism is so good.”

When I picked up Susan after her first day of preschool, her teacher asked if she’s really left-handed. As if she were going incognito and is secretly ambidextrous. Well, we tend to think that she really is left-handed. At least, nothing we’ve tried so far has cured her. No matter the teasing, the portion-control, or the Chinese water torture, Susan still picks up her fork with her left hand.

Dick likes to say that Susan is my double in looks and temperament. To be honest, I have always thought that she might be extraordinarily good-looking. But . . . I was a headstrong, um, vocal, first child. Shouldn’t Susan, as the middle child, be put-upon and down-trodden and obssessed with calf nuts?

And should she be uttering my own favorite teenage-angst questions so early? “It’s not fair!” “You’re really mean.” “I don’t like you any more.” “You don’t understaaaaaaaaaand!”

Oh, believe me, Susan, I do understand. Life isn’t fair, Mom really is that mean, and getting meaner every year.

It would hurt my feelings if I really thought you didn’t like me any more, but since you hugged me and told me that you loved me right before asking for another piece of bread tonight, I’m sure it was just a mood you were having.

Happy Birthday! Mom loves you, and so do your sisters, and so does your dad.

Last week, when school had been in session for approximately ten seconds, the Parents or Guardian of Sally got a very formal letter from the school expressing concern over her numerous tardies and absences. Two weeks of school and she’s already missed too much = A new personal best at Chez Dick and Jane!!

But really, even though Sally is well above-average, a little part of me still worries that if she doesn’t get in the habit of going to school now, she might want to stay home and talk to me when she is thirteen, and then she’ll never have the character-building experience of being asked to return her half of a BE FRI – ST ENDS necklace.

Which is why I thought it would be good for my girls to play with their Princess-Barbie-loving cousins yesterday. That and the fact that Dick had a late meeting and my sister has a backyard, and a fence, and a lock on the sliding glass door to the backyard.

Since Marcy is just getting used to her new apres-marriage house, we slept over. There’s nothing like extra junk and people sleeping in your basement to make a house feel like home. After we got the kids down, I helped Marcy christen the new house with a ritual viewing of the Keira Knightley/Matthew MacFadyen Pride and Prejudice. It was late; mostly we just fast-forwarded to our favorite Lady Catherine lines like “If I had ever learned, I should have a been a great proficient.”

This morning Sally was thirty minutes late to school, which I didn’t think was too bad, considering we had to drive 49 minutes from the wild bachelorette house to get there. And I even made her a sandwich for lunch, though I had to use ranch dressing with the turkey, because Marcy had no idea where her mayonnaise was.

So basically I was feeling pretty swell today, confident in my good mothering skills. I read a bunch of books to Susan and Spot before naptime, including Fanny’s Dream, which proves that even the most excellent of books become slightly less compelling after being forced to nod and smile encouragingly about the “a hat” and the “a dog” on every single page.

A few minutes after Spot fell asleep, I got a call from my mom. Sally’s school had called her, because I forgot to pick up Sally, and I didn’t answer my phone when they tried to call me. The phone that I WAS answering, obviously, otherwise how would I be talking to my mom about the fact that I was thirty minutes late for early-release Friday?

Dick pretended he wasn’t disappointed that I had once again forsaken my oldest daughter for the fleeting pleasures of the internet. He even tried to cheer me up by saying he figured the 30 minutes late for drop-off and 30 minutes late for pick-up should cancel each other out. Good point. Oh, public school. How fickle you are! You’re upset when she’s not there and then upset when she is. Make up your mind, already.

You know what they say: raising children is all about being consistent.

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A few years ago, Angela from New York sent us the children’s book Hurry, Hurry, Mary Dear by N. M. Bodecker and Eric Blegvad. It’s a poem about a woman in New England who has chores galore before winter comes. “Stack the stove wood, string the beans, up the storms and down the screens.” Round and round and in and out she whirls, while Hubs lolls in bed and then waits for his tea in his rocking chair.

