Kids are Weird: Stop that!

My Daughter


“Please stop making those noises.”

(weewoo …snot like sucking noise ….reeeeerahhhh…cough….BANG!)

“Did you here me? Stop that!”

Kids are weird.

My eight year old manages to make the most absurd noises. 95% of them coming from his throat which is disgusting. His favorite place to make these absurd and rather obnoxious noises is while we’re stuck in the van. He is smart. He obviously wants to share his talents with his family and no better place to do it than when we’re all stuck in a vehicle plowing down the road at 60 mph. I have contemplated doing a tuck and roll from the vehcile on occasion. Especially those day where all three of my children insist on making different noises at the exact same time. My van is a zoo. Filled with little human beings that have a variety of disgusting and weird talents. Daddy P. thinks by pulling the van over that the ridiculous behaviors will stop. I give him credit for trying, however the reality is the “Oh Shit” moment of silence only lasts until the van is placed back into drive and we have hit 60 mph.

And than there’s the language barrier ….

A majority of the time I am convinced I speak some foreign dialect. Perhaps an ancient Latin language that I learned in my past life. My children don’t listen to me, ever. Unless Daddy P. is home and gets his dad voice going. So, while he is away doing Daddy P. shit — I am constantly saying …

  • “Stop that.”
  • “Don’t touch that.”
  • “Pick that up.”
  • “Don’t body slam your brother – he has enough problems.”
  • “Please don’t poke your sister in the eye.”
  • “Put that down.”

The kids hear >> “Blah, Blaaaaahhh, Blahhhh … BLAH!”

As a mom of three ages six, eight and (God help me) a Tween – I converse with myself on a daily basis. For example – yesterday I had to take yet another stash of washable (washable markers my ass!) markers from my artistically motivated six year old daughter. Her poetic words and stick figures drawn on the walls up the stairs led me directly to her secret house destroying coloring sticks. I called her into her room and proceeded to learn that we have another child who live here named “I don’t know.” >>

“Do you have markers little miss?”

“I don’t know.”

“DO YOU know who drew the Picasso going up the stairs?”

“I don’t know.”

“Does I don’t know have a social security number?”

(She stops and looks at me with her most serious face)


End of conversation.

Kids are weird.


Amanda VanDamme


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