Aug 29 2006
Doughnuts and Ill Repute
Ben and I went to Krispy Kreme one afternoon recently to get doughnuts. First, we needed to stop at Target to get a CD for his mommy’s birthday. I had told Ben everything on our agenda before we left the house, but of course his toddler brain honed in on the fried rings of fluffy goodness.
When we drove into the Target parking lot, he said, “Is that Target?” I think he recognized it by the large red target on the building. The kid is sharp.
“Yes, Ben, that’s Target.”
“Is that where the doughnuts live?”
In the room next to Ben’s, we have the computer, a small television, and a futon. He knows we will not sleep in his room with him, so he goes for the next best thing. Often, after we put him down for the night, he’ll say, “You gotta check e-mail,” or, “You gotta sleep on the futon,” comforted that we’ll be within a few steps in case something catastrophic happens. We sometimes check e-mail, but we don’t sleep on the futon.
One night, when Ben’s mommy was out with the girls, he announced from his bed, “Mans are for futons, and ladies are for couches.”
Ben’s mommy likes to say, “I’m gonna get your booty,” and then pinch those little cheeks like a madman.
Ben’s latest response was, “No, don’t get my booty. Booties are for sitting on horses and potties.”
I often imagine the near future, when I’ll take Ben on camping trips. We’ll hike, backpack, see nature in its rawest form, and probably a few Pabst Blue Ribbon cans left by idiots. It’s amazing just how deep into seclusion one must retreat to escape that mentality. Not the beer choice — the littering. Although, an argument could be made for the former.
So, one time as Ben and I sat on opposite ends of the couch (for ladies, so I’m not sure what we were doing there), I couldn’t contain my excitement. I said, “Ben, you know what we’re going to do? We’re going to go camping.”
“In a tent?”
“That’s right. And we’ll do some hiking, and some backpacking. We’ll even go in a canoe on a river.”
Ben perked up at that last point, and said something unintelligible about canoes.
“A canoe with horns on it?” I asked.
“No, with whores on it.”
“With whores?”
“Yes.”
“Do you mean ‘oars?’”
“Yes.
Later in the same conversation, Ben said we would get rid of the BoBos, which left me clueless. Then, he came back around to more familiar territory.
“And the whores are good swimmers,” he said.
So, I have no idea what kind of oar or whore he wants us to take in the canoe, but I can’t wait to find out.
I can paddle a boat…canoe?
Fair warning…the camping nad tent thing is a BIG hit. However, getting LC to calm down enough to actually go to sleep appears to be a trick that we haven’t mastered yet.
I love it when LC says something and I have to try to discern what in the world he’s referring to.
We took him to the circus at Altel last Sat. night. He was speechless. Not a word.
Dude…I typed nad. LOL
Charles recognizes Target too. Their recall is scary at times isn’t it?
Chuck - Yeah, that’s our dread, too. I’ll just go ahead and plan to count the number of times Ben hits the side or the ceiling of the tent for fun.
Circus. We’ve thought about that. Sounds like it worked out for you!
I’m glad you typed “nad.” It’s just a funny word. Nad.
Typically, they only have to see or hear it once. It’s amazing what their brains can do.
That’s funny.
My Godfather, had a thick, French accent, and he always used to pronounce “oars” as “whores”. Made me laugh every time.
Brings back great memories…. my Godfather taught me how to fish, and we did a lot together.
My wife and I have been talking about how much fun NEXT summer is going to be for us when our youngest is old enough that we can tote him around for a weekend camping. Something we’ve been wanting to do for quite some time. Nobody will be big enough to really do much hiking and canoeing, but the chance to get away from the city and revel in the rural sprawl (replete with beer cans and human-induced forest fires) is a delightful thought.
Thinking of Ben and whores (something I’ve never done before now), I’m reminded of dinner the other night when my brother came over, who had a hilarious time encouraging our toddler to say ‘fork’, which he was using to eat at the time. A toddler saying ‘fork’ is rather funny, and my wife and I tried our best to hide our laughter.
Dave - Your Godfather had a French accent. Somehow that strikes me funny. (in my best Inspector Cluseau) “Now, little David, you put down your fishing pole and pick up your whore. Excuse me, does your dog bite?” (I hope somebody got that last reference)
Simon - Reading of your adventures with the two boys (sans dogs) should be fun.
Ben went through a phase of saying “fork” that had us hiding our laughter, too. Until I did my directed teaching, I never realized how hard it is for me to stifle laughter. It just goes against everything I’ve ever known, and it’s probably a good thing I didn’t teach public school.
I’m trying to picture Peter Sellers saying that ‘dog bite’ line, but I can’t place the exact reference.
Ah… fork it. Just tell us, eh?
Simon - Here’s the scene, from The Pink Panther Strikes Again, courtesy of IMDB.com:
Clouseau: Does your dog bite?
Hotel Clerk: No.
Clouseau: [bowing down to pet the dog] Nice doggie.
[Dog barks and bites Clouseau in the hand]
Clouseau: I thought you said your dog did not bite!
Hotel Clerk: That is not my dog.
If there has been a funnier actor since Peter Sellers, I don’t think I’ve seen him. The Party is one of my faves.