Suzanne Olsen's Humor Blog - I don't offend some of the people most of the time

Tag: Kids

Kids Say the Darnedest Things

My friend works for Headstart, and she was sitting at the lunch table with several four year olds when two of them got into an argument about whether the fruit one brought for lunch was a lime or a kiwi. The boy who brought it said it was a kiwi, but the other boy, who tended to get into trouble, was emphatic that it was a lime. My friend listened to them going back and forth until the argument started getting a little heated. She thought it had run it’s course, and look at the child who said it was a lime and said, “Demond, I’m going to put your mind straight right now on this – it’s a kiwi.”

Without missing a beat, Demond looked her straight in the eye and, in a slow, surly voice, said, “Shut up, bitch.”

My friend was taken aback at first, and then could barely contain herself from laughing. Meantime, the kids jumped to her defense. “Don’t call our teacher a bitch. She’s nice. She’s always smiling. You shouldn’t call her a bitch.” Another said, “Yeah, she’s not a bitch, she’s nice to us.” One protested on principle, “Demond said a cuss word. He called the teacher a bitch, and bitch is a cuss word. You can’t say bitch at school, Demond.

Several others chimed in until it got loud enough that the head teacher came over to see what was the commotion. My friend whispered it in her ear, and she could barely contain her laughter. She had to maintain her composure and explain to Demond why this was not appropriate language for 4 year olds at school.

Out of the mouths of babes…When I was a kid, there was a variety show called Art Linkletter Presents, and on one segment that lasted about ten minutes, he’d have five or six kids about Demond’s age sitting in chairs on the stage with their starched dresses and pressed slacks, and he’d ask them a question most of them probably didn’t understand, and they’d say funny little cute things that made the audience laugh and Mr. Linkletter smile like his pants were being charmed off because everyone was enjoying these little darlings on his show. I bet the director didn’t have to coach the kids on language, because nice boys and girls didn’t hear those things in their homes, on TV, or in the movies.

Fast forward to today and you can’t go anywhere without hearing cussing right out loud – in the check stand at the grocery store, on the baseball field, even at church. My priest has said “damn” a couple of times during his sermons to make a point.

Kids will repeat what they hear, and I remember my two year old son walking through the mall saying, “Damn, damn, damn,” because he’d heard it somewhere (not from me!) and I’d read it was okay to let kids say these words because it helped with their creativity or something. An older lady gave me the evil eye big time, and I told him to stop saying it. He did, because he liked me back then – before he turned 15 and decided that zombies must have slurped up my brain because I became the stupidest human on earth.

After that I didn’t let my kids cuss. For better or worse, I never got called about language, which was a good thing because I got called on enough other stuff over the years, kids being kids. I never had to un-train them, like Demond’s mom is going to have to do or else get in fights with teachers all through school. But quite honestly, I’m glad he said this to my friend because I laughed when I heard it, I laugh every time I tell it, and I was laughing as I typed it just now. As Art Linkletter used to tell us, “Kids say the darnedest things.” I’m mighty happy they do.

Addendum: I ran spell and grammar check and my computer thinks I should change, “Shut up, bitch,” to “Shut up and bitch.” What makes my computer think that’s a more grammatical way to say this? Who programmed this phrase as good English? It’s actually a contradiction – you can’t shut up AND bitch. I think I’ll complain to Microsoft. “Dear Bill Gates: Why are you telling me to shut up AND bitch? You’re married. You know this is not possible. What’s the matter with you?” I could have some fun with this.

Or I could go to bed.

Peter Pan Syndrome

Some people never grow up. I’m one of them, and I don’t figure I need act my age until I’ve got one foot in the grave – which won’t be until I’m deep in dementia and can’t remember this pledge anyway.

I look at older people who’ve slowed way down and wonder if they ever said these words to themselves. After all, as time has gone by I’ve reneged on a few other pledges I made – like never saying to my kids, “Because I told you so!” Oooo I used to hate that when my dad said it to me. We’d be in the middle of a meal and he’d shake out the last drop of Worchester sauce and turn to me without the least remorse and say, “Here’s a couple of bucks, run down to Kabool’s and get some more.” If I dared question, he’d say, “Because I said so. Now git!”

Kabool’s was a half a block away, and I could sprint down there faster than most people could say “Worchester” and be back by the time they got out the word “sauce,” but it was the principle of the thing. Why did I have to leave my steaming pile of mashed potatoes and collard greens which for some reason I liked and dash off in the middle of a meal?

So I vowed not to ever say it, and then just a couple of days ago those words came out when I blew up like firecrackers in a mailbox and started yelling at my kids.

Another thing I pledged I wouldn’t do was get overweight. My mom and grandmother liked to eat, and my grandmother used to sit with her elbows on the table and shovel in big bites of fried chicken and buttered white bread like she was storing up for hibernation. I have to say it was – well, let’s just say I kept my head down a lot at the table. So I promised myself I’d never lose my will-power and pack on the pounds, and I haven’t done so bad except for the last few years when my breasts went flat and I started carrying around a spare tire.

I’ve hung on to at least one of my pledges, though. I was a waitress after high school and made lots of money in tips, but I decided I’d never do it again. It was very hard work and I got fed up with some of the people. There were the requests for separate checks and impatient, cranky people, but the worst were the ones who couldn’t make up their minds, or seemed unable to until they’d asked me if everything on the menu was good.

I generally had a boss in earshot somewhere, and I wasn’t going to say something on the menu was bad and risk getting in trouble, not at that age, and yet, to a teenager, most of the stuff coming out of the kitchen didn’t necessarily appeal to me, especially when I saw how it was prepared. But I’d try to put a nice spin on things. “The pork chops look very tasty and I bet no one ever complains about them.” I would have lost that bet if anyone would have taken me up on it.

