So Sloan came home from school with this masterpiece the other day. He was very proud of it. I placed it in the window in our kitchen. When Lee came home he looked at it told Sloan how cool it was. “What is it? What does it represent?” he asked.
“It’s just bread and goldfish,” Sloan responded, looking up at Lee as if he had just sprouted a second head.
Riiiight. So, it’s clearly not abstract art.
In other Lee stories (I post these with his permission), the other night Sloan and Tia were running around the house after their bath. They like to run “in their nakeds” as Sloan says. Apparently Sloan tripped and twisted his foot. He cried pretty hard and it was his “I’m really hurt” cry as opposed to the “I’m just making noise” cry. So Lee spent some time putting pressure on the foot and turning it to make sure there wasn’t any real damage. Then, in what was an apparent attempt to be funny gone terribly awry, Lee told Sloan to stand on his feet, then reach down and touch his toes. When Sloan reached down, Lee pushed him. He was hoping to make Sloan laugh and forget about his pain. Instead, Sloan fell on his face and twisted his wrist underneath him. So now the concern was not whether he had broken his foot, but his wrist. Sheesh. Boys (eyeroll).
Then, yesterday Lee came home for work all bright eyed and excited.
“Where are the kids?” he asked. “I’ve got a surprise for them.”
I was in the nursery trying to clean out the closets and drawers of all the clothes that no longer fit. I heard Lee tell the kids to sit down on the couch and close their eyes.
“Now, this is something for you guys to share.”
At this point, my heart fell slightly because my kids and sharing do not mix well. Then, I heard a bag crinkling and Lee told the kids to open their eyes. This is what I hear.
“Oh boy! Thanks dad! It’s a talking parrot!”
At this point I almost cried and let me tell you why. When we go to my parents condo, there is a man that lives down there that is precious and he loves kids. Every time we come, he brings this fake, talking parrot that repeats everything you say to Sloan to play with. After about ten minutes of Sloan screaming at the parrot and it screaming back at him, I generally feel a migraine coming on. That bird always mysteriously ends up on the very highest shelf, where he stays until we leave and have to give it back to Mr. Neal. This is the exact bird toy that Lee bought for the kids. It’s like a cruel joke. When he came in the bedroom he was all smiles.
“They love it!” he said.
“Are you mad at me?” I asked. “Have I done something to offend you in any way?”
It was at this point that he realized what he had done. He started laughing, and God love me, I tried to laugh with him, I really did. Then he offered a mild apology. “It’s just so fun to shop at Cracker Barrell,” he said. So now, as I post this, Sloan and Tia are in the basement screaming at the top of their lungs at the parrot and laughing hysterically as it screams back at them. And I am secretly plotting revenge on my husband.