Sh*t My Kids Say

Can I cuss in this thing? Oh, maybe just this once...

See, we were practicing Ben's speech therapy exercises this morning, working on the ending "T" sound...you know, hat, fruit, boot, etc. He looks at the drawings and tells me the word, really emphasizing the final "Tuh..."

Easy, right?

Until this picture:

I could see Ben's little wheels turning. "Umm...shi...SHIT!" he announced.

And I can see his logic: clearly it's a picture of a ship, but since it's a T-ending exercise...well, shit it is! (Turns out boat was the correct answer.)

Anywho, it was another in a recent string of funny, shouldn't-laugh-but-I-can't-resist comments from the boys. A sampling:

• Roman: "My penises are bothering me."
• Roman: "Why is that girl in a truck? Girls don't drive trucks!"
• Ben: "You and Dad are twins."
• Roman: "My armpit hurts. Probably because it has a pit in it."
• Roman: "This car smells like popsicle sticks."

And, finally, the most abstract one: When I told Ben that salt is bad for his heart, he asked, "But then what happens to Jesus?" After a few rounds of "Huh?! Are we having the same conversation?" he explained, "But Mrs. Wiebe says Jesus is in our heart."

Aha!

Thank you, Catholic school, for teaching the things I cannot. And thank you in advance for your forgiveness when my kindergartner drops an inevitable shit bomb. He did, after all, get quite the laugh from me this morning, despite my best efforts to hold back.

50/50

Some days in Wichita, I swear I'm living life in the 1950s.

And, for the most part, that's a great thing, like when you're paying your mortgage. On other days (when it seems everyone believes their cigs and fried chicken are consequence-free) I think I'd rather live in the 20-teens.

So, on a day like today (a great one; more on that later), I get to thinking of the pros and cons of the Midwest, mid-century life:

Pro: When I leave the boys' bikes out all night (or the garage door wide open), all is well in the morning.
Con: Apparently Wichitans don't find our vehicles to be worth stealing.

Pro: When we need the heat & A/C guy, he's at our house that same day.
Con: When I ask the heat & A/C guy, "Oh, which one is your son?" he says, "He's over there with the brown guy." (And, no, the guy's last name wasn't Brown.)

Pro: We never wait (or pay!) for parking and, at a restaurant, we rarely wait for a table.
Con: Most of the (fried, creamed, refined, candied) food offerings make me think I'm stuck in a lifelong Biggest Loser Temptation Challenge.

But today was a total pro. It was 50-degrees (not bad, February...not bad) and, as the boys rode home from school, three cars full of Blessed Sacrament friends stopped, rolled down the windows and greeted us. As I choked down my cig and chicken leg (just kidding; it was chardonnay in a sippy cup), I thought, "Am I in a Norman Rockwell painting?"

And the answer was 100 percent yes, based on Benny's comment, which makes me realize decades don't matter to these kids. "Hi," he'd say, "I hope you have a fun time at your house until tomorrow!"

Puzzled

Puzzle #2 of the week: Who's teaching my boys these dance moves?

But first, Puzzle #1: A week ago, Anthony started a project with Ben and Roman, a 500-piece lenticular (hologramish, headache inducing) puzzle that Aunt Viv sent the boys from China.

Anthony gets high marks for challenging the kids with projects...and thank goodness, because these boys' talents read like a list of things I'm bad at: chess, dominoes, music, geography, identifying presidents and peeing while standing.

Nevertheless, I had a few fears with the puzzle:

• What if it takes forever and is on my office floor until Halloween?
• What if one of these teeny pieces falls into a crevasse in my 83-year-old house?
• What if the Chinese played a joke and made it unsolvable?

But, alas, they proved me wrong. A few (hundred) pieces at a time, these boys patiently strained their eyes and...voila!, a dance-worthy celebration:

And, once again, I celebrate Anthony's steering of the activities. I, however, need to take the reins as family dance teacher.

A-plus, A-cup parenting

Couldn't help but share a few weird things I heard at Victoria's Secret today, all in the few short minutes it took me to exchange some sexy pajamas for practical beige bras. (You're welcome, Anthony.):

From a fellow shopper:
"Do you know if we can try things on? I've never been to this store before."

What I wanted to say: "Are you from Earth?"
What I actually said: "Yes, probably everything but the underwear."

From the customer service gal:
"Would you like a free stuffed dog with your purchase?"

What I wanted to say: "Who the hell is your target market?"
What I actually said: "Roman, look at the cool prize you won!"

(He now loves this odd little dog.)

And, finally, from Roman, looking perplexed while I tried on bras:
"What is that? Is it to cover your nickels?!

That's right, sweet shopping parter...a girl's gotta keep her nickels under wraps.

Checkmate

Anthony's been waiting a long time for a chess partner; who knew it would be our four-year-old?!

Results forthcoming...

The Gift of Snark

Mark this one as another milestone day for Ben. And, nope, he still can't tie shoes or mow the lawn, but the kid can (drum roll please)...

Recognize sarcasm!

And thank goodness...we've been laying it on pretty thick since long before he was born.

So, there we were, driving home from the gym, when I commented aloud about sharing the road with a particularly super duper excellent driver.

After a pause, Ben asked, "Mom, are you being funny?"

Hallelujah, he gets it!

Maybe it was inevitable. Our friend Jeremiah predicted during my pregnancy, "that's going to be one sarcastic kid." But he also labeled Wichita "the town that humor forgot," so I started to worry that the gift of dry humor was locked up with the Scarecrow's brain and Tin Man's heart.

Thankfully, I've found and befriended a little pocket of good great-humored people, who aren't openly put-off by my sarcasm. Hopefully they realize I come from a long line of established smart asses, then I married one, so it's beyond my control.

But I can't tell you how many times my (hilarious!) comments to strangers, waitstaff, passersby, etc. have been met by....

Crickets...

Eye rolls...

Blank stares...

Offense.

So, either I change my tone or embrace my new audience: Ben and Roman. And the latter seems more fitting, especially considering Roman's latest, the eye roll, which he was nice enough to let me capture:

Just remind me, when they're 15 and 16, that I once loved their gift of snark.

Catching Our Breath

Roman asked just before bed: Can we go back to the hospital for one of those popsicles?

He's referring to the popsicle that, with a steroid chaser, cost a $100 co-pay and last night's rest. Poor guy was stricken with croup, so I took his barking little body to our friendly neighborhood ER, where he was finally able to catch his breath and watch Toy Story 2. And enjoy a midnight popsicle.

(Note the clock. We don't like to be anywhere but bed at zero-o'clock)

And so marks our official return to normal here in Wichita. We're all recovering, actually, and trying to catch our breath from an extended case of California vacation jetlag. We had the most lovely time, and all that beach, family, food and celebration made for a reluctant return. Indeed, I've mentally maintained Roman's ER posture (see above) for two full weeks. 

Thankfully, Ben jumped right back into school (he missed it, actually), there's a little snow on the ground (the first of the season) and, most importantly, Roman is better, after enjoying a sick day at home.

So here's to getting back into the Wichita swing of things (after a good night's rest, of course). And if homesickness strikes...

Ahhhh....deep breaths.