Backseat Wiier

Ellie played a little Wii at Grandma and Grandpa's this weekend.  Harry tried to help her out:

Watch out for that panda!!!!

Oh, well, That DOES Make More Sense

It's a strong family tradition.  We've been screwing up song lyrics for decades.  Primarily because my father refused to correct us, probably out of the hope that we'd publically humiliate ourselves at a karaoke bar in Tuscaloosa at the age of 25, but I digress.

In case you didn't know, the incomparable Hall and Oates had a smash hit in the 80s with a song about a ravenous Anteater.  For some reason, this Anteater liked to eat boys.

Sometime previous, there was this fabulous song all about a Secret Asian Man.  Not sure what the secret was.  Maybe he didn't look very Asian, or maybe he was really a she pretending to be a she or vice versa.  Whatevs. 

More importantly, Steve Miller was not trying to get on a Big Ole Jet Airliner.  He was trying to get to Big Ole South Carolina.  That, I completely understand. 

Don't even get me started on Blinded By the Light. But that one has been misinterpreted by thousands trying to figure out exactly what feminine hygiene has to do with anything.

Which is why I was not surprised to find that Old Crowe Medicine Show has a thing for fruit.  The boy has been asking me to play the "Rock Me Mama" song every morning in the car.  I am completely used to him not knowing the titles to songs.  I mean, his all time favorite, Red Solo Cup, is actually "A One Two Tree Pour" according to Harry.  But, those words he actually knows, including what Toby Keith thinks Freddie Mac can do.

As for OCMS's ditty, in Meaty Feet's mind it goes a little something like this:

"Rock me Mama like a 'nana peel.  Rock me Mama anyway you feel...."

Of course it does.  I'm not going to correct him.  I'll wait for his fraternity brothers to do that.

Did You Hear the One About the Blonde Chick...?

Harry's in my office with some phantom illness his preschool swears he has.  They are wrong, but that's for a different blog.

He's got the Nintendo DS because Mama's got hours to bill.  He has become bored with Mario, or maybe he's realized that Mario is a bad influence.  Whatever.  He's discovered the "create your own avatar" function of the DS, and let's just say his sister is going to have lots of fun clearing off the 27 new "Harrys" (or is it "Harries"? not sure what the plural would be) he's created this afternoon.

But, but, but, geez, my kid.  So, this is what the "conversation" is like:

H: (shouting at the DS) NOT BROWN HAIR, NOT BROWN HAIR, NO!!!!!

Me:  Not brown hair?  What color hair do you want? (under my breath) because brown hair is the best, and don't you forget it.  Brown haired girls are nice, and sweet, and cook for you....

H:  NOT BROWN HAIR!!!!!!!

Me:  What color hair do you want Harry, mama will help.

H:  I want da udder color, da wellow, wike Miz Cawwie.  Awwww, no, not DA BROWN HAIR, NOOOOOOOO!!!!!

For.  The.  Love.

Language!

So...I knew it was coming.  While I try to watch my mouth, let's face it, I swear like a sailor.  I guess this exchange should not have shocked me:

E:  Mom, what's bullshit mean?

Me: (don't freak out, don't freak out, crap, did I say that, crap) Where did you hear that? 

E:  I just heard it, on the book you're listening to.

Me: (in my head) Dammit, this is supposed to be a young adult book, and how did I not even HEAR the word? (out loud) It's not a very nice thing to say.

E:  Yes, but what does it mean?

Me:  It means you think someone is lying, or exaggerating the truth.

E:  Well, then why wouldn't he just say "I think you're lying" instead of using a bad word?  Why would you use a bad word when a not bad word would work just as well.  I mean, wouldn't the other guy know what he meant if he used a regular word and not a bad word.  I just don't understand why anyone would use a bad word if a not bad word means the same thing.

Me:  Crap.

Here's what Aunt Mamie thought:

See, that's why you use a bad word.  It's much more descriptive.

Mario Needs to Provide a Retainer

Got a visitor in my office this morning.  He's been conversing with Mario and Luigi most of the morning while I work on some jury charges. 

However, he has an opinion on my work.  I say into the dictaphone "ladies and gentleman of the jury I charge you that a person commits the tort of tortious misconduct when...", and I hear "tortious misconduct, dat's right, tortious misconduct."

Alright Mario, that will be $325.

Ice Cream Seizures and Chicken Dances

Harry's three.  Yeah, so there's that.  I guess the "baby weight" excuse finally has to be retired.  Anyway.  We started the celebration early with a little La Parilla goodness on Friday night (mostly because Mommy and Daddy (and Miss Carrie, and Aunt Mamie and Mr. Brian) desparately needed margaritas.

Harry devoured an entire basket of chips and his quesadilla and was rewarded with a birthday brownie sundae, whiiiiiich, I think he enjoyed:

I mean, that's some ice cream love. 

Birthday get together Saturday night with fabulous McEntyre's Oreo Scream cake (good gracious that thing is fabulously horrible for you).  Presents, more ice cream, and one spectacularly annoying birthday card, again, compliments of Mamie and Brian:

Yes, that's the chicken dance.  No, he doesn't do the chicken dance.  Yes, I think he's clogging.  No, Ellie is not invited to the chicken dance party.  Yes, that thing will be in the trash once I'm able to pry it from his chubby sleeping hands. 

So, four trucks, three books, one RACE TRACK(with racing trucks no less), and a talking Boris the Stegasaurus, and what do we play with over and over and over and over and (just kill me now) OVER again?  Yep, chicken dance card. Grrrrrrr.

Happy birthday Meaty Feet.  You're certainly entertaining!

If You Must...

Heyyyy, Meaty Feet.  We heard you last night.  Reading your truck book to yourself after everyone got in their beds.  Pitter pattering between your room and Sissy's room.  Negotiating the custody terms of some stuffed critter or another. 

We heard you asking her for a book.  We heard her sleepily acquiesce to letting you "nuggle" for "just one minute, no more."  We let it happen.  It probably would have been more prudent to intervene and insist on night-night segregation.  I'm sure it would have made for a smoother morning (curse you, first Monday of Daylight Savings Time).  But then I wouldn't have gotten to snap this at midnight:

"Just one minute" my foot!  So I asked the girl this morning "how'd Harry wind up in your bed?"  Here's the exchange:

E:  I don't know, he wouldn't go to sleep in his bed so I just let him lay there for a minute otherwise he was just going to annoy me all night.
Me:  A minute!  He was there all night!
E:  Ugh!  I know.  He slept on my side the WHOLE NIGHT!!!!
Me:  I know the feeling.  Well, at least you got both got a good night's sleep.
E:  I didn't.  I did not sleep a single minute.
Me:  Really?  That's interesting.  Not one single minute.
E:  Not even a second.
Me:  Huh. 

Just as a little aside, note the little splotch of camoflague in between them.  That's his hat with the Gerogia "G" on it.  Went to sleep with it on. 

I feel compelled to say something witty, but really I'm just a little misty over this tiny, fleeting moment.  This won't happen very much or for very long.  But it's nice to know that, at least right this moment, they like to "nuggle", even if the girl has to stay awake ALL night to do it!