Going on a Chicken Hunt...Wanna Come Along?

So, the other morning, we were sitting at the breakfast table.  Eating breakfast food.  Cereal and oatmeal (which I know is technically a cereal) when William asks

Do chickens die when you kill them?

(A little background.  William is a little bit obsessed with mortality.  He may be a teeny tiny bit anxious.  And a candidate for Zoloft).

Me:  Well, yes.  Just about every time.

I have a great idea.  Maybe one day, when it's not a school day,  like tomorrow, we should get a bow and arrow and go hunting for chickens.  And then when we find one, we can shoot it with an arrow and kill it and then we can eat it for dinner.

Hmm...I wouldn't even know where we would go hunting for wild chickens.

I know.  Maybe we could go to a farm.

I think we could find chickens at a farm, but I don't know if we would need to kill them with a bow and arrow.

How would you kill it? (Now, I don't know why I was hesitant to tell him how you could wring a chicken's neck or chop a chicken's head off.  Even typing it now, it seems so violent.  More violent than a bow and arrow, though?  Or...)

Maybe you could shoot it with a gun.

I think that might be a little overkill.

What you said?

Never mind.  I don't think you're old enough to use a bow and arrow.  We'll just buy our chickens at Kroger.

It's Been Awhile

Oh my.  It's been a long time.  I kind of lost steam, I guess!  We've been busy with work and life and our arch-nemesis...soccer (I will post on that later.  It will be a long one).

Here is a short one.  Just to get my feet wet.

As you may have gathered from previous posts. William is the ultimate consumer.  He is the anti-Lloyd Dobler.  He wants to buy anything sold or processed.

Last night was the last soccer game of the season (again, more on that later) and the thing that he was most excited about was the post-game "banquet" at McDonald's.  Because they have spy toys.  Which are for boys or girls.

Each of the three boys got a different spy toy and spent most of the banquet comparing spy tools and pretending to be spies.  Very much incognito in their bright yellow matching soccer uniforms.  Go Lightning!  (The two girls opted for the Barbie prize even though each could've gotten the gender-neutral spy toys).

William's toy was a spy locker (???).  You line up the two knobs so that the groove in each one is facing the correct direction and it opens.  Inside are...TWO SPY CARDS!  One with "Agent Alpha" and the other with "Agent Omega." William was impressed.  He even made up a game where two opponents each grab a card, showing only the back to the other.  Then, on his signal they lay them down on the table.  And that's it.

So, anyway.  He was so enamored of his new special prize that he wanted to bring it to school today. I told him that it was okay, but then in a moment of clarity asked if it was allowed. (I pretty much know it's not, but sometimes they're lax on their own rules).  And this is what followed:

It's okay.  I'll just hide it from Ms. Trisha.

No, William.  That's not how we roll.  We follow the rules. (I then remember that there have been exceptions and I have to explain why we have those exceptions because he WILL call me on it).  So I continue...

The only time you are allowed to bring toys to school is when Gaga is picking you up to spend the night because then I have to pack your things for the night. But, we leave them in your cubby.

Pause. Do you think that Gaga can pick me up and let me spend the night tonight?

Dude, you are not bringing your spy toy to school. But, the concession is always "you can bring it in the car, but when you get to school you have to leave it IN the car."  This is surprisingly effective.

When I pick him up in the afternoon, he asked his lead teacher, Ms. Kim, if she wanted to see his new spy toy.  Yes, he is still that excited about a McDonald's prize.  Which would mean that I would have to drag he and Henry to the car to get it and then come back in and show it to Ms. Kim.  So, I suggested that I cold bring it in with me tomorrow and show it to her.  He was not that easily swayed.

Ms. Kim, do you live very far away from here? (Because a good alternative would be to drive to her house and show it to her??)

I live a little bit far away, William. It takes me about twenty minutes to drive here.

Well, I know you don't live in China, because you don't speak Chinese. 

Because you can TOTALLY get to China in about twenty minutes.  Give or take.

Poots Personified

Boys are just gross.  Inherently.  I know that there are moms who will claim that their girls are just as gross or grown women who will claim that they are themselves, but I'm sure that if you had a group of 100 boys or men and a group of 100 girls or women, you would find 90 males who think that farts are always funny and 10 females who do.

Last night, William was lying down with me while I watched something completely wholesome and appropriate.  This is what I refer to as I-really-want-to-watch-my-show-yet-it's-bedtime-so-how-'bout-you-fall-asleep-in-my-bed-while-I-watch-Private-Practice?

So, as Dr. Addison Montgomery was trying to figure out how she was going to get her baby, William said

I pooted-ed

And now my poot is fighting with the good air.

And it will kill all of the good air. 

Were truer words ever spoken?

A Man's World

Henry, my nineteen month old, has recently discovered his favorite appendage.  No, not that one.  Do you really think that took him nineteen months?  I mean the other one.  The remote.

'Mote?  Are you?

And as embarrassing as it is to say, because I know better, he loves television.  I am going to blame it on his four year old brother.  'Cause that's certainly an appropriate age to watch copious amounts of television.

His latest fave is Matman (the old old school Batman with Adam West).  And it's terrible.  I mean awful.  But when he comes up to me, pushing the 'mote into my hand and says

Watch dis?  Matman?

he often gets his way.

We read books, too.  I promise.

Lesson Learned

William and I headed to Kroger one afternoon after school.  As I taking him out of the car, he tells me

Mom, my tummy is growling.

Okay, hon.  I will fix you something to eat when we get home.

Actually, mom.  I have a better idea.  My tummy is growling for McDonald's (His eyes shift toward the "restaurant" across the street).

I start laughing.

Mom!  You're making me feel stupid.

I'm sorry, William.  I'm not trying to make you feel stupid.

I know you're a teacher.  But, I am your son.  And I'm four-and-a half.  I was being serious.  You shouldn't be laughing at me.  That makes me feel stupid.

No, Mommy guilt did not prevail.  Guess I won't be laughing next time.  But, I won't be buying McDonald's either.

A Many Splendored Thing

When my in-laws picked William up last week (Henry had to go to the ER for an epinephrine treatment) one of the teachers pointed out his "new" VERY over-sized coat and explained that it was an unclaimed "Lost and Found" coat that William had "fallen in love with" so...

I am not in love with a coat!  You don't fall in love with things. You fall in love with people. And then you get married....

My bad, dude.

Best in Show

It's been awhile.  I have several stories to share, but I'll start with this one.

William's daycare/preschool puts on a Christmas program every year.  William is very much the ham, something he gets quite honestly.  It's such a treat to watch him belting out "The Twelve Dogs of Christmas," mouth stretched as widely as possible when singing "FIIIIIIIIIIIIVE GOOOOOOLDEN RETRIEEEEVEERS!" dancing with his white boy rhythm. And, to get the best possible view, you know I was sitting front row.  And suddenly, mid-song, his eyes locked with mine, his mouth opened and he belted out,

"Mom!  I need to go potty!"

Fortunately the bathroom was a few steps stage right and we made it back for the twelfth dog of Christmas, which was ironically a cat.