Humility, Thy Name is Motherhood

Gems spoken by Jordana’s little ones

So I’m in the Target checkout line with my youngest, my sweet, angelic, perfect daughter Ruby. I say, “Ruby, say thank you to the Target lady; her name is Trish.”

Ruby deadpans, “Your name sounds like trash.” I turn bright red, apologize profusely, and slink out of Target. OMG!

Humility, thy name is Motherhood.

This is not the first, nor will it be the last, time my children embarrass me with what comes out of their mouth—and I know you’ve been there.

Here’s a classic: My son Maddox to his great-grandmother: “Grammy, how old are you?”
Grammy:“91.”
Maddox: “Oh, I’m going to miss you when you die.”
(I can hear you gasping.)

Thank goodness her hearing aids weren’t turned up, but she probably would have laughed anyway. I have a journal where I jot down outrageous things they say. No one would believe me if they weren’t documented. The kids love to bring this out among close friends and family to crack up at their own silliness, and hey, you guys are just like family.

Much of this journal is about genitalia or flatulence, so that omits pages 7–36, but the rest is cleaner. A little.

At a wedding gown fitting for our nanny, Maddox says to the bride to be, “Can I touch your nipples?” (Remember I said it was only a little cleaner.) This sent the seamstress running for her sewing room and my son received his first rejection from a female. Lesson learned.

After smelling his dad’s vodka drink, Maddox exclaimed, “This smells like my pre-school teacher!” (We transferred him the next day.)

In the elevator upon witnessing a Muslim woman in a Burka: “Ohhh, a bad guy!” (My apologies to the entire Muslim community.)

In an interview with a prospective new nanny, she asked, “So what do you kids like to do?” My oldest, Marley, responds, “I like to molest my baby sister.” (Thinking “molest” means to kiss a lot.) That nanny did not take the job, and our family has been blackballed by every nanny agency in the upper Midwest.

Marley: “If I ever get a step dad, he better have a lot of cash.” (I did not argue with this one.)

Maddox, to a man I was dating: “Do you like boobs? I really love boobs.” (We are no longer dating.)

Ruby, while snuggling in my bed: “Mom, I’m going commando.” (Upon further review, she was.)

Marley to her Nana (who was wearing a black and white shirt): “Mom, Nana looks like a cow.” (Marley has been written out of Nana’s will.)

My journal also includes many, sweet (“Mom, I want to be your son forever”) mean (“Mom, I hate you”), and humbling (“I’m so glad I have this family”) comments. It makes us laugh and cry (happy tears) every time we read it or add to it. Their grandparents and father always call me when the kids say something hysterical so it gets written down in our storied family journal for posterity. The momentary verbal humiliation is unifying for those who share our DNA. It’s also a good written history for their future therapists.

I hope all of your embarrassments, mis-speaks, and raw honesty soon become treasured memories.

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