Mealworms, fat cows and loose teeth

“Mom, I hope we learn more about mealworms today… doesn’t that sound exciting?!”

“You.  Fat cow.”

“Mom, your hair looks like a fluffy squirrel.”


Out of the mouths of babes…  These are actual quotes of the Asker kids this week.  The first, on the way to 1st grade, my girlie, artistic, musical girl was looking forward to mealworms.  I couldn’t say it sounded exciting, but I did say I have never studied them myself so it’s hard to know.

Fat cow: I was stretching after a long run.  XS decided it was time for him to chime in with some feedback.  Suddently I realized he had learned it at the Y with us, but had gotten one little consonant wrong: it’s CAT cow, babe.  Yoga.

Fluffy squirrel.  Yeah, I probably did.

The other week, the Y class instructor casually said to me, “Nice job in class today.”  I felt like the ugly 5th grader who just got an A on a report about Pennsylvania and woke up with a huge pimple on her nose.  It’s amazing how little words of affirming (or things like FAT COW) really set me in a different direction.  Calista was so excited about these mealworms.  MEALWORMS PEOPLE.  Amazing teachers at Homecroft!  What words are they using I wonder…

Fat cow, cat cow.  Subtle but a huge difference, eh?

Nice job in class today.  Anna, seriously, I felt like I could have led the way in the Boston Marathon after those kinds words.  Thank you!                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        

Parenting as a stay at home mom, extrovert as I am, I get little feedback.  The boys do give great hugs and kisses, but they also throw out the occasional fat cow or fluffy squirrel.  When I do get feedback from my Bible study members, husband as we write together or even kids after Sunday School, it can sink my ship or set me asail.

There are so many things they don’t tell you about parenting, by the way.  I wish someone had told me I would have to become a dentist and an anxiety therapist.  I have had to choose my words very carefully, as my daughter has loose teeth.  The difference between tug, pull and yank becomes crystal clear as one’s daughter is having a panic attack in the bathroom at 7:00pm, brothers watching as the blood trickles.

This week I “carefully felt how loose the tooth was.”  Tried not to “tug” and managed to get yelled at for yanking even though she was the one who whipped her head away.  I swear I did not yank her tooth.

After she “wiggled” it herself after a while, out it came.  She says, immediately, “I told you you didn’t have to yank it.”

Words.  They have such power.

Let’s use them well, shall we?


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