one says, “I two an elevator,” and, ohmigod, we can see where this is heading, eventually: “I eight (ate) an elevator.” Hilarity ensues. They never get tired of this game, even though the “joke” is pretty obvious after the first ten or twelve items.
This summer, much of the backseat banter has concerned teen idols, or as we like to call them in our household, Chad Michael Murray.
DAUGHTER SOPHIE : Oh, Chad Michael Murray is
really
cool. A girl in my arts camp said she knows somebody whose cousin lives next door to him, and she can get his autograph for us!
FRIEND : (Brain-piercing squeal)
Eeeeeeee!
That. Is. So. Totally. Cool.
SOPHIE : That’s right, and guess what?
FRIEND : What?
SOPHIE : I forget!
FRIEND : Yeah! Me, too!
(Loud, prolonged giggles for roughly eight minutes while you wonder if constant exposure to high-pitched noises can sever your brain stem. I do kno w for a fact that certain noises can make you nuts. A kindly woma n at church once gave m y daughter a “talking prayer bear” that recited the Lord’s Prayer. Sadly, it was with a thick Japanese accent. You haven’t really lived until you’ve tucked your baby into bed and heard her recite what sounds like a badly dubbed Jackie Chan movie ending with a karate-chop “Ahhh-men!” Back in the car, though.)
SOPHIE : I like Bratz bu t no t Yasmin. Momm y says Yasmin looks too skanky.
FRIEND : What’s skanky?
SOPHIE : It means pretty. But in a grown-up way. Like Mommy’s kinda skanky, not young or anything.
FRIEND : I get it. My mommy’s skanky, too!
SOPHIE
(pausing for effect):
Well, is she stanky, too?
FRIEND :
Eeeeeeeeee!
(squealing and uncontrolled spewing of McDonald’s chocolate milk all over backseat of trusty Taurus)
And, while we’re on the subject, memo to Morgan Spurlock, who made the fabulous and shocking documentary
Super Size Me,
in which he almost dies after eating McD’s foodthree times a day for a month. Dude—thanks for
ruining my life.
No more fast food after watching that one. Now I have to “plan menus” and “buy groceries” and, ohmigod again, “cook.”
It could be lots worse, I guess. At least I don’t stank.
Chauffeuring my kid around town has gotten harder now that there’s a new law requiring kids under eight to use booster car seats for safety’s sake.
Have you ever tried to tell a kid who’s been out of a car seat for more than a year that she must get back in one because it’s the law?
ME : Honey, remember that car seat that you were so happy to get out of when you were six? The one that your eight-year-old friend used to laugh at?
SEVEN-YEAR-OLD
(warily):
Yeeessss?
ME
(very quickly):
Well, they changed the law, and now you’re going to have to get back on that booster seat until you weigh eighty pounds, so if you don’t like the idea, you better start eating a
lot
of macaroni and cheese really quick.
KID : So let me get this straight. Fat kids don’t have to use a booster seat?
ME : Honey, Jit is a very negative word. In the South, we prefer to use words and phrases such as
big-boned,
or
prosperous,
but never fat. It’s quite rude.”
KID : Are you serious? I have to ride in a car seat again?
Like a baby?
Why don’t you just rent me some Wiggles videos and make my humiliation complete?
ME : Hon, all your friends will be in booster seats, too. Well, I mean, except for the fat ones. Oh, sorry! And look, it’s not like the car seat really little kids use, the one with the vomity-smelling padded bar in front and all those dried Cheerios in the cushions. It’s just the booster seat. No one will even know you’re sitting on it.
KID : How long do I have to do this?
ME : Well, like I said, you have to hit eighty pounds or until you’re eight years old.
KID : My life is over.
ME : Oh, honey, don’t be so dramatic. It’s for your own good.
KID : Can’t we just say that I’m eight years old in case you get pulled over?
ME : That’s lying!
KID : What about the time
This summer, much of the backseat banter has concerned teen idols, or as we like to call them in our household, Chad Michael Murray.
DAUGHTER SOPHIE : Oh, Chad Michael Murray is
really
cool. A girl in my arts camp said she knows somebody whose cousin lives next door to him, and she can get his autograph for us!
FRIEND : (Brain-piercing squeal)
Eeeeeeee!
That. Is. So. Totally. Cool.
SOPHIE : That’s right, and guess what?
FRIEND : What?
SOPHIE : I forget!
FRIEND : Yeah! Me, too!
(Loud, prolonged giggles for roughly eight minutes while you wonder if constant exposure to high-pitched noises can sever your brain stem. I do kno w for a fact that certain noises can make you nuts. A kindly woma n at church once gave m y daughter a “talking prayer bear” that recited the Lord’s Prayer. Sadly, it was with a thick Japanese accent. You haven’t really lived until you’ve tucked your baby into bed and heard her recite what sounds like a badly dubbed Jackie Chan movie ending with a karate-chop “Ahhh-men!” Back in the car, though.)
SOPHIE : I like Bratz bu t no t Yasmin. Momm y says Yasmin looks too skanky.
FRIEND : What’s skanky?
SOPHIE : It means pretty. But in a grown-up way. Like Mommy’s kinda skanky, not young or anything.
FRIEND : I get it. My mommy’s skanky, too!
SOPHIE
(pausing for effect):
Well, is she stanky, too?
FRIEND :
Eeeeeeeeee!
(squealing and uncontrolled spewing of McDonald’s chocolate milk all over backseat of trusty Taurus)
And, while we’re on the subject, memo to Morgan Spurlock, who made the fabulous and shocking documentary
Super Size Me,
in which he almost dies after eating McD’s foodthree times a day for a month. Dude—thanks for
ruining my life.
No more fast food after watching that one. Now I have to “plan menus” and “buy groceries” and, ohmigod again, “cook.”
It could be lots worse, I guess. At least I don’t stank.
Chauffeuring my kid around town has gotten harder now that there’s a new law requiring kids under eight to use booster car seats for safety’s sake.
Have you ever tried to tell a kid who’s been out of a car seat for more than a year that she must get back in one because it’s the law?
ME : Honey, remember that car seat that you were so happy to get out of when you were six? The one that your eight-year-old friend used to laugh at?
SEVEN-YEAR-OLD
(warily):
Yeeessss?
ME
(very quickly):
Well, they changed the law, and now you’re going to have to get back on that booster seat until you weigh eighty pounds, so if you don’t like the idea, you better start eating a
lot
of macaroni and cheese really quick.
KID : So let me get this straight. Fat kids don’t have to use a booster seat?
ME : Honey, Jit is a very negative word. In the South, we prefer to use words and phrases such as
big-boned,
or
prosperous,
but never fat. It’s quite rude.”
KID : Are you serious? I have to ride in a car seat again?
Like a baby?
Why don’t you just rent me some Wiggles videos and make my humiliation complete?
ME : Hon, all your friends will be in booster seats, too. Well, I mean, except for the fat ones. Oh, sorry! And look, it’s not like the car seat really little kids use, the one with the vomity-smelling padded bar in front and all those dried Cheerios in the cushions. It’s just the booster seat. No one will even know you’re sitting on it.
KID : How long do I have to do this?
ME : Well, like I said, you have to hit eighty pounds or until you’re eight years old.
KID : My life is over.
ME : Oh, honey, don’t be so dramatic. It’s for your own good.
KID : Can’t we just say that I’m eight years old in case you get pulled over?
ME : That’s lying!
KID : What about the time
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