kiwords

You know, every night, when the kids are in bed and I sit down at my computer to write a blog entry, I wonder. What will end up on the screen? What sort of…babbling will pour out of me tonight? Will it be a moving DOG entry that engenders many many comments (thanks, all. We should know about Clark by noon today)? Or will it be something bizarre and different – say, something entertaining about rodents? Well, I wish I had better gopher blog fodder, but tonight all I have for your “enjoyment” is a sampling of stuff my kids said.

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Today, at the grocery store, I took Raphael into the bathroom. He marched into the stall and turned to point a fat warning finger at me.
“Yoo stay out dere,” he intoned seriously, “Ah don’ NEED help. So DON’ come in here!” I nodded in agreement, and he slammed the door shut. He labored to lock it (in case I MISSED my orders), and turn to the toilet. I could hear him muttering to himself as he struggled to pull down his shorts. “She NOT come in wif me. She stay OUT DERE…oh, man! Now ah got pee on my foot.”
Well. It’s a good thing he doesn’t need my help.

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I was returning from a walk this evening and met Max, tooling down the sidewalk on his two-wheeler. He’s just thrilled with his new two-wheeling abilities, and cannot get enough of the tooling. I noticed, however, that he was riding without the benefit of either shoes or helmet.
Ahem.
“Max? Where are your shoes and helmet?” He looked down at his feet, startled. Then he reached one cautious hand up to pat the top of his head. Sure enough. Helmet-free.
“Well…” he said slowly, “well…I was just…sort of thinking about riding my bike…and then BAM! I was riding it!” He shrugged. I mean, what’s a boy to do, when overtaken by a bike ride?

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This evening Tre came ambling into the living room, where I was picking up shoes. By the way, where the heck do all the SHOES come from? I mean, I’m thinking three boys, two feet each, equals six shoes a day, right? Yet my sons seem to be the Imelda Marcos’s of little boyhood, and I swear I pick up seven trillion shoes a day. Why is that? What is the STORY BEHIND ALL THE SHOES?
Anyhow.
Tre walked in, chuckling.
“You know what Raphael just said? He ran up to me and hugged me and said, ‘Hi, Twe! Ah’m so gwad you’re not a dinosaur!’ It was cute.”
He wandered off, like just one more of the grownups, sharing an indulgent laugh at the children.
And then he spotted an alien life form in the shape of Max, and gave chase, laser guns blazing. My little man.