The Boy’s speech has made marked improvements since the start of Kindergarten. I’m sure some of you experienced your two and three year olds telling your life story to strangers, but I’m only just now experiencing this. The Boy wants to show the parking lot attendant what he has in his pockets or introduce his entire family to anyone we encounter. He’s very chatty these days, and he has this hilarious explanatory tone to his voice that sounds like a cross between his teacher and Husband.
Today was my usual day of dog walking, parenting, and errands, with a dash of psychotic breakdown and a few shakes of randomness to ensure my kids have something to talk about in future therapy sessions, and then, of course, The Boy, dispelling his little proverbs.
Let’s start with the dog walking. Hey, all you dog walkers out there, it’s a simple rule: if your dog poos, pick it up. Why is this rule so difficult to comprehend? I understand there is the occasional lapse in memory where one might have forgotten the doggy bag, in which case you pick it up later that day or at the very latest on your next walk. I understand that sometimes your dog might go in a bush and you might feel it’s not harming anyone since nobody will actually set foot there, but you should still pick it up. What I do not understand (nor do the grooves in the soles of my Converse understand) is why in the name of God’s green-and-pooed-on earth you would leave a pile in the middle of a sidewalk. PICK. THAT. UP. There is no excuse for dog poo on a sidewalk. If you’re so lame that you don’t pick it up, at least kick it to the side. Why would you leave it in the middle of the sidewalk? That’s just lame.
I got home and The Boy saw my shoe and said, “Oh no!” and put his face to his cheeks a la Macaulay Culkin and then said, “You have a yucky shoe. You better wash it.” He also pointed out a rather big gob of white paint that Little No Limit poured onto the backyard cement and then stomped around on in her latest attempt to be an artiste, and then explained to me, “She did that. I told her not to.”
So I’m irritated about my shoes and this paint I need to clean up and tell the kids we will be going to library to return the movies. Last week, we rented three DVDs from the library. Angelina Ballerina, a recurring checkout, The Muppets Wizard of Oz (look for a hilarious cameo from Quentin Tarantino), and Max’s Words, in which the key words were “I’m too scratched up a DVD to watch.” For the past week, the kids kept asking to watch it despite that I explained every time we couldn’t. And every time they asked, they picked up the DVD and carried it to me wherever I was, the bedroom, laundry room, garage et al. And I kept telling them, “Please leave the DVD on the shelf because I don’t want to lose it.”
Lo and behold, today arrived and it was time to return the videos and Max’s Words was nowhere to be found. And after dealing with dog crap on my foot, I was just mad. Mad about the dog crap. Mad that I had asked them to change into their clothes and The Boy yet again wanted to go out in pajamas and cowboy boots, explaining to me, “But sometimes I wear cowboy boots with my jams [TheBoyspeak for pajamas].”
I demanded they help me find the DVD and the Boy nodded and put his hands on his hips and said, “I’m serious about this. This is NOT funny.” Which was kind of funny, but then I felt a little guilty, like I had totally scared him into talking like this.
We eventually found the DVD under the couch and then we went to the library. We checked out some new DVDs, had a nice lunch at Selma’s, and then went to Lowe’s. The Boy wanted to show everyone the new DVD he’d rented at the library, Word World, and asked everyone if they could spell C-A-T or T-R-U-C-K or H-O-U-S-E.
On the drive home, I was almost hit by no less than four cars, all of whom were simply NOT looking as they were pulling out driveways, crossing over parking lots, etc. I mean, seriously, I was really freaked and felt like that Simpsons episode where Homer’s horoscope told him he was going to die.
Mmmm, horoscope…
I got back home, and the kids sat down to watch Word World with their leftovers from Selma’s and the Notorious F.O.X., after an hour of biding her time and lulling us into a fool’s trance, scored big time on sneaking away with Little No Limit’s last slice of pizza. Little No Limit screamed from the living room and when I got there and witnessed the atrocity, I actually pulled that pizza slice from Notorious F.O.X.’s mouth, which may not sound like the wisest thing to do, to part a Chow Chow and her food mid-chew, but in addition to not wanting her to get away with such conniving behavior, it’s also not good for her health to eat people food, and her health is ailing as it is.
I should have bitten you.
Afterwards, The Boy put his arm around Little No Limit to comfort her and said, “You know, sometimes, there are some dogs who take other people’s foods. Would you like some of my potato chips?”
And finally, after all this, I laughed the good long laugh I needed all day.
You know, sometimes there are people who don’t pick up dog poo. Would you like some of my potato chips?
You know, sometimes there are people who don’t look while driving. Would you like some of my potato chips?
You know, sometimes there are kids who say the darndest things. Would you like some of my potato chips?
You know, sometimes there are bloggers who are shameless enough to write ‘kids say the darndest things.’ Would you like some of my potato chips?
Mmmm, potato chips…
