Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Three Funny Things

Today, I really needed some good laughs, and I informed my children this over breakfast.

"Mommy's tired and cranky today. I need some good laughs," I explained.

And God Bless them, they delivered.
* * * * * * * * * *
My Haitian sons are now trash talking each other, in English. I long since expected this went on in Kreyol, but have not confirmed this phenomenon in my native language. Tonight at my mom's house, in a sort of tug-of-war, Keenan managed to push Miles into the pool, over and over (and over) again. Which is surprising because Keenan is way smaller and Miles is way tougher.

At bedtime, Keenan sat up and notified me, "I POOSH (push) Miles into da pool. Over and over. Oh yeah, take dat, baby!" Complete with cocky head nods and appropriate hand gesturing.

To which Miles replied, "Nu-uh! You only did that, 'cuz I LET you did that. Boo yah!"

* * * * * * * * * *

While all 3 of my sons wrestled each other, all attempting to toss the other ones in the pool, my mother winced and cringed. Because of the whole wet concrete and cracked skull possibility. I drank my wine and shrugged it off, because I figured boys will be boys, and we have good health insurance, and my stepdad's a (retired) paramedic, so my concerned Mommy bases were covered.

And boys will be boys anyways, right?

Well, watching my crazy boys got us all to talking about all the crazy things that boys do. While growing up in my childhood home, one of our neighbors had 3 crazy sons of their own.

One day, the hamster of their oldest son died. Sad, right? What's a boy to do?

Well, he did what any morbidly curious 10-year old boy would do. Got out an empty Campbells soup can, placed the deceased inside, and lit up their Weber Grill. Prest-O Change-O. Instant cremation.

Or so the kid thought.

Until his dad lifted up the grill 3 days later to bbq dinner. And all the neighborhood kids within a 2-square block radius learned the expression: "What the f. . .?!?"

* * * * * * * * * * *

Swimming over to the other end of the chromosomal pond. . .

Miss Paloma is fascinated by boobs, bras, tank tops and swimsuits. Anything that lets her get a good look at my girls.

She calls them "Tilla's."

Tonight at bed time, I asked, "Po, why do you call them tilla's?"

She looked at me like I was a few fries short of a Happy Meal. "Oh! You know! I learned that on Dora, Mom!"

Say what?

Seeing the confusion on my face, she further explained, "Tilla's. . .it's a Spanish word. . you know, like Boots!"

But the thing is, I didn't know. So apparently, I am a few fries short of that Happy Meal after all.
But that's okay, because full fries or not, I got a few laughs out of the day.


Anonymous said...

These are great blackmail pics for when the boys are older. Well, you don't even have to blackmail, you can just leave them on the coffee table when they bring a date home....

:) Mr.

bbbunch said...

Love are good, cheap(ish) entertainment...and wine helps numb the anxiety :)


ania said...

I love that photograph of Paloma. What a priceless pose!