Fun Monday 's theme is Kid's Say the Darndest Things (or your pet does the darndest thing, whichever) and Karisma (Karisma & Kids) is the party hostess.
Our daughters were no exception to making us and others smile. I decided to share a moment from each of my now grown up girls. (There are many more moments somewhere locked in my mind - but these are the ones that surfaced first.)
Once upon a time when Amanda was still a little Cakers.....
I was driving home in my little yellow bug one evening when Amanda leaned forward and asked (with her five -year old raspy voice) one of those philosophical questions.
“Mama? Is there an end to the world?"
Karmyn, was in the passenger seat and her spreading smirk told me that she (the teenage smarty pants) was going to enjoy listening to my response to this one.
“Well….!” I spoke slowly, to garner time. “There are people who think that the world will end in fire, and others who think the world will end frozen in an ice-age and blah blah blah……”
I rambled on for another minute.
“No mom!!” Amanda started bouncing on the back seat with enough frustration to make the Volkswagen jerk a little.
Her impatience with my response could be heard in the delivery of part two. Louder, with a bit of dramatic emphasis, she demanded,
“Don’t you ever just drive past the last house, and that’s the end of the world?”
* * * * *
Then there was the middle child.
We took a trip to see my brother who lives on a peninsula overlooking Hood Canal (in Puget Sound) where the roads cut through the dense growth of massive firs and cedars. It's a gorgeous area that smells green and woodsy.
It must have been overwhelming for a three-year old who was accustomed to rolling hills and trees planted in yards and along the sidewalks in careful design.
As we drove through the deep shadows of the sky sweeping giants Jenni whispered uneasily, “Mommy, is this the forest?”
I answered in the affirmative.
With a very soft voice she wondered aloud......
“Why did they build it so close to the road?”
* * * * *
(3) The eldest
Karmyn was a few months shy of seven when we moved across the fence from Megan, who was the same age. The girls became inseparable that first year, so WR made a gate for the girls to pass through the tall cedar barrier.
Late one afternoon Karmyn bounced into the kitchen as she often did at dinner time to see what was cooking. I noted that she ran to the sliding back door and divulged the menu to Megan. Megan made a dash through the back gate. Apparently they were going to figure out which house had the better fare, then weasel an invite.
"We’re having spaghetti!” Megan announced when she reappeared.
"Again?” Karmyn almost sounded upset. “You’re mom fixes that all the time. Are you Italian?”
Megan put her hands on her hips and proudly declared, “No, we aren’t Italian. My parents came from Pennsylvania!”
With a quick intake of breath, and that little “whhhhooo” sound on the way out that emphasizes amazement, Karmyn gasped
“Pe-e-e-e-e-e-ennnnnnnsylva-a-a-a-a-nia? Did your parents know Dracula?”
* * * * *
As much as I enjoyed the last one, the rest of that story is probably what cemented it into my mind all these years.
The following morning I shared it at the office staff meeting. My co-workers erupted in guffaws and giggles, including Hoyt. He was the one person that never seemed to understand jokes or humorous banter. I considered him socially inept in many ways, and wondered how he could possibly interact with our investment clients in a positive way.
Later in the afternoon I walked down the hall only to hear Hoyt call out my name. “Hey, Pam?”
As I stepped back to his office door, Hoyt leaned back in his swivel executive chair.
“Ha, Ha, Ha,” he spat. These weird fake laughs characterized the beginning of many of his odd conversations. “I was thinking about your daughter and her friend and Dracula.”
I probably shook my head up and down.Mostly I just remember standing there thinking he was such a doofus. (Well, he was.)
“Hmmmmph,” he said, followed by more forced Ha, Ha, Ha-s.
“Here I am - 37 years old - and I didn’t know that Dracula came from Pennsylvania.
He was serious! With a forced straight face, I informed him that Dracula was actually a resident of Transylvania.
“My daughter just got her Sylvanias mixed up,” I explained. “Oh!” He looked somewhat relieved, then ended our short discourse with, “Ha, Ha, Ha.”
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