"What???"

Brother is becoming quite the linguist. And he's pretty understandable for the most part. Its funny to get him to say bigger words, because he has the enviable gift of turning a 3 syllable word into a 2 paragraph declarative statement. I learned this when I was preparing a pizza casserole with the kids a few weeks back.

"Pizza casserole." I recited for him, not expecting him to be able to pronounce it in any semblance.

"Pissa..." He began uncertainly, "Pissa cassa--.... whoa."

Yes. "Casserole" now comes with a lengthy pause between syllables and no R's in sight. Its pretty cute.

But there are some words that he will shout randomly that have made me stop and stare wide-eyed at him, wondering how such a small little boy could have a vocabulary so reminiscient of a prison inmate and/or pirate.

For instance, after washing his hands, he'll point at the tank on the shelf above my shoulder and shout "F***!!"

"Um, no, dude. Those are called FROGS.... Ffff-roooo-gggggg-ssss."

"F***!!"

"Nevermind."

Later on, playing with his toys in the living room, he'll excitedly point at the mantle and yell "C**k!!"

"Cccc-lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll-ock, Brother, CLOCK."

After lunch, I'll be helping him out of his high chair, listening to him chatter. One day about a month ago, just as I leaned toward him to unbuckle his chair, he pointed at my face and exclaimed for the first time, "F***ER!!!"

Excuse me?

Logic enters my mind first: You're not saying what I think you're saying. You don't know that word. This is illogical. Your parents don't use that word. I don't use that word. You don't frequent nightclubs. What are you trying to say??... Well, I mean, he's SAYING it as clear as day. But I don't think he's intending to. Quick recap, are there frogs nearby? Suckers? Anything that could be mispronounced as "f***er" to a 20 month old? Come on now...

"What did you say, Brother?" I asked surprised, leaning closer to him for a better listen, hoping against hope I misunderstood him.

"F***er!" He shouts again, pleased with himself.

I look around desperately for anything he could be talking about... Table-- no... Chair-- no... Sister-- no... Fruit---?

"Fruit, Brother? Do you want some fruit? Is that what you're saying?"

"F***er!" He insists, pointing directly at my face.

Now, I can take a lot. But come on. We're friends, little man! And I hate to pull the guilt card, but the girl who wipes your bottom, feeds you yummy food, indulges your sweet tooth, hugs you when you're sad, tickles you, plays with you, and cuddles you when you're not feeling well does NOT deserve to be called "f***er", little dude. We need to hash out this bad blood you're feeling. Right here, right now. 'Cuz homie? She don't even play that game.**

I patiently put my face up to his grinning one. "I don't know what you're trying to say." I tell him calmly.

"F***er." He tells me again, putting a little finger gently on my cheek.

Realization hits.

"Freckle, dude. Fffff-rrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeee-ckllllllle."





**Editor's note: Apparently, my thought life turns slightly gangster under confusion. I assure my readers that I do not generally consider myself a homie. Nor do I possess full understanding of 'that game' that is allegedly not good to 'play'. Thank you and good night.

Every Neighborhood Should Have One

So there's this guy...

He's pretty tough. Pretty protective. Enjoys "eventures" . And has been encouraged as of late to pick out his own outfits before walks.

Most of the time, he's known as Buddy.

Occasionally, he's known as Iron Man.

Iron Man on patrol.

After a lengthy walk around the neighborhood with our very own Iron Man one beautiful spring day, I am convinced that every walking group should have one. They are so useful. And iron-ish.

For instance, Iron Man will walk ahead of the caravan, scoping out potential threats before the defenseless citizens can be endangered...

So intimidating.

He will draw attention to any potential threats he spots coming down the sidewalk toward us, so that we citizens can remove ourselves from harm's way...

"Quack."

He will educate the citizens on local wildlife, and how best to remain safe from any undomesticated animals...

"The wild animals went that-a-way, citizens. Stay close!"

Iron Man will impress you with his muscles. And will use them to make sure nothing blocks the citizens' intended route...

"Stand aside, garbage receptacles!"

After all his hard work, he will occasionally request to ride in the Iron Mobile for the remainder of the walk, but will remain vigilantly watchful until all citizens are home safe...

But, being Iron Man is tough. And a big responsibility. So, once he was back in the privacy of his home, Tony Stark  Buddy changed out of his crime-fighting gear, had some lunch, relaxed, and later took a well-earned nap.

Because frankly, being a superhero can be exhausting.

Poisonous Bacon

Every good moment you have in life should be enjoyed, appreciated, and relished. That much we've all been told time and time again ad nauseum. Its the good moments that sustain you through the bad, cause you to smile or chuckle like a crazy person while revisiting them in a boring checkout line or meeting, and they make life more than a just a shuffle from one job to the next; from one 'bill due' date to the next.

I'm blessed to have a job that makes me smile and laugh 1000 times more than causes me frustration or stress. I'm blessed to have friends that will inadvertantly call me for a chat when I'm just thinking to myself how bored or lonely I'm feeling at that moment. I'm blessed to have a family who are behind me no matter what, loving and supporting me. And I'm beyond blessed to serve my God who orchestrates it all so perfectly and lovingly.

That being said, let me tell you about my battle with poisonous bacon.

(Yes, you read that right.)

The Kids and I were playing in the kitchen playset one day a few weeks back, mixing odd "soups" together, having faux meals and snacks, and (in Brother's case) smacking siblings on the forehead with plastic spoons when he thought I wasn't looking.

Faux food

After a while, Buddy held up a plastic piece of bacon. "This is poisonous bacon, Devyn." He told me solemnly.

"Aw man..." I acknowledged seriously.

"Yeah." He nodded impressively, staring at the bacon in his hands. Suddenly, his head shot up, a mischievious glint in his eyes. "EAT IT!!" He yelled, grinning.

Not wanting to encourage ideas of murdering me, I gave the standard, "Um, no."

Before I knew what was happening, I was a few feet away, curled up in a ball on the floor as Buddy bounced on my back screeching, "Eat it!! Eat the poisonous bacon!! It tastes good, I promise!!" All while giggling and trying to shove the offending meat product up my left nostril.

"Babies! Help!" I called out to our two audience members.

Sissy grinned and continued to suck on her two fingers, content to observe. Brother stood up gallantly, dropping most of the toys in his hands. How cute! I thought to myself, He's coming to save me.

From that moment, I covered my head as the bacon in question made another attempt toward my face, and instead heard the quick pitter-patter of feet that meant my hero was coming. I felt rather than heard as Brother took a flying leap and launched himself onto my crumpled form alongside Buddy with a battle cry of "TACO-OOOOOO!!!"

Then, naturally joining on his big brother's side, Brother began beating me senseless with the toy taco clutched in his hand. While the bacon continued to stab at my mouth and nose. All to the sounds of children giggling mischieviously.

Who knew poisonous bacon could lead to such a fun afternoon?