What's the Word?

I suppose everyone has this kind of fun at the expense of their children sometimes, but I just love it when Jude misuses a word or phrase. I like to continue the conversation as though he intended the misuse and really sap every bit of entertainment out of it.

When Jude first started Sunday School he began telling everyone he was going to learn about God and cheeses. I'd ask whether he had a project about Brie or Swiss, to which he would reply with a contorted face. "I'm just wondering if we need to stop at the grocery store on the way to class to get supplies." Sometimes, he'd catch on and try to correct me. "No mom, its God and CHEESES." Oh! I guess he wants to be a chef when he grows up.

During Christmas program practice, Jude learned "Silent Night." When he sings the song at home it starts off, "Silent knife. Oh the knife." And then, of course, my line is "all is calm, everyone's dead." He yells at me that those are not the words, but really his verse didn't use the correct words either so I think we are even.

Jude stills runs for elevators and yells out, "hey mom, can I ride in the elligator?" I tell him it's dangerous because alligators bite. He says they don't, but I wouldn't get on an alligator. I think it would be safer to just walk.

I do miss eating sausakids for besskess. I'm now forced to eat sausages for breakfast. When Jude got sick he sometimes had diadiwa. Now he gets diarrhea just like the rest of us.

Although he carefully thinks out the syllables before he asks, I still get requests for que-diarrheas. The good news is that I don't much care for plain quesadillas anyway. And this is probably why he thinks studying about cheeses is so important.

I know it will all end soon for Jude and I so I will enjoy it while it lasts. Luckily, little Dane's vocabulary is coming along nicely. Oh, and he's a "yes" man, so at least I can ask him slanted questions until then.

Word up!

Me, the Screamer!

Growing up, one of the most annoying things I remember my mother doing was screaming. We were fighting, she'd scream. She was startled, she would scream. Something spilled, more screaming. I would plead for yelling instead. The sound of a scream just grates on my nerves!

Chad has shouted at me a number of times to stop screaming. I have always replied, "you want to hear screaming, go live with my mother for a while and then we'll talk about who's a screamer." Me, a screamer? I'm a yeller. Clearly he hadn't heard the difference.

We were getting ready for my company Christmas party last night. Like anytime we do anything, there were plenty of interruptions to stop fighting kids, put back all my makeup Dane was hiding in his drawers and remind Jude to close the fridge after he got his little butt out of it because he doesn't need to be in there taking the foil off of everything and opening more cheese he won't eat. I finally had the hair done, the dress on and was ready to go. Now everyone knows I am perpetually late despite honorable efforts and this night would be no different. (I'm sure plenty of future blogs will detail further). I go to retrieve Dane in the bathroom and there he stands on the toilet, ring cleaning tub in hand, lid off. It was already too late. I stood there helplessly as our wedding rings and every once of fluid spilled out over the bathroom. Pink splatters were everywhere! I stomped and screamed, screamed and stomped. I couldn't stop screaming. Are you kidding me? Why can't we just have to remember where we put the keys like everyone else?

As I crawled on hands and knees wiping up the bathroom, dress and all, I replayed my reaction in my head. Was I screaming? I was, and a lot. I remembered all three times we had to remove the toilet to retrieve something Jude flushed. I remembered seeing Jude drop toys into the wall through the pipe access door in our bedroom. I recalled near burns, spills, startles, etc and realized that I screamed every time. I'm a screamer, NOT a yeller as I had always thought. Did I change my tactics or was I always in denial? I guess I don't know.

I guess Chad gets to be right about something. I had to tell him that I now realize I am not the yeller I thought I was. To hell with it-just another thing for me to scream about.

Our Little Artist

After dinner tonight Jude got out his project bags and started to draw at the table.  He likes to practice his letters and numbers now.  I sat there next to him complimenting his forms as he explained exactly the necessary stroke for each number or letter.

He was repeating an eight over and over, then decided he needed the green marker so he could draw a Grinch out of his eight.  He explained the very angry eyes and mouth that an angry Grinch should have.  He made him a leg and then another.  And then drew a "u" between his legs.  I asked what it was for.  "Oh mom, that's his penis, because he's a boy Grinch," was his reply.

I probably could have left it at that, but I had to know what a "girl" grinch would look like.  He drew another angry face and two legs, but this time there was a circle drawn on the belly.  I was afraid to ask, but ask I did. "Well that's where the baby is going to grow."  Then he picked up the marker again and finished the baby, angry face and all.  I asked why that momma Grinch was so angry.  "Mom, Grinches hate everything."

I called Chad over to join in my praise of Jude's artwork and asked Jude to explain to daddy how to draw a Grinch.  He gave Chad the same explanation I had received.   Chad was trying as hard as I to stifle a laugh and commented, "well I guess we now know to expect a few calls from his art teacher."

Hey who doesn't like a good nude? He's just ahead of his time, right?