"Mommy, who do you need to call about securing me a police car?" What? Did he just say securing a police car? For a brief moment I was totally stumped. Who does he think I am? What events have occurred in his young life up to now that would make him think his mother is so super amazing that I can secure a police car for him? What is he planning? Is he going to knock over the local candy shop? Hop himself up on leftover Valentine's Day candy and take his little brother on a pixie stick induced crime spree? I remained stumped for about 10 minutes, until I finally realized that he was talking about those little motorized cars he sees other kids, from families with clearly more organized garages and storage space and lots more expendable cash, driving up and down the street. Thank God. We need the bail money for our beer of the month club.
"Mommy, I need scissors, tape, and, uh, maybe a band aid. Oh, and don't come up here for a few minutes!" When I did, in fact, RACE up the stairs I saw no blood. I did see the boys bathroom totally torn apart, with all the soap and toilet paper pulled out from under the sink and a tiny toddler shoved in the cabinet instead. I am not sure, but I think the older one may have been planning to either:
A. cut his little brother's hair. Which, actually, does need done.
B. tape the cabinet door closed with his little brother inside. Which would have produced a really cool Hulk-like effect as the amazingly strong tiny toddler fought his way out, pushing through the scotch tape.
I never did find out why he needed the band aid.
Conversation overheard between one of Mommy's friends and my now Big Five Year Old the other day while he was playing a football game on his DS.
Friend: "What teams are playing?"
Son: "I am the green Bay Packers and I am playing the Cleveland Browns."
Friend: "You're not the Browns?" (I am sure she was amazed that we let this kid play teams other than the Browns, especially out in public...)
Son: "Sometimes I am the Browns, but sometimes I just want to win."
This needs no further explanation, but you can imagine how well this went over with my husband.
"Mommy, can we get a whores?" What? Did he just ask me for a whore? Actually, I think he asked me for more than one whore. So he is growing up way too fast and he has bad grammar. As I am considering grabbing the car keys and running out to the local pharmacy to pick up a safe sex brochure or maybe one titled "How to Talk Your Big Five Year Old Out of Bringing Home a Whore" the Tiny Toddler began dancing around the kitchen yelling "Whores! Whores!". oh. my. god. crap crap crap crap crap. Now the little one wants one too. I panicked. I should get dressed, I thought, because social services is going to be pulling into my driveway any minute now and I refuse to be on the news, being dragged out my house, wearing pajamas with ice skating penguins on them.
"Maybe we can just go to the zoo and ride a whores?" What the hell kind of zoo is this kid talking about? And no kid of mine is riding, well, you know...
The Tiny Toddler then started neighing as he danced around the kitchen and it dawned on my that my innocent child may, just may be talking about riding a horse.
I have got to start drinking more coffee.
No comments:
Post a Comment