Sour Straw Gross Out

Congratulations to Smith's mom for posting her first Smittyism. Hopefully, it will be the first of many.

This next post is not for the faint of stomach. I suggest that many of you should put down your mouse, back away from the keyboard, and go on with your day. Only if you fit into one of the following categories should you continue reading:

a) You are not my mother or mother-in-law;
b) You are not offended by any Will Ferrell movie;
c) In your opinion, Joe Namath looks better with his shirt off than Brad Pitt; or
d) If you remember Senator Orrin Hatch's questions to Clarence Thomas during his confirmation hearing, you thought they were funny, not disgusting.

Scroll down, if you dare.



Are you sure you want to do this?


Okay, I warned you.

Smitty and I are kindred spirits in many ways. One such way is that we both are candy lovers; but we won't just eat any kind of candy. We love the gummy, the sour, the chewy and the sugary candy. We pass on M&M's for sour skittles. We scoff at licorice in favor of airheads. For my birthday, I got a three pound bag of gummy bears from someone at work. Smith gave me a jumbo-sized bag of gummy cola bottles (my gummy of choice) and a bag of sour gummy worms. We are set until spring.

This particular day, we were shopping for a birthday present and happened to go to Wal-Mart. Wal-Mart sells big boxes of sour straws (and other various types of good sugar candy) for $0.88. That is a screaming deal. Lately, I've seen boxes half that size at convenient stores for $1.29. We purchased one box of green apple sour straws, and had it open before we got to the car.

We continued our errands, when I heard an "uh-oh" from the back seat. Smith had dropped a sour straw. No biggie. At the next stop light, I picked it up and handed it too him. I soon heard a faint whimper from the back seat. He sounded like a wounded dog. "What's wrong?" I asked. "There is a hair on my sour straw," Smith moaned. "Just pull it off. It will be fine." I assured him. This time, in a frail and shaky voice, Smith uttered, "But I'm scared." "Why are you scared?" I wondered. Smith replied, "Because it is a twisty dad hair!"

Sharp or Swiss?

Mom: "Smith check out the moon...it's huge."

Smith: "Um, Mom, that's because of the cheese. And, it's so yellow since it's just cheese."

Mom: "Oh. I thought it was just a full moon."

Smith: "You should know this. Tonight the moon is big because it's the cheesiest."

Thanks to Smitty's wonderful Uncles, I guess he still thinks that the moon is made of cheese.

Future Pundit?

You may know of my past attempts to indoctrinate Smith with my own preferences and opinions. Those attempts have not gone well. Last night was no different.

After dinner, I lead Smith into the family room and asked if he wanted to watch a little TV with his daddy. "Yes! Let's do it!" exclaimed Smith. (It doesn't take much to excite him.) Little did he know he was about to get his first lesson in presidential primary politics. We sat on the couch and I began flipping through the channels. I happened to land on MSNBC. "What could this be?" I feigned. Smith looked up and actually seemed interested. I explained to Smith that these people wanted to be the next president and they are on TV to tell everyone why we should vote for them. "They want to be President Hinckley?" Smith asked. No, and I explained that there are two presidents: one for the church and one for the country. I felt an urge to discuss Thomas Jefferson and the separation of church and state, but I resisted.

We watched together for a couple of minutes when Smith asked the golden question. "Dad, which one do you like?" I thought to myself, 'This is it! Here is my opportunity!' I proceeded cautiously. "Well, that guy is Barack Obama. I kind of like him right now." Smith sensed my poor attempt at subtle persuasion, smirked, and said, "That guy looks like a doo-doo bird, or something." Then he laughed at me.

Next, the camera panned to John Edwards. "Well what does that guy look like?" I asked. Smith studied the TV. "His face looks like a toy. Maybe like a toy superhero."

I next asked Smith if he liked the woman candidate. "What woman?" he asked. "The one in the middle," I answered. "Where? There's no woman," he insisted. "Yes there is. She is next to Barack Obama." The camera zeroed in on Hillary. "That looks like a man with a necklace. And he's wearing earrings."

I'm Adam Romney and I do not approve this message.

"My brain and my heart. . . ."

Me: "The End." Okay Smith, let me tuck you in.

Smith: Dad, do I have soccer again tomorrow?

Me: No . . . not until next week.

Smith: Oh. [Conceding, he lies head back onto pillow.] Dad, soccer is my favorite sport. Right now, my body is sleepy, but my brain and my heart are still playing soccer.

Smith's Approach to Life

Smith: "On my first birthday, I was two."

Mom: "No you weren't, you were one."

Smith: "Then on my second birthday, I was four."

You might have gotten your kid too much for Christmas if. . .

when he opens a gift that contains clothes, he reacts by turning around and throwing the item into the corner of the room while exclaiming, "NOT A TOY!" and then he turns around and says, in a way that is more of an assertion than a request, "I can open the big one now?" Next year, I'm taking him to the soup kitchen.