After we’d gone down twenty minutes worth of menu items, and other customers were tapping me on the shoulder wanting their check or choking in the background for lack of a water refill, the woman would say, “Oh, I’m going to go with my first choice. I’ll have the catfish.”

This is why I pledged never to waitress again. I didn’t want to be strangle someone’s mother.

This old lady pledge, though, I think I’m going to stick with it. Sure, you never know what’s going to happen, and I may not have a choice, just like I didn’t have a choice when I blew my top at my kids a couple of days ago when I asked them to pick up their dirty clothes and they said, “Why?” BECAUSE I SAID SO!

I’m not going to quit acting foolish and silly or chase my dog down the street or run out to get the mail in my pajamas. I’ve tried being grown up, and I have to say I don’t care for it much. I work hard, and I’m lugged down with responsibilities most of the time, and if I want to act like a kid and pretend the world hasn’t heaped it’s troubles on me, that’s what I’m going to do. And if people don’t like it, they can go jump in a pond. Why? Because I said so.

And you’d better not ask me again.

My Son’s Got a Job!

Happy days! My son started working today. He actually got hired and went to an orientation last week, but didn’t know when he’d get any hours. He got hired as a floater, which is a strange word because I’ve heard it used to describe something in the toilet. But in his job, it means he’ll fill in where needed. This afternoon he was over at his friends’ house and got the call that they needed him to work tonight.

I had asked him to whittle down some of the pile of laundry in his room, and I think he got one load done, which I give him a ton of credit for doing. But apparently the clothes he needed for work weren’t in there, so he had to rummage through and find the least dirty things. Then he tossed them in the dryer for a few minutes to “iron” them and raced out the door.

I am so excited I could get drunk. But instead I have to finish editing a book TONIGHT, so this post is going to be very short. So I won’t feel guilty, I’ve included something I got in an email. I deleted the inevitable part at the end that says, “If you want to get rich in 24 hours, send this to ten of your friends.” Ain’t I sweet?

Mathematics & Arithmetic

Romance  Mathematics

Smart man + smart woman = romance

Smart man + dumb woman = affair

Dumb man + smart woman = marriage

Dumb man + dumb woman = pregnancy



Smart boss + smart employee = profit

Smart boss + dumb employee = production

Dumb boss + smart employee = promotion

Dumb boss + dumb employee = overtime



A man will pay $20 for a $10 item he needs.

A woman will pay $10 for a $20 item that she doesn’t need.



A woman worries about the future until she gets a husband.

A man never worries about the future until he gets a wife.

A successful man is one who makes more money than his wife can spend.

A successful woman is one who can find such a man.



To be happy with a man, you must understand him a lot and love him a little.

To be happy with a woman, you must love her a lot and not try to understand her at all.



Married men live longer than single men do, but married men are a lot more willing to die.



A woman marries a man expecting he will change, but he doesn’t.

A man marries a woman expecting that she won’t change, and she does.



A woman has the last word in any argument.

Anything a man says after that is the beginning of a new argument.




Old aunts used to come up to me at weddings, poking me in the ribs and cackling, telling me, “You’re next.” They stopped after I started doing the same thing to them at funerals.

Fly Away, My Son

My son is taking a break from college and living at home. He just got a job today, but it will be some time before he gets a paycheck and enough saved to move out with friends.

Meantime, I need to know exactly when the statute of limitations runs out for being a mother. I know I’ll always be his mother, and I’ll always be there for him, and I will always love him, but I’m wondering how long I have to do his laundry.

I’d be more inclined to continue in the role of his personal slave if he were nice. But he’s trying to be independent, which means he wants to do his own thing. His own thing is leaving his shorts on the bathroom floor and his dirty dishes in the sink.

It’s just like old times, with me griping about it and him arguing but picking things up because, after all, I was the boss of him. He no longer feels that way. Two years of college and being on his own taught him to do what he wants when he wants.

As for me, while he was at college I got used to having a fairly clean house and reduced workload. My vocal chords were healing from nagging him. Now he pays lip service to my requests but doesn’t follow through, or he just blatantly says NO. He’s an adult after all, and why should he do what his mother says when it’s so stupid anyway? His shorts aren’t bothering anyone, for crying out loud.

It’s not just that he doesn’t do what I ask; he’s down right defiant. I’m helping write a book about global warming, so I’m acutely aware that the convenience of electricity comes to us with a cost in CO2 emissions. I ask him to turn off a light when he leaves a room and he argues. He says there is no global warming. I retaliate with all the scientific evidence, spewing facts as I follow him from room to room while he scrambles to get out of earshot. Finally he tells me to leave him alone and turns off one token light to make me go away. Later, when I return home from my daughter’s swim meet, he’s gone and has left practically every light in the house on. Granted, this is pretty normal for him, but I take it personally.

I have refused to do any more of his laundry. If he wants to be an adult, he can have the responsibilities of one. I was trying to get caught up with the wash today and found several of his items suspiciously buried in the sorting baskets, like maybe the laundress wouldn’t notice they were his. This morning he asked me to pour a bowl of cereal for him. Where does it end?

It probably sounds like I’ve raised a spoiled brat, but honestly he used to be such a nice young man. Compared to some of the horror stories I heard from friends, I thought I was pretty lucky. Now I think that he was just a late bloomer.

If any of you have any advice, I’d love to hear it. I figure I’ll just bide my time until he’s ready to spread his wings and fly the hell out of here. And I used to think Christmas breaks were long.

Copyright © 2021 by Suzanne Olsen