Daughter: My favorite music is techno, because that's what kind of music Twinkle Twinkle Little Star is.
My son is three today. Which also marks a new phase in his life - The Poop Zone. He won't stop being absurdly rude. For example...
Son: Daddy is a poop!
Me: No, Owen. That's rude.
Son: You're a rude poop Daddy. I'll put you in timeout.
Me: Okay stop it. It isn't funny.
Sigh. Almost every conversation - especially ones he isn't involved in - are interrupted with him crowbarring the word, "poop" into it and then grinning like he's a just said something hilariously witty. A prime example being yesterday evening before bed I said, "well I think I'll have a cup of tea." to no-one in particular. He then sidled into those trivialities with his gurning face and said, "no - you mean a cup of poop!" By now though he can sense my complete disappointment (the death-stare gives it away) so he quickly follows it up with, "erm...I mean a cup of Daddy..." But quite honestly half the time he doesn't give a flying toss whether I tell him it's rude.
Obviously I'd like him to follow my own example of employing rude words that are funny and clever. Ones that when used outside of the home are seen by the people around me as cool colloquialisms from my own country that mark me out as uniquely foreign and cool. But then he tends not to hear those. And at this stage of his life I've filtered my language to such degree that the naughty words I express slip entirely under the radar of a boy very much on the lookout to say and do things that are challenging the edges of acceptable behavior. This conditioning only slips up very occasionally - such as if I'm doing anything that involves a screw-gun or if something goes unexpectedly wrong (but then I repeat myself). But not just "oh dear" wrong - but in an absurd, moronic and Olympic way.
Take the day before yesterday, for example. I was working on something in the kitchen and figured
I'd bring the Shop Vac up from the basement to make cleaning easier and quicker. Initially I joked with my son that the hose was a suck-snake when it was in full- flow but then rethought the fact that I don't want that play-character repeated to anyone else anywhere ever. Then I joked with my daughter that it was so strong that I could likely suck the entire bottle of garlic powder into it from a foot away! At which point it sucked right across the counter into the end, somehow wriggled all the way up the corrugated pipe to the filter and then got stuck. And then the Shop Vac backed up and started spraying garlic powder all over the kitchen in a comedy fountain. I may have broken my no-naughty-word pledge at that point. But not loudly or with any passion. Given the unique nature of the circumstances it would have been said without any hint of vitriol and my kids certainly didn't behave at all like they heard it. Add I quickly began complaining about how garlic powder in your eyes and all over your chapped lips burns like a bastard.
But he is three now. He seemed to understand more when I told him yesterday his foot was three years old. And that before that it wasn't any age at all. I made some fleeting reference to the fact that when he gets older he'll understand how a statement like that will piss some people off. But that while very angry people rant until they're red in the face about that sort of statement that it's important to remember that while you might be able to argue about when life begins it's not a debate at all as to when age begins. In the same way that making jokes and disparaging remarks about Nazis isn't racist about Germans. Because it's important to remember that even though they wanted to be a race they weren't. Slightly deviated from the point there, but it's important to slip in important things like that I feel. But I tried to transmit that now he's an older man he has to start taking better care of himself. Maybe go on some runs with me. Do some weights. Take after his parents perhaps. Not the eating of kettle chips or mini-eggs part, obviously. But the working out bit. For example, I like running and do that as often as possible. And I've started using his mother's Cathy Freidrich ab workout DVD. Admittedly I've been using it as a coaster, but the details aren't important.
In unrelated events today is the third day of Spring. Look - here's how you can tell.
It snowed a good three-to-six inches a few days ago after we'd gone a fortnight or so with nary a flutter. Which led to my daughter making those bloody great big snowballs in the back yard. And also to the dog sullying the joy of that by pissing all over the side of the one of them before it was hoisted up on top of another one.
Yesterday it guffed out enough snow to refill anything that had melted in the sun. It was also probably the coldest morning in a good while - ruining my self-created reality that a week of slightly warmer days where I could go running without a fleece on as well meant that the more painful parts of winter are over. Obviously that's nonsense.
Today though my daughter has a day off school. Not a snow day I(although it is currently snowing) but a randomly chosen Friday off meaning that her school was only actually open for half a Friday all month. So we'll be going to O-School at the indoor playground. She also really wants me to put batteries in the old keyboard (that would be this infamous Scream Reggae one) so she can listen to techno versions of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star. As it's her brother's birthday we will likely do something to mark that - hopefully with their mother after she got home in the wee hours from her jaunt to Colorado. We did go out for the first hot dog of the year for dinner last night. Not me, obviously. I have standards. The minute you start allowing guff like hot dogs into your mouth you'll let all rational slip and before you know it you'll be drinking orange juice with the bits in it (you heathen freaks).
Speaking of bits my son needs to go to the toilet. Bah.