By Deb Levy
About the Writer:
Deb Levy is a writer, graphic designer, mother-of-three and devotee of hip-hop dance.
Stonehenge. The Rosetta Stone. Dead Sea Scrolls. And somewhere in the universe, where binary digits fly off to and never disappear, an entirely new relic of yesteryear awaits - Status Updates.
Just think what future civilizations could learn!
My house is like being on the set of the Three Stooges. But without the comedy.
Was out with Brad Pitt, ordering yakitori and talking books, trying to decide whether he was worthy of my 'celebrity pass'. Then Z (age 3) climbed into my bed to pull my hair and sing the 'Wonder Pets' theme song.
My kindergartener now knows how babies are born. And it's not through the mommy's mouth, as he previously thought.
A (age 5): Mommy, do I have those lines on my forehead, too?
J (age 9): Yeah, you're looking really liney, mom.
(In an effort to buoy my oldest son’s confidence…)
Me: You know, if I were a girl, I'd have a crush on you.
J: You are a girl.
Me: If I were a girl your age and not your mother.
J: But you are my mother, so you have to say that.
There's so much to see in DC with the kids! Like an elephant ejaculating all over a big rubber ball at the National Zoo.
A (the middle child): You mean that air conditioning vent is just mine? (pointing to the square on his ceiling) Awesome!
(J on phone with my mother): Well, Z's locked in the bathroom but Mommy's not concerned. She's cooking dinner. We can always get him out with a knife.
If your 3-year-old put his mouth around the stick of butter, would you pretend like you didn't notice and just put it back in the fridge? Just asking.
Hard salami and knish for lunch. Oy vey, my arteries.
In defense of his disgusting 'yo mama' joke, the 4th grader says, "What? It's just a metaphor."
Got my Beyonce on.
Did you know that when pineapple goes bad in the fridge, it makes a sound like a bottle of soda about to explode?
Reached into the bowels of my purse and found 17 silly bandz, 2 lip liners, a sun screen stick, Lightening McQueen, 2 ponytail holders, 4 lip balms, 2 baggies filled with crayon bits, and my parents' house keys.
Me: Can you please go downstairs and clean up all the cherries (from the Hi-Ho Cherrio game) so the cats don't eat them and die?
Z (age 3): But the cats have to die so we can get a dog.
Happy the fish oil vitamin came out of Z's nose in just one blow.
Z: Are nuts food?
My husband: Yes.
Z: But not the penis nuts.
Z: Mommy, do you have a baby in your belly?
Me: No, why?
Z: Because your tummy's so fat.
Accidentally washed an entire load of laundry with a used pull-up.
Okay, so future civilizations will think we deserved to die off.
But on the upside, who needs to spend time writing in diaries when we have such a pithy and paperless (and public) way to record the essence of our lives? Too bad I wasn’t on Facebook when my kids were infants. They’d have the best baby books ever.