About two years ago, Kara and I started keeping a journal to record priceless or funny things that our kids say. We think it will be a wonderful memory for them years from now.
There’s nothing too deep in it, no profound commentaries on life. Still, we revel in their efforts to put words to thoughts, and sometimes in their humor as well.
After a while, the older kids learned that we would periodically pull out the journal — it’s a spiral-bound 200-pager, lined white paper, with a chocolate brown faux cloth covered binding and light gray-blue faux cloth covered cover — and make our notations in it when they said something particularly wise or witty, so we now sometimes see them competing to say something funny enough to warrant a journal entry.
The other surprise has been that, even with just two years’ worth of entries, the kids sometimes ask us to pull it out now and read back through particularly funny entries. They love it. They usually remember the things they said, and we all chuckle or smile as we remember.
After making a few new entries recently, I thought I’d share a few of our classics here this morning.
Like this exchange between Kara and Finn, as Kara was offering Finn some vegetables for dinner one particular evening in October 2007:
Kara: “Finn, would you like to eat some cauliflower?”
Finn: “No, Mama. Only lambs eat cauliflower.”
You get the idea.
Michael and Finn have had the most journal-worthy entries, of course, as they’ve had some command of language for the longest time. Our earliest dated entry from Michael comes from sometime in 2005 (we remembered this and wrote it down when we started the book in mid-2007), when Michael was learning about opposites and various ways to express “opposite” sort of thoughts. He chose to demonstrate his understanding of the opposite of “hot” at the same time he was trying to save Finn’s life with this observation as he (Finn) was reaching up to touch a candle flame:
“Finnie, don’t touch that candle — it’s anti-cold!”
Another early favorite of Michael’s came during our bedtime routine a few years ago. It was January 2006, we were visiting Grandpa and Grandma Thelen in Phoenix, and I was telling a made-up story to Finn and Michael as they snuggled into their beds for the night. Rather than finish the story, I paused, told the boys we’d finish the story the next night, and started to say good-night. Michael started to protest, thought better of it, and then simply asked that I remember where I left off with this cute quip:
“Daddy, can you put a bookmark at that spot in your voice?”
See? Nothing profound. You probably had to be there to appreciate it. Michael still remembers it, though, and with some pride, I might add. 
There have been funnier and even almost profound statements.
Like this explanation Finn gave me, in early April 2008, when I asked him one morning how he slept:
Daddy: “Finnie, did you have any dreams last night?”
Finn: “No. My head told my brain to not dream, so I didn’t.”
Later that month, Michael had this wry observation in the bathtub, following the discovery of a huge, well, poop in the bathtub, compliments of Caroline:
“Well, my bath career for this weekend is officially over.”
As you can see from the above remark, Michael often shares wry, even sarcastic observations as he experiences life. Sometimes, we can see what he values in his comments. Take this one, for example:
“Well, that was a victory for me!” — Michael’s reaction to learning he wouldn’t have to brush his teeth one evening after receiving flouride treatments at the dentist earlier that day.
Once in a great while, we record our own statements to the kids. Not because we’re vain, but because, well, sometimes the situation is just too funny or precious to let it slip from our memories as time goes by.
A particularly good example was Kara’s remark to Caroline when Caroline came downstairs after waking up the morning after Christmas 2008. Kara’s comment, which follows this picture, is best understood if you know that Caroline slept through that particular night not in regular ’ole pajames, but in this entire get-up, shoes, bling, and all:
Caroline's "pajamas" for Christmas night 2008
Kara: “So, how was South Hollywood Boulevard last night?”
Speaking of Caroline, her contribution to the journal so far has involved her dramatic flair for reacting to small things. Like this one:
“I’m really worried about me” — and you have to imagine this in her voice with a huge, breathy sigh; this was her May 1, 2009 reaction to a sore tummy, as she laid on the couch, brought on by nothing more than some hunger pains from her not eating her dinner!
I have to return to Finn. The comments we’ve recorded from him are quite numerous, and, considered as a whole, are usually either:
– astute observations about the physical world around him:
“Hey, Mama, I just had a poopie crumb that was shaped like the United States of America!” (January 18, 2009, describing a unique bathroom success on the eve of Barack Obama’s inauguration as President)
“I don’t want to eat any more. The little line in my heart is pointing to “F,” which means I’m full. It’s not pointing to “E” right now, because it’s not empty.” (offering a creative December 2008 explanation for why he shouldn’t have to finish eating Kara’s bow-tie pasta goulash creation)
“Daddy, I kind of look like Michael. Except my head isn’t flat like Michael’s.” (a reflection on his appearance, ca. May 2009)
– or nearly profound reflections on what he wished the world could be:
“I’m thinking about changing the world, making it a better place, where people’s heads can turn all the way around like owls.” (Finn’s answer to babysitter Samantha Fritz on November 21, 2008, responding to her question of what he was thinking about as he looked reflectively out the window.)
– or just plain out-of-the-blue silly:
“I wish our house was upside down, ‘cuz I’m bored with it right-side up. Then we could walk on the ceiling.” (Finn’s observation, in May this year, as he looked around our kitchen while he was helping Kara stir brownie batter)
At not quite two years yet, Charlie, of course, is just learning to put words together. We have no fears, however, that our journal will be lacking material from Charlie. Already, it’s clear his mind is waiting to burst out with witty observations that need only wait for his tongue and vocal cords to catch up. In fact, he warranted his first journal entry just last night:
“Pigs … lost.”
This was Charlie’s matter-of-fact statement to us in the kitchen last night in reaction to overhearing us tell Caroline she would lose a privilege if she didn’t come in from the deck to sit down and eat dinner with us. Clearly, Charlie is absorbing everything we say around him. Moreover, clearly we are so frequently taking Caroline’s pigs away from her as a lost privilege when she doesn’t listen to us — which is also, sadly, quite frequent at the moment! — that even Charlie, with almost Pavlovian certainty, has picked up on what happens when Caroline doesn’t listen!
(Poor Caroline, by the way, she will read this one day in the distant future and probably need counseling after learning of how we make light of our present struggle with her independent streak …!)
O.K. That’s it for our journal. But what about Petra? Since she’s obviously too young to have a journal entry yet, I can at least share some smiling pictures from last night!
Looking forward to meeting my Merciez family tomorrow!
Recent Comments