"Dad!" Logan came running into the room and climbed onto my lap. "The kitty tried to bauf [barf] on me and I runned away."
"He did?" I asked.
"Ya, you know, like when we puke on the highway," he nodded.Yes, I know what you're referring to and so often I wish I could have runned away too. Hooray for car sickness. Now, what do you suppose the cat's problem is?
"Dad, can I help you capture the zucchini?" he asked excitedly.Of course. Now, we'll need a dart gun, a net and a plan.
"Does heaven have cats and dogs that have died?" Logan asked.
"Yes," came our reply.
"Why are the dogs in cages?"I don't know. I wish I did, but I don't.
"How did...that dollar?" Ethan asked.I missed the middle of the question because of the general commotion in the car. From what I was able to glean, Ethan was either asking about the sudden appearance of the dollar in his brother's hand or the dollar he himself had earned the previous day.
"Are you asking about your dollar or are you asking about a dollar that's none of your business?" I inquired.The answer came to him before my question even registered in his brain.
"Oh yeah," he said, referring to his own dollar, "for cleaning the pati...whatever."
"O, Ethan! Pati-O. Patio!"Good grief.
"Let's go to Miloozabum," Ethan suggested.??
"You know, where Aunt Deb is," he patiently explained, with the air of exasperation one gets when being forced to point out the obvious.Oh! Missoula. I'll put away my map of Crazyland and dig out the map of Montana.
Ethan continued to sit in Jessie's chair despite being "attacked". She really liked Ethan and nearly licked his face off. Seconds after this photo was taken, she turned around and rubbed her butt in his face as if to say, "you haven't seen my butt yet, have you?""Oh gosh!" Ethan exclaimed.
"What's this from?" Justin asked of the music now being played.The radio was tuned to NWPR and an excerpt of Stravinsky's Petrushka issued forth. This particular excerpt is akin to the movie soundtrack of a psycho thriller.
"I know this!" he said, shaking his finger at the dashboard.Though familiar, my mind drew a blank - in large part to Justin's sudden interest in classical music and my confusion over his use of those words in that order. You know Stravinsky?
"What's this from?"From? The only logical answer he could possibly be seeking (that made sense in my head) was the time that the song had started playing.
"From seven," I ventured, glancing at the clock. "Thirty-one?" I added.The time of day had to be the answer he was looking for, I told myself. Impressed though I may have been, surely he wasn't going to say, "Stravinsky! Of course!"
"I know this," he repeated, "it's Peter Cotton Tail."Even though I heard exactly what he said, I assumed he meant Prokofiev's Peter and the Wolf. Then it dawned on me that he was serious.
"Here comes Peter Cotton Tail?" I exclaimed in disbelief. "With what, a knife, in the night, to kill us?"You see, Petrushka is to Peter Cotton Tail as Jaws is to the wedding march. I was flabbergasted. How could Justin have mistaken this music for Peter Cotton...hold on a second. Crap! I completely fell for it. It is usually very difficult to pull one over on me as I am a very suspicious man. I can't believe I didn't recognize the signs and see that one coming since he learned his leg-pulling technique from me. Clearly he had refined his skills.
"Wait. I know this," Justin said, again. "What's it from?"There was a moment in which my brain paused to marvel, with impressed disbelief, at Justin's knowledge of classical music. Apparently, I was not going to be quick to learn this lesson.
"Sesame Street?" he asked aloud. "No, that's a different horror movie."Punk!
"Eww. I smell rhubarber sauce," he said, wrinkling his nose.And?
"It's not going to be very good," he pointed out.Punk. I am impressed that you know what rhubarb is, let alone smells like, but don't you have to taste it before you hand out the blue ribbon? As a matter of interest, do you often have occasion to sample rhubarber sauce?
"I don't want to taste any," he said.Fine. I've heard a rumor that it's not going to be very good anyway.
"I'n a singing table...and I'n not named Logan."I could see a pair of eyes peeking through the slats in the table. It reminded me of when the boys used to play hide-and-seek and tell me where they were going to hide before the game started. Very entertaining.
"Mom, you're broken," he said.- 18 July 2012
"Can you get the sliver out of my finger?" Logan asked.
"You told me I had to wait until tomorrow," I reminded him.
"No, I want you to do it now," he said, with an apparent but reluctant change of heart. "You said it wouldn't hurt."I lied.
"I said I would do my best not to make it hurt," I warned.
"Okay. I don't want blood to shoot out my finger," he said, carefully examining the splinter. "...or macaroni and cheese," he added.Me either. I'll do my best but I don't know how good that will be.
"You're peeing in your pants," he whispered. "You're peeing in your pants. You're peeing in my, eh, your pants."Why do I suddenly get the feeling that someone is going to have to have his pants washed? The sooner you hypnotize one of us, the sooner I'll be able to start the laundry.
