all images © Meghan Boyer Photography

Saturday, May 18, 2013

My Kids' Favorite Four Letter Word

I've come to the realization that my kids don't know their heads from their asses. 

Dempsey farts and says he burped.  I correct him.  "Oh.  I want to do it again!"

I tell Grady to sit down.  He stands on his head.  And says, "Sit down is my middle name mom."  

Ha.  No one sits in this family.  It's a dirty word around here.  A four letter word.  Ohhhh, he sits.

People sometimes ask me how I do it?   Manage the triple threat. Our neighbor asked me, just this week.  He said he thinks we'd have to be drunk all the time.  I think he sits at his front window.  Analyzing our recycling bin.

Then there's the ice cream truck.   Always in our neighborhood.  It sits.  And waits.  For us to be begged to death and poked at with wooden swords.   Having our money stolen from us by thirty pound members of the official Triple Threat Gang.  

Except for the day when I desperately want it to sit in front of our house.  The day the Triple Threat Gang starts asking at 6am when the truck of frozen treats will be arriving.   

It doesn't show up that day.  Mostly likely it sits.  In another neighborhood.  Avoiding our children.  Because it knows.

Instead, the Edible Arrangements truck arrives.  With flashy pictures plastered on its' side.  To deliver a gift to the neighbors.  For putting up with us.  The picture looks like huge bouquets of ice pops.  And while the truck clearly reads Edible Arrangements, to my illiterate children it clearly states, kill me for ice cream.  Lillian shrieks violently while Dempsey runs directly into the path of the still moving vehicle, screaming "ice cream! ice cream!"  Dempsey is what we refer to as super illiterate.  Kill you...Kill me...same difference.   Grady, armed with a green plastic knife, bikes furiously over to the truck.  "I'm going to kill you!"  He shouts.  And all this time I'm simply trying to have a normal conversation on the phone with my mother-in-law.  She hangs up when she hears, "kill you!"  and "Grady, drop the knife!"  But don't worry, she always calls back.

Okay.  So I know this sounds terribly awesome awful.  A two year old.  Committing ice creamicide.  A homicidal three year old.  With a knife.  Going after some poor guy who's just trying to deliver some fruit on a stick.  To the unfortunate neighbors who have to tolerate these pint sized beasts everyday.  But really, who hasn't had a moment when they would kill for some ice cream?  We've all been there right?

So then there's me.  Holding the green plastic knife.  As the bearer of fruit bouquets scrambles back to safety.

I scream, you scream, who kills sits for ice cream? 

A day in the life.  Of us.  Where no one sits.  Not even for ice cream.


And that is how we offed the Edible Arrangements guy.








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