Dick isn’t that bad, we live in an apartment, and if ignoring your children were an Olympic sport I’d be the Shawn Johnson of mothering. (Finally a gold in something!). So other than the adequately-helpful husband, easy access to mass-manufactured canned goods, and kids happy to watch movie after movie, my life is exactly the same as the under-appreciated, over-worked Mary Dear.

That’s my excuse for not blogging, anyway. Of course, probably you managed to find other means of entertainment in my absence (Just kidding! — of course you sat and moped while I slumped and Michael Phelps won yet another gold medal. I mean, after awhile, doesn’t all that winning and breaking world records and million dollar bonuses from Visa get just a bit . . . old?).

Have you noticed how many sports have four events or four strokes, or how much better baseball would be if there were only four innings? So I tried to think up four categories for my blogging break, but there’s a reason I’m not an Olympic athlete, despite doing my best to eat as close to 12,000 calories a day as possible. So I fell back on pros and cons:

Seven Pros and Cons of the Blogging Break

(1) Pro: Fun Outings with the kids (pools, dinosaur museums, parks)

Con: Since Susan (turning 4 in October) will not start kindergarten for 734 days, there are more pools, dinosaur museums, parks and McDonald play places in my immediate future than June Cleaver ever imagined.

(2) Pro: All this swimming = best tan of my life.

Con: All this no-routine-in-general, not-going-to-the gym-in-specific = flabbiest stomach since Spot vacated the premises.

(3) Pro: Gorgeous Utah weather — it’s getting chilly after dark now, and we’ve been stopping at parks on our way home.

Con: That’s on our way home from seeing every single (cheap) house, townhome, and condo in a thirty-mile radius. Apparently we are poor, picky, poor, and soon-to-be homeless.

(4) Pro: Quality reading time.

Con: Spending the better part of two days reading Breaking Dawn = “quality” might be a stretch. (That’s nothing time-wasting-wise though — I read Scarlett, arguably the worst book ever, in 18 hours straight).

(5) Pro: More time for “real life.”

Con: The house is still a mess anyway. “Real life” should not include “clean house.”

(6) Pro: Time with good friends from high school and my sister.

Con: Real-life problems like complicated pregnancies and lousy husbands are much harder to cope with that quirky servers and mean Stumblers and feelings of raging blogging-inadequacy.

(7) Pro: If you don’t post, turning on the computer is much less “what-if-no-one-commented-on-my-last-post” angst-ridden.

Con: If you don’t post, getting fewer comments is almost for sure. (Although I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the emails, tweets, and IRL comments; my acknowledgments page is all ready in case I ever write anything real).

If you wrote a great post while I’ve been gone, let me know. I hate it when people say that. Duh, all my posts are great, and if you weren’t such a loser, you’d know that and whenever you come back from a break you’d be camped out at my blog catching up. Right? Well, let me know if I missed your epic/ramble/etc. I’ll stumble it for you! Seriously. Unless you’d rather I didn’t, in which case tell me why, ’cause I’m planning a post on Adventures in Stumbling.

We’re going to my dad’s family’s reunion tonight; back late Thursday. Had to promise Dick I’d do all the laundry this week in exchange for him getting to go on the funnest camping trip ever with the coolest people ever. ! So if you send me a post url after 3 pm today, I’ll stumble it early Friday. I’d really like to read your post, stumble it, and then get some feedback from you as to what sort of response/traffic you get from the experience. Like a focus group, only better.

But the best part of swimming lessons?

Don’t forget Things That Must Go this weekend.

Brought to you by Jacki.

These things include listening to classical music, buying a new hardbound book (the kind with the thick, carefully-but-unevenly-cut pages), and sharing a Happy Meal with my kids as we grocery shop. Like a pedicure for the soul, these things make me feel pampered and indulged.