"Oh, it goed badly," Logan answered.- 7 July 2012
"Did anyone spy a dessert shop along the highway?" he asked, hopefully.- 7 July 2012
"Are piranhas extinct?" Ethan asked.
"No, Ethan," I said, wondering where this conversational journey would lead us.
"Then I don't think I'll go swimming after all," he said.I thought about that for a moment, trying my hardest to recall any mention of swimming or any plan containing the same. I could not.
"Where exactly are you going to be swimming that you think will have piranhas?" I asked.
"Okay," he began. "I was watching TV once, and I was all rolling around and I accidentally pressed this button."Yes, yes...I have a picture in my mind - continue.
"Milk...salt," he said, his eyes growing wider as he slowly began to list the ingredients.I paused to marvel at what surely couldn't be a 3-year-old reading the container.
"...pepper...chicken..."Ah, as I suspected, the lesser known ingredients.
"...tacos...a witch's hat..."Now my eyes were widening. It appeared as though we had purchased the gourmet brand.
"...part of a spider and chicken bubble gum," he finished, giving me a look halfway in between a warning about the potential gastrointestinal side effects and a dare to find a flaw in his research.
"How did they get it to be white?" Ethan asked, attempting to rumple him.
"They stirred it all together in one of those mixer machines and then it got sour!" he said with a shrug.That's fine. Now, as for the spider, which part did they use? And the bubble gum - was that chewed by a chicken or just flavored like one?
"Hey Steve! Got any belly button lint?"
"Ethan? Last time I checked we were all trying to eat," Justin said. "Could ya' not?"1 July 2012
"Daaad."The familiar heralding rang up the stairs, followed by stomping and indistinguishable admonishments. Logan appeared.
"Dad, I told the kitty to come up stairs but he didn't follow my instructions."Yeah, he's dumb like that.
"He didn't, huh?"
"No, but he wants to come upstairs," Logan insisted.
"Hmm," I said.As a matter of interest, were you wearing that Decepticon mask - the one that alters your voice and makes you sound like a demon robot - the entire time you were "instructing" the kitty?
"The kitty is a shaking animal, like a hula girl."Please. If the cat got even half that much exercise he'd be skinny enough to clean his own...anyway. I think the reason he is shaking is due to the fact that a giant 3-year-old just lay down on top of him to provide hugs and kisses.
"He is?" I inquired.
"Ya."There was a brief hula dance demonstration.
"Kitty, don't go outside," he warned. "The back yard is haunted and the front yard is haunted."I never did find out how one related to the other but I think I'm beginning to understand why no yard work is getting done.
"Dad?
Can I...?
Can I...?
Hmm...now what was I gonna' talk to you about?"He tilted his head to one side and lightly tapped his chin with his fingers. It's no wonder I never get anything done around the house. This is how a majority of our time is taken up. I never did find out what he wanted to talk about. I did, however, find out what he had eaten for breakfast, now that I was covered in banana bread muffin bits. Dude, chew and swallow!
"Logan, wash your hands and quit messing with the toilet!" Ashley hollered.An insane giggle rang out from the bathroom.
"Why don't you quit messing with the magazine?" he retorted.Impudence! Effrontery!
"I hate thunder and lightning," he said.
"Don't look at me," I replied. "You're the one that did the rain dance."- 30 June 2012
"I'm gonna measure the rain."After a long, serious examination of the measuring tape, the numbers were in.
"It's a lot of numbers."- 30 June 2012
"It's too quiet," Ethan announced to the table during lunch.Justin nodded in agreement. Both boys turned to look at me. Whether they were expecting me to protest or agree I did not know. What I did know is that this, like every other meal time, was nothing close to quiet. Peaceful, yes. Quiet, no. There is only one other time I can think of when the house was "too quiet"...no, wait...that was a dream I had once - never mind.
"Chew, chew, chew," came Justin's voice from across the table.
"Slurp, swallow, slurp, swallow," echoed Ethan.
"Bite, chew, chew, swallow," Justin continued.
"Laugh, burp, laugh again," Ethan snorted.Oh, terrific. As if I didn't already have to sit here listening to all of this without the commentary, now I'm stuck in the middle of this twisted play-by-play. To my dismay (but not my surprise), Logan picked up on the new game and quickly joined in. His was less about what was actually occurring and more about the things he enjoyed.
"Chew, fart, explode," he giggled.I was nearly finished with my own meal and it was time to make a decision.
"Slap, slap, cuff," I shouted, taking mock swings at both boys.As I stood up to leave, the raucous laughter reverberated off the dining room walls.
"Breathe, breathe, breathe," I muttered as I left.Dorks, dorks, dorks.
"Can you help me with these train tracks?" Logan asked as he carefully made a path across the kitchen floor. "'Cause dads of little boys don't let their little boys build them by their selves."If it wasn't on his face, there was certainly a little pleading in his voice. How could I resist?
