Splitting Out Bons: My Kids Said the Damnedest Things

The little angels …. College Girl and Miss Peach

Yes, “damnedest” is a word; I looked it up.

 Making my way through one of my piles o’ stuff that threaten to put me in the lead as the next “Hoarder“, I came upon a box.  It was filled with stories and artwork produced by College Girl and Miss Peach when they were young.  Specifically preschool through second grade. “Oh, how sweet”, I said to myself as I opened the box of memories.  Then I remembered. 

This box contained all the evidence of a group gene fail. Yeah, yeah, every family has the funny relatives and ours isn’t short on them.  Some of my California cousins have amazing tattoos, they live in California, duh!  And my hilarious cousin, MSuey, worked at a bingo parlour on an Indian reservation one summer.  And I did have an uncle who thought Beach Blanket Bingo was a porno movie.  But never in my wildest dreams did I consider that my darlings would publicly expose us as lunatics so early in the game.  Guess it was that family mantra, “Oh well, what the hell!”, combined with a strange sense of humor, a cup of spill-your-guts any and everywhere, gallons of high drama, and an upside down take on most everything.

 Preschools LOVE to hang kids’ art all over the walls. At one parent function, we all admired the childish masterpieces created around the theme, “What are you thankful for?”.  Amidst all the adorable, loving tributes to mommies, daddies, flowers, babies, puppies, and kittens – both daughters – independent of each other and over two separate years – answered this sweet question with the exact same words:  “I am thankful for fried chicken.” Granted, there were a few other strannge tributes such as, “I love $$$”, “I hope my dog never dies”, and “I saw a rock sink”, but really, FRIED CHICKEN?  The darlings had a definite food vibe going; each had recipes published in a local magazine.  Peach’s concoction, Fried Shrimp Soup, consisted of some shrimp, vegetables and hot water, cooked for 10 minutes and then “stored for a day you need it.”  CG and her friend came up with a recipe for French Toast; the ingredients were “stuff you sprinkle, lots of bread, and 4 oil pours. Say the blessing.  Cook the bread for 8 minutes at 12-degrees.  Sprinkle stuff on it.  Put in 2 oil pours.  Even if it doesn’t taste good, the dog will eat it.” YUMMY!

When Peach was in first grade, her story was posted  – again on the wall – for Parent’s Night.  She wrote an essay about her senses which began and ended with, “In my home, I can smell bread and perfume and dirty socks.” A proud moment. 

Her Mother’s Day composition was published in the school newsletter. She said, “I think my mom is the greatest because she has two jobs and two little girls.  She wears funky fashions from all over the world.  She has a very messy closet but that doesn’t matter because I love her.”  This one also liked to answer the phone.  If the call was for me, she would say, “My mom is having a nervous break” and hang up.  She was absolutely correct.  But if Miss Peach was opening up our can of worms for the world to view, College Girl slashed the tin in half and threw the contents as far as the eye could see.

 Her preschool story of life with Mom was succinct:  “My mom lies in bed and watches TV all day.” (This was NOT true, I was working my ass off; I don’t think I even saw a TV that year).  Her recipe for – uh, fried chicken – was printed:  “Get a chicken from the store, heat it in the microwave and eat it.”  Obviously, not homemade as mom lies in bed all day. 
 Just yesterday, College Girl had her first article published in the same newspaper where my first piece was printed.  She was paid, I wasn’t. Nevertheless, I’m proud of her.  She’s come so far since she authored an essay on Thanksgiving:  “It was the feirst thacksgiving and the tercee was so bony that you cood not tack a bit to it witout splitting out bons.”
 Oh well, what the hell.  So what if we are genetic malcontents, branded for eternity as a pack of fried chicken-eating, TV-watching, bedridden maniacs.  We will be remembered as the colorful relatives, just sittin’ around splitting out bons.
 Could be worse.  Right?

25 thoughts on “Splitting Out Bons: My Kids Said the Damnedest Things

  1. ROTFLOL! You are hilarious! And a great writer. I don’t know which part is my fav, the buy chicken from store, or bony turkey. Hahaha.

  2. “genetic malcontents, branded for eternity as a pack of fried chicken-eating, TV-watching, bedridden maniacs”……..

    Are you sure we are not distant relatives? You just described the majority of my family!…..

  3. Another great post, Izzie…and sorry I put your name as “Izzy” the other day…must have been laughing so hard that I had a typo!

  4. Delightful post Izzie 🙂

  5. izziedarling, I thoroughly enjoyed reading this….thanks for sharing your precious moments…good to know that there are more of us out there hahahaha!

  6. Dirty socks!! BAHAHAHA Where do they come UP with this stuff?

  7. Thought about this post again last night as I was laying in bed, watching TV, wishing I had some chicken……

    I really need therapy!

  8. HAHAHAHA! That is all brilliant. I want to lay in bed and eat friend chicken all day!

    My son Paul learnt to speak VERY early and once (as I opened the front door to my parents) said “Sorry ’bout the mess!”. My Dad was like “He’s obviously heard you saying THAT a few times!”.

  9. I am sooo thankful for fried chicken, wish I made it more often. If you need a pick-me-up rendition of it, you can throw coconut into the breading also….Hilarious post.

    • PS, if it makes you feel any better, read this. When I was really little my family raised chickens (to eat) and my dad and neighbor would slaughter them and my mom and neighbor’s wife would fix the meat up and freeze it. I wrote something along the lines of this in my second grade journal at school: “Yesterday we killed chickens.” I wonder what my teacher and my mother thought about that one…At least the chicken was fried and ready to eat in your case!

      • Haha – my grandparents raised chickens and I remember seeing a murdered one in the sink, ready to be whatevered and it grossed me out so much! Will try that coconut – sounds awesome!


    “Oh well, what the hell” is going to be my new mantra.

    I had a running joke with my kids. They would ask, “What’s for dinner?” and I would respond, “How about a black eye? A fat lip? A broken arm?”

    One day my daughter drew a picture of a girl with a black eye, bleeding lip and an arm in a cast at an after school program. The caption read, “What’s for dinner?” She laughed her ass off. I got a visit from Social Services. They kept the picture as ‘evidence’ or I would have framed it.

  11. so great love the line about “I can smell bread and perfume and dirty socks.” love it love it.

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