Another thing that makes me feel spectacularly spoiled, especially after having lived in Egypt, is taking my kids to the pediatric dentist. That all this equipment and education and attention is lavished on the teeth of my little ones overwhelms me.

Sally has been going regularly to the dentist since she was four. The ADA is recommending kids go as early as two-years old, but I think they just want to make more money. As long as everything looks good to the pediatrician, and you are a conscientious mom, serving the flouridated tap water and ensuring brushing and flossing on a monthly basis (kidding — at least weekly!), I think four is a good age to visit the dentist for the first time.

We started this summer off right — with a 6-month 9-month cleaning and checkup for Sally, and a first-ever visit for Susan. I made a couple of mistakes, and did a few things right, and naturally, as I sat in the waiting room, I thought, This would be a great Works-for-Me Wednesday topic, plus, hopefully I’ll remember to re-read it when it’s time for Spot’s first visit.

Tips For Making a First Dental Visit a Success

1) Start the Brainwashing Early. If you can train your three-year old to cry “Mommy, I’m not safe!” when you forget to buckle her seatbelt, you can convince her that going to the dentist is better than Disneyland, and that it will help her to be “just like Sally.”

2) Write Down the Appointment. On a calendar in case your computer breaks, and on the computer in case your calendar gets drowned in the kitchen sink. If you somehow manage to forget entirely the day, time, or in fact the name or phone number of the dentist, start calling possible dentists early on the first day of Summer. You might get lucky and call the right one exactly one hour before the appointment.

3) Practice Some Useful Phrases. For example: “I like to brush my teeth in the morning, but Mommy helps me at night.” “Daddy lets me use his flossers if I’m a good girl.” “We never eat suckers or fruit snack or sugar of any kind at home, Mr. Dentist.”

4) Do Not Let Your Daughter Wear A Dress That Comes To Her Knees. When she lies on the dentist chair, it will ride up and show her panties no matter what you do. I guess there are worse things in life, but I spend way too much of my time fretting over panties showing.

5) Brush Your Kids’ Teeth Right Before the Appointment. Right.

Actually, considering how cavalier I am about teeth hygiene, it’s a miracle the kids are still cavity-free. Right before I got married (when I was still on my parent’s insurance), I had 16 cavities. Had to go back twice to get each side of my mouth done. I’m still a flossing-slacker. Dick must have some good teeth genes.

I love a good pediatric dentist. The best part is having the dentist tell your kids they need to brush and floss. Somehow it sounds a lot more serious coming from someone who wields instruments of oral torture. But there are a few other things to look for in a pediatric dental practice:

Things to Look for in a Pediatric Dental Practice

1) TV Screens on the Ceiling, with a good selection of movies.

2) Goody bags to take home. Probably not with actual candy in them.

3) Fun prizes to take home. Not to be confused with the oral hygiene goody bag, which should include a toothbrush of their choice and toothpaste/floss samples. The fun prize should be something they can choose out of a good Dollar Store range of toys. Susan chose Trick Gum, and after we finally convinced her it wasn’t real gum, she loved ‘getting’ Mom with the cockroach that snapped out each time.

4) A Bathroom Close to the Exam Rooms. Something about all that swishing and drilling makes kids have to pee. Trust me.

5) Like, um Credentials, or something (you can check the ADA). Oh, and hygienists and dentists who actually know how to talk to kids.

In case it’s going to be awhile before you get to the dentist (and to jog my own memory), here are a few tips the dentist gave us:

Mean Rules That Help Your Teeth

1) Limit the Juice and Chocolate Milk. I ask you: Limit the MILK? Apparently chocolate milk has lots of sugar (NO!) and ruins regular milk for kids. But I asked, and the occasional treat chocolate milk is okay. It’s just bad if you buy it for your refrigerator. Because your refrigerator has feelings, too.

2) Until kids are eight or nine, Mom or Dad should take a turn at the evening brushing/flossing. Kids can handle the morning one on their own.

3) Nah, that’s all I got. How about you?

