Oh man, my kids are at that age where you better hide yo’ bad hair, hide yo’ extra weight, and hide yo’ age because they are going to point it out to you.


Now, I’m not talking about my 17 year old, because he should know better and I would smack him in the eyebrow if he ever yelled: “MOM, THAT GUY HAS THREE HANDS!”

I’m talking about my 4 year olds, although, Twin B, the solemn, tiny, introvert, rarely calls attention to anyone’s flaws. It could be because he needs glasses and cannot see them, or because he’s too busy having meltdowns over things like wanting the “good brown marker” or riding his bike at 10 PM when it’s 30 degrees out with 95 mph winds.

It’s Twin A, the loud, boisterous, chatterbox (did I mention loud?) that wants everyone to know that HE is very observant.

We’re in line at the checkout the other day and the twins were sitting nicely together in the cart. When we get to the cash register, I see our cashier is either around 65 or a very worn out 50, and Twin A stands up and proceeds to yell: “MOMMY, WHY IS HE SO OLD?”

They still call everyone a “he”.

I nervously laughed and quietly said: “Shhh, she’s not old.”

Twin A, smiling proudly: “OH NO, HE LOOKS REALLY, REALLY OLD!”

I push him back into the cart and quickly pay for my things. Outside I tell him it’s really not nice to say that.

He said: “But he WAS old, Mom!”

Gah, how do you explain it’s not nice to point out something someone is? Yes, she was old, she looked very old, and had many wrinkles, why can’t he say that?

My answer: “It’s SHE, A, a girl is a SHE!”

He adores Jane, the lady at preschool who fixes the lunches. Jane makes everything better than I do, especially carrots. They won’t eat them here, just there. I finally asked her the secret, and she says dryly: “I’m really good at opening the can and pouring it in a bowl.”

DANG, and here I was putting spices on them and messing them up.

Jane is a lovely woman who happens to be carrying a few extra pounds, and it’s hard for her to get around quickly.

We were leaving school one day, and as I was strapping Twin A into the car, Jane walks out, smiles and waves, then goes to her car.

Twin A yells: “Mommy, Jane is FAT!”

O. M. G.

I clapped my hand over his mouth, leaned in, and told him, rather harshly: “That’s not nice! You should only tell people nice things!”

That didn’t sound right either.

Man, the fine line between truth and shut up and keep it to yourself is hard to teach to kids.

The bright side? Here’s a normal conversation with Twin A:

“Mommy, you’re so beautiful. You’re the prettiest mommy ever, and you’re my best friend. I love you so half, and so hard. Yesterday, last year, you were my beautiful mommy, and I love your hair, and your nose, and those red things on your chin, and that hair right there on your neck.”

He had me up until the red things…