"Daddy - your bed smells."
This morning was a lot like that sort of comment. My daughter helpfully notified me that my bed smells yesterday morning. "Not really bad though." I asked her what she thought it smelled like and she said feet. Sensing my pride and self esteem was taking a wounding she then helpfully lied, "not on your side though." There- suddenly I feel good. I just asked her again and she said it smelled like an octopus. I'm not sure which one I'd prefer to be honest. Or why her mother smells like an octopus foot for that matter. Must keep an eye on her.
Don't feel bad for her mother though. She felt the need to say about her son this morning, "I don't like his crotch lump. It's weird." Unable to defend himself I felt I needed to step up. "I don't like your crotch lump - how do you like that?" My wife went on to explain that she meant that it's just weird to have a little boy that you're responsible for - complete with all the ridiculous equipment that they have. And in his case - that he likes to gyrate about in just his underpants when he wakes up in the morning. Right after getting off the toilet early on he gets a nice fresh pair of knickers on and then throws himself around the bed like The Underpants Ninja (trademarking hat one...). Which is fine - but he's also now aware that he has a protruding lump sticking out the front of himself. Which, while he thinks is hilarious to thrust around like a blunt weapon, apparently his mother finds icky on some way. She finds it hard to explain but not hard enough not to just say out loud, "I don't like his crotch lump." "Yes well, I asked all your employees and they said they don't like yours." Until he can stand on his own two feet it's my job to throw her comments about gusset lumps right back at her. It's what Dad's do.
Right now we're off to the inlaws for 4th of July stuff. Basically eating lots of meat and watching fireworks late tomorrow night. I'm looking forward to a nice long run around the lakes at five am (no bears please) followed by a huge serving of barbecue ribs come dinner time (again, no bears please). After that we'll tolerate the Old Forge fireworks. I should point out that like a lot of firework events here these ones are entirely non-visual. A majority of what occurs are just those insanely loud thudding cannon-fire ones that case rock slides and set off heart attacks in dogs. I think it's just to prepare any teenage boys watching for whichever military conflict they'll inevitably be involved in come their 18th birthday. It's a rite of passage in that sense.
Anyhoo - cars packed and kids are tetchy. We just spent ten minutes picking these black raspberries and are good to go.