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This weekend’s Things That Must Go Giveaway is for a $50 gift certificate to a cool online store.

Also, I feel bad that I complain about my kids so much, and I want you to know that if I did not think they were the most gorgeous creatures ever to grace . . . hmm, I already said that, huh? Anyway, if they weren’t beautiful, I would complain that much more. Just call me Shallow Mom. (Hey, is that domain taken?)

First day of swim lessons today. Don’t you just want to take small bites out of all that smooth skin?

Look at those eyes. Dick and I have green eyes. Sally got blue from both grandfathers and Susan got brown from one of her Grandma’s eyes. Not “one of her Grandmas,” but from one Grandma who has one green and one brown eye.

I know we’re not supposed to have favorites, but this one was my favorite for three years and eight months. She’s still my favorite whenever I see her reading a book that I loved when I was younger. Right now she’s reading Andrew Lang’s Green Fairy Book. Any nightmares will be referred to Daddy.

We call Sally freckle face, and have forcibly desensitized her to our teasing enough that she takes it as a compliment. Of course it helps that Dick and I each sport a million freckles ourselves. (And that she is still young enough to want to be like Mom and Dad).

This one, I confess, is my favorite stinker of them all. No forgotten middle child in this family.

Seriously, I hear those awful commercials on the radio for kid modelling agencies, where they probably want to charge you thousands of dollars to take a headshot, and I think, if only this kid weren’t the most recalcitrant, uncooperative, recidivist child in the universe, we could be millionaires. MILLIONAIRES!

I gotta go ferbert Susan’s arm right now. Be right back.

This one isn’t indoctrinated into the picture-posing protocol yet. Also, she doesn’t like to smile on cue. But we’ll probably keep her, at least until something better comes along.

Or until we have to start supporting her shoe habit.

Spot gets her extreme self-sacrificing nurturing of her babies at the expense of her own needs from her mom. She’s picking that strawberry FOR the baby.

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Oh the Places You’ll Go: A Dick and Jane Seussical

You were Born. Happy Day! You’re a gem in our loupe.
Holy cow, we’re forelorn. Please oh please, NO MORE POOP.

When you eat, how you play, what you say, if you share
Your mom’s hair will turn gray with each feat that you dare.

With your friends on a lark, late each day before dark –
No more snark can Mom hark, you will go to the park.

With your hand on your dirk, you will fight the mad Turk.
Through all danger and murk, you must stealthily lurk.

All the rules you must learn, though you balk like a mule.
If a fool you won’t be, get your tookey to school!

Some days you’ll feel blue, or have things that you rue –
If your kite away flew, get yourself to the zoo.

One night at a dance, in your fancy black pants,
You will glance at a boy and discover romance.

For a kiss purse your lips, from all life take a sip,
Though your nose it may drip, never miss any tips.

And when you’re all grown, and have kids of your own
Though far you may roam, you will always come home.

—

Phew! Writing that was A LOT harder than you’d think. I read an early draft aloud to Dick and Sally. Sally said, “You know how in Dr. Seuss books there are like two lines between each rhyme? I think you have too many rhymes. Also, books usually have two things: characters and problems. You need some big problem for your character to figure out.” This critique would have really discouraged me, except: HOLY SMART 7-YEAR OLD, BATMAN! Who’s a good mama?

Dick and I talk about writing and blogging often. Sometimes he says really nice things about my writing, like what he twittered about my Equal Parenting post: “Jane’s eloquence and intellect humbles me.” And then sometimes he says things like: “Don’t waste so much time on it,” like he did about my poor Seussical. To be fair, this version is much better than the first draft. (So you can only imagine, RIGHT?)

I’m entering Scribbit’s Write-Away contest. I talked about her for about seven paragraphs yesterday, so you probably already know she’s my transparency icon.

