wife of one. mom of two. regularly emitting all manner of crap.
*Isaac has his violin out and wants a little play*
Isaac: I want to play what you were just listening to.
Me: Oo, I think that might be a bit tricky dude.
I: I want to play a song.
MBM: What would you like to play?
I: Ummm… “5 Light Buns In the Bacon Shop”.
MBM: 5..what?
I: “5 Light Buns In The Bacon Shop”.
MBM: …”5 Light Buns?”
I: Yes.
MBM: …”In The Bacon Shop”?
I: Yes.
MBM: Are you sure?
I: Yes! *sings* “5 light buns in the bacon shop, round a fat with cherry on top…”
MBM: Awesome.
Yes, I know I have two boys.
So therefor, by the laws of stereotypes, I should expect guns and Action Man and Ben 10 and fart noises and cowboys and cars and the like. So when I heard:
“Isaac! Go to prison! I’m going to poo on your face!”
I was a little alarmed, to say the least.
I didn’t bat an eyelid at first, but the poo obsession is ever lurking.
When Noah is taking a poop on the toilet, Isaac pretty much insists on lurking behind Noah, trying to see into the toilet while Noah backs one out. The intrigue and curiosity on his face makes me smirk a bit.
And of course it doesn’t stop there. If one of them is taking a dump, the other often requires a running commentary on what’s happening. Sometimes, quite literally, blow-by-blow (push-by-push) action.
“Is it coming out now?”
“No, it’s a bit stuck. And a bit spikey.”
“Oh. Do you need to push a bit harder?”
“Yes. And I think it’s going to smell.”
*sniffs* “Yes, it smells, I can smell it. Can you?”
And so on and so forth.
It’s a Stage They’re Going Through. I understand that. but I was hoping a) it wouldn’t happen for another few years yet, and b) that I would have carefully planned being able to deal with this until they’re about 20. Or until they get kicked out the house, whichever comes sooner.
Until then I’m going to continue trying to decide if I’m repulsed or amused by conversations which go
“Oo, oo, this poo is a bit soft. And fast.”
“Why is it fast?”
“I don’t know, but it just made my bottom wet.”
“Did it splash the water?”
“No. The poo was a bit wet. Does yours splash?”
“Sometimes, yes, and it tickles my bottom.”
For real.
Everyone says they’re cute. In our house, cute = crazy.
(It’s a slideshow. There’s more.)
Remember when you were a kid, and you used to get a tea towel or similar and attach it to your head so you looked like a nun? Or maybe you had really short hair, and wanted long hair for the day so you draped it like “fake hair”?
Or maybe you’re a (tom)boy and you always wanted a cape, so you persuaded your parents to tie said tea towel around your neck? Or if they refused (how dull) you did your best to tuck it into the neck of your t-shirt? Yeah, I remember doing all of the above, and more, and watching my brother and sister do the same thing. We were kids! It’s what kids do.
So obviously, The Smalls discovered the same thing with their burpies (muslin cloths, now their beloved comforters which they drag almost everywhere). Noah particularly likes doing The Superman, even though he’s not entirely sure who Superman is (give the kid a break, he’s 4, for crying out loud. Oh yeah, and I’ve done my best to shelter him. Hah). I think his understanding of capes and cloaks comes from watching The Incredibles, which I think is much more (read: entirely) acceptable.
Isaac, however, seems to have different ideas.
Having spent much time obsessing over the Disney film “Tangled”, he currently enjoys “The Rapunzel”.
I kinda like it. I would have called it “The Pirate”, or perhaps even “The Princess”, but…well this will do.
Now, you can’t knock a kid for his imagination. But what you can do, is wonder wtf their imagination is about when they start talking to you about stuff.
“Make a splash”, said Isaac, handing me his burpie.
Wtf? A splash? Make a splash with a burpie? Uhhh…right. So I took it, threw it up in the air, and made a splashing sloshing noise as it hit the ground. After much shouting and crying from frustration, it quickly became apparent I was very wrong.
As it turns out, “The Splash” was in fact, a puddle. He wanted me to lay it out perfectly flat on the floor, like a puddle, so that he could splash into it. Well OBVIOUSLY. How the hell could I not figure that one out immediately? (Holy crap…)
The latest one is a little confusing me. Sometimes it’s “The Beard” and sometimes it’s “The Pirate”. Occasionally, it’s “The Cowboy”, which makes the most sense to me. I dunno. I’m not even going to speculate.
Anyway, my favourite would have to be “The Tail”.
For this…well, there are no words.
Just mere hours before Christmas (honestly, Santa on twitter keeps telling us how many hours to go. Not days, HOURS) I got a PR email with the above heading, minus the bit in brackets. After spending around 30 minutes snorting laughter with D over the 4 tips which were given (which I’m actually not going to list because I wouldn’t use any of them), I started to come up with my own.
1) USE THE INTERNET.
I’m pretty sure this is self explanatory in every way possible.
2) DRINK PLENTY.
See explanation to tip one.
Ummm…
Ok, should you really need to leave the house and you can’t find any old crap in your loft which you can recycle for gifts,
3) PACK A WEAPON
This can be a gun, super glue, boxing gloves – whatever you like, as long as it slows down the opposition, and ideally, makes them move the fuck out of the way
4) TAKE YOUR CHILDREN WITH YOU
This is an add-on to tip 4; the kids are more than just a weapon. They are everything. When they start crying and whining, people will move out of your way. When they’re falling asleep in the trolley, people will watch them for you (in adoration) while you run off around the store finishing your shopping. When there’s a queue for the toilet and there weeping out of desperation for needing a wee, that queue will suddenly shuffle you forwards. When you’ve hit the end of your tether and resort to sitting in the corner sipping from your hip flask, people will suddenly become very sympathetic and helpful (otherwise they’ll leave you the hell alone.)
I should switch to PR, I’ve totally got this down. That’s everything, right?
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