No! That was the dog! :grins:
-----earlier in the day------
We are driving to Target to pick up some sandals for the middle boy. [And hopefully for myself, if they are cheap enough. *fingers crossed*] We, for this trip, are: myself, Alex, Dylan & Jackjack. The variance in ages make it difficult to keep focused on a trip. We are not merely going shopping, we are going for a purpose. This is an excursion! I need to buy Dylan sandals for the summer. Otherwise he'll be running around in socks & shoes, as he refuses to go barefoot. This child, mind you, has a shoe problem. I daresay shoe fetish, because I am still wondering does a fetish develop in those early years?? To say he likes shoes is an understatement. This kid adores shoes. Somehow he wished and prayed with all his might to get his beloved Sketcher's shoes.
That boy ended up with three pairs of sketchers: Airators, Z-Straps, and Evaders. And a pair of Heeleys.
Alex wants to look at (key word: look, because I sure as hell ain't that dropping that kind of dough!) video games, and "Oh, there is a Best Buy over there, Mom, can we stop there too please!!!???!?!" Because when we get there, he wants to check out new cell phones, laptops and, of course, video games. Everything his, and mine, - admittedly- wishful thinking can afford.
Dylan is the one getting the
Jackjack, had no agenda. Well, that he voiced anyways. I pointed out, the minuscule 'baby boys' section. It was the newborn wall with all of the slippers, bathrobes, onesies, that sort of thing. Gift-y stuff. One-third of the rack was boys, the rest was girls stuff!!!!! Any mother with a boy, knows exactly what I am talking about. The boys turned their heads to acknowledge my statement. Alex even returned to that subject when I finally dragged us past there on the way out.
So really its me, almost encouraging them, pausing to shop, look, and telling them "lets go!"
Boys: "But mom! Did you see that?!"
Me: :sighs: "Alright! :smiles: But make it quick, we've got to go!"
------------>back to now, with the whole farting-in-the-chair issue. Yes that was it. The dog was behind him- on the other side, really, but just behind him, and he's sitting in the recliner, settling into some Grand Theft Auto and rips one off. <------------- Among the many, many reasons I love my son, here are a few: Mom, did you see that? hrm?
Why are all those bikes there? What is that?
Its a bike path, there is a little cafe there.
They have a bike club? Awesome! I'm gonna make a foot club! No, a shoe club! For people who wear shoes!
A boat! Aw, Mom! Lets buy that boat!
:laughing: Oh, boy!
No Outlet. There is no outlet in that sign.
Ooh, look at that. Tractor! Lets get a tractor. OOh, A patch of grass! Lets get a patch of grass.
Oh, Look, A house!
[If you are wondering, it looked like a kit house- buy the halves & put it together type of deal.]
Wonder what Bob would say if we got that and put it in the back yard.
:his horrible imitation of Bob's voice- sounds like an old lady really: "Oh, no! Not my precious grass! Bah!"
-we commence driving through the swanky tourist-y town to get to target, because I didn't think to get on the freeway! Sitting at the stoplight-
Mom! Its the boat! We saw that guy! Lets buy the boat!
Aw, look mom! A horse! I want a horse like that!
[Horses are apparently part of the community's Public Art Project this year]
MOM!!!!!! OMG, LOOK! ITS A SNOWMOBILE! THEY ARE JUST THROWING IT OUT WITH THE TRASH, AW, CAN I BRING IT HOME?
oh, hell no. No, no, no no no no no no no no no no, no.
ooo, look! A rummage, aw, can we stop?!
-as we pass we can both clearly see that its all crap-
eh, maybe on the way back? [hoping to god, he doesn't remember. But judging from the incident in the store earlier, he'd remember. of course.]
MOM! ITS THE SNOWMOBILE!!! Can I bring it home? Lets put it in the trunk!
But you guys never let me bring anything home to work on!
How are you going to work on it?
I've got tools! I have a huge toolbox at my grandparents! I'll bring it home. It weighs like 500 pounds when its empty!!
-by this point I'm laughing out loud and shaking my head, because he is laughing at himself, and smiling, trying in a miserable attempt to keep a straight face and a 'serious' attitude about it!
Bring on the teenage years, folks. Because this kid is hysterical. I promise I won't want to go back to the hundred-thousand-questions-a-day act around 5-7 years old, because I've got two more kids to go through that with. I love my boy.
Mom, can we turn this into a bowl? Like hollow it out, and its all hard and stuff, like a gourd?