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In the meantime, here’s my recipe for a Happy Summer:

Now that you’ve got the kids occupied, it’s time for mom to have some quality time. If you get tired of reading blogs (I know, like that could EVER happen), put your computer to some good use. On sites like PrimeTimeRewind and Hulu, along with the network stations sites (nbc.com, fox.com, etc), you can catch up on all your favorite shows.

You might be thinking that TV is just so … so … shallow. But there are lessons to be learned and inspiration to be gotten. Tonight Hillary Clinton is (probably) (maybe) realizing that she is not going to win the Democratic nomination. Other women have faced similar setbacks, though, and I’d like to offer some encouragement to Hillary, inspired by Phyllis on The Office. In the season finale, Goodbye, Toby, Phyllis faces her toughest assignment: party planning. As she gets overwhelmed at the enormity of it all, she shares:

When I was a little girl, my mother told me I could be anything when I grew up: teacher’s aide, nurse’s assistant, some sort of volunteer. But now, I just don’t know.  

Despite these discouraging thoughts, Phyllis goes on to throw “the best party” ever. Complete with bouncy castles and fair food. I think Hillary probably needs a big hug, and to remember that she can still be anything she wants to be: teacher’s aide, nurse’s assistant, some sort of volunteer.

—-

And that’s how I responding to “Mom, I’m bored” this summer.

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So it’s a bit disconcerting that Susan, my middle child, seems to be three going on thirteen. Why would anyone want to be thirteen? Or to mother a thirteen-year old? Perhaps I am over-dramatizing. (Would I do that?) You tell me. Is she three-and-a-half or thirteen-and-I’m-going-crazy?

Susan Knows

That Mommy Is Not the Smartest Person Alive
(I thought this illusion lasted MUCH longer)

Dick: Mommy’s a genius. [Because I know where the juice lives.]
Susan: Mommy’s not a genius, she’s a mommy.
Dick: Mommy can be both a mommy and a genius.
Susan: Mommy, you’re a mommy, right?

That Mommy is still Pretty Darn Smart

Never go to sleep with gum in your mouth.

That Writing is a Powerful Thing

Susan: What starts with the letter Barbie?
Mom: “b”
Susan: What starts with the letter graham cracker?
Mom: “g”
Susan: No, that starts with the letter “bah.”
What starts with the letter trash can?
Mom: What do you want me to say?
Susan: I want you to say “d.”
Mom: Okay, trash can starts with a “d.”

Her Place in the World

Middle child syndrome? And in Sally’s Dollar Store Beer Stein? Apple juice. Of course. You knew that.

Mommy Sometimes Reacts Irrationally

Susan got the blue plastic mug today, my favorite Dollar Store mug, perfect for Swiss Miss Dark Chocolate Sensation with whipped cream on top. Susan didn’t appreciate the mug; she wanted a different cup. And Mommy lost it: Dang it, I have better things to do with my life, MY LIFE, than negotiate with you over which cup you drink your milk out of today. Don’t I? DON’T I?

But Susan Doesn’t Know

That Acting Irrationally is a Sign of Maturity

Mom: Susan, quit bugging your sister.
Susan: But I’m only bugging her a little bit.

Mom: Why did you DO that? or What’s wrong honey?
Susan: I don’t KNOOOOOOOOOOW.

Words to Describe Female Anatomy

[Mom takes off her sports bra]
Susan: I can see your elbows, Mommy!

That She doesn’t Love Everybody

[Mom and Susan looking at pictures online]
Mom: This is Mommy’s friend’s baby.
Susan: Oh. This is my favorite baby.

Jane Has Learned

Old-Fashioned Stitches are Best

They’re less likely to become infected. Also, shaving is not recommended, as it irritates the skin. Taking stitches out of a hairy person takes a long time. Mommy would rather see blood gushing out of her own [insert vital organ] than out of her baby’s head.

Mood Swings and Temper Tantrums and Sweet Beseeching Looks

Are probably just age-appropriate. Whether you’re three or thirteen or thirty.