Monday, June 25, 2012

Unrestricted use

You know that whole "out of the mouths of babes" philosophy? Yeah, well, we've been having a lot of those moments lately. I mean A LOT. I can't even keep up with the ethereal yet earthly sentences which seem to pour out of the mouths of these babes. Clearly, a syndicated show is in order, but it would have to air on HBO, no doubt. Just this morning, my son informed me of one of the many new skills he has acquired since not being in school for two weeks. Apparently, this frees up time to work on his oddness and general recklessness. Oh, and death-defying tricks on the trampoline, which have brought me to the brink of cardiac arrest. Especially the other day when he, armed with his foam Thor hammer, executed a perfect backflip only to be launched off of said trampoline and nearly into his sister's lap as she lay reading peacefully on the hammock. The yell was stuck in my throat as I watched him shake his floppy bangs and jump back on the giant dinnerplate of death.

So, there he was, bright an early, lounging on the couch waiting for me to appear from the upstairs lair of my sleep.

"Hey, Mom. How's it going?"

"Let's cut the small talk," I grumbled. "How long have you been awake? I thought you said you were sleeping in this morning."

"I tried. I made to 5:47. Then I just had to face the day. Did you know that I can make my nipples turn purple?"

It was a good goddamn thing I didn't have a mouthful of coffee. It would have been all over the couch.

"And, how, my son, do you do that?" I dreaded the answer.

"Pretty basic. Squeeze them really hard."

"I see. And do you do this trick with any other body parts? The whole purple thing?" The vision of my future grandchildren hovered in the distance.

"No. Wait, what other parts?"

"Nevermind. Cream of Wheat or oatmeal this morning?"

That, my friends, is just a slice of the reality pie that we eat every day around here.

The other day, when the boy asked (in the car) if he could start using cologne, his wicked older sister turned her head and gaped. I watched it all infold in the rearview mirror.

"What, why do you want to wear cologne? You barely remember to wear boxers!"

"Because I stink. And besides, deodorant gives you cancer."

I wonder what else they have said to eachother. What other strange and enlightening quips have I missed over the years? Do I even want to know. Anna just recently confessed that she used to piss all over the kitchen floor (at age 3) because she was mad that I had another baby.

"Oh, I was just upset," she said. "You know, jealous. Must've been an attention thing."

"Could you, maybe, have found another, more positive way to get my attention. I really didn't enjoy cleaning up your shit. Literally."

"I probably could've," she said, glancing nonchalantly at her gnawed off fingernails. "But it just wasn't my style."

And so urinating was her style? It wasn't my "style" to keep calm and mop that business up almost every day while slaving over a colicky infant. Or to do the whole "wholesome mommy" thing and really investigate her feelings and try to heal this supposed trauma of having a brother.

"Don't worry, I haven't done that in years," she said. "I'm totally over it now."

"Anna, if you pissed on the floor now, I would take you to the police station. Or the hospital. It depends."

"Just take me to Nana's house. She doesn't mind a little pee."

Wow. Yup, definitely a little show here somewhere.

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