“Hey Mom,” he pipes up from the back seat of our (smokin’ hot) minivan.
“Yep?” I reply.
“How old do you think I have to be to be a rock star?”
“Uuuummm…I don’t know. Maybe 25?”
His face falls. “Oh. I was hoping you would say 8.”
“Well, you can be a kid rock star if you want,” I say with a smile.
He thinks about it for a minute then responds, “Nah. I think I’ll just be a Jedi Knight.”
We were driving up to the Holy Land Target and as I circle to find a parking lot, Sloan adjusts his hat. “I’m sensing that there will be girls in here that will want to look at me. My sensors tell me they’re going to like me.”
Oh good grief…
A car drives by us one day and a teenager sits in the front seat talking on the phone. She sees us and politely waves her hand. As the car drives off Sloan says, “So. Hot.”
Whose kid is this anyway?!
Glossary of terms:
Landon walks in the room in a full out wail. “Tia punched me,” he cries. “Tia punched me in da ahmpit.”
Tia runs in with a look of defiance on her face. “No I didn’t!” she says with a stomp of her foot.
“Yeth, she did,” Landon wails.
“No! Wandon, I punched you in da chin. Jeez. Get it wight.”
As Tia stomped around the house in a huff, I gently reminded her that 5 year olds don’t throw temper tantrums when they don’t get their way.
“Well…I’n not five yet. I’n still four so I guess dat’s good so I can still frow a temper tantrum.”
“When I drow up, tan I be a boy?”
“Nope. God made you a girl and you will always be a girl.”
“But I don’t wanna be a dirl.” Insert foot stomp here.
“Because. Boys det to do wots of fun stuff.”
“Wike go potty standing up and eat fish and play baseball and be Jedi Knights.”
“Well, going potty standing up is not all that special and you can eat fish too, you just choose not to because you don’t like it. You also play baseball with daddy and the boys and if you want to be a Jedi Knight, I’m sure you could figure out how to do that. But think of all the special things about being a girl, like wearing dresses and fun tights and curling your hair…”
“Well, I would do dose fings if I was a boy, too…”
“No. You wouldn’t. Trust me on this one.”
“Mom? Tan I wear shorts?”
Landon walks out of his room when he is supposed to be sleeping wearing nothing but socks.
“No, babe. It’s 4 degrees out today. You need to wear pants.”
“No!” His chin starts to tremble. “I’n not going outside so pwease, wet me wear shorts.”
“Honey, I’m sorry, it’s just a little too cold.”
“Well…it’s not cold in Fworwida.”
“Okay, well when we live in Florida you can wear shorts in the winter but right now it’s too cold.”
A moment of silence.
“I tan wear shorts?”
I caved, he wore shorts the rest of the day.
In the grocery store, we walk down the cereal aisle when all of the sudden Landon breaks out in a rousing rendition of “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.” When he’s finished, I smile and clap softly.
“That was a good song.”
He sighs and grins. “Yeah. I’n woody dood at songs, wight?”
“Yep. You’re pretty good.”
“Yeah. I’n awesome.”
It appears he’s taking after his older brother.
Last weekend was a particularly rough sleeping weekend for my I-dont-need-sleep-its-for-the-birds third born. Of course. Because daddy was out of town. At 2:30 one night after he had been up and down since 11:00, he walked in my room for the 15th time. I had yet to sleep and I was reaching the point of melt down.
I shot up and broke the silence of the night. “Landon, get your bottom back in your bed.”
He screamed and propelled himself into my bed where he huddled under the blankets for a minute. I felt bad and, strangely, satisfied…
“I’m sorry, buddy,” I whispered. “Mommy is really tired and I need you to go to sleep so I can sleep.”
A brief pause. “Mommy, I wove you and fink your beautiful.”
He finally went to sleep next to me in bed.