Summer Fun

After a really nice and unexpected phone call, I began reminiscing about my summers in Salt Lake with the Williams boys. We always had fun summers together, chuck full of adventures. I started to tell Smith about all the things that we did. This got him equally excited about summer and the fun that it entails. So as he was dreaming of summer on this cold and rainy day, Smith came up with a list of things that he wants to do "next" summer (he informed me that it can't be this summer because right now "this" is spring). Careful, because whether you like it or not, some of you readers may be included in his list.

1. Go to the cabin
2. Demolition Dirty (Derby)-to see the cars crash and sometimes spray dirt
3. Play at Oma's house
4. Play at Chase's house
5. Go to the Denver Zoo-specifically to go on the merry-go-round (Oma and Rachel will remember the meltdown over the merry-go-round at our last zoo visit)
6. Camping if it's not too scary
7. Play all day with Little Adam and his really tall brother (Andrew)

8. Hikes if we can have a picnic
9. Swimming, lots of swimming
10. Dino museum with Chase and Oma
11. Visit the Anderson farm
12. Camp-out in the backyard
13. Ride Peppy and Capt'n Jack at Sue the horse teacher's house
14. I even want to go to Hawaii
15. Swim with Dad and Graydon at the place with the big slide by Poppie's house cause then I can go to the cool movie theater by the ice cream shop
16. Sleepover with Chase
17. Sleepover with Uncle Graydon
18. Throw rocks in the Boulder creek
He then asked what I wanted to do this summer and answered it for me...
"Mom, you want to buy stuff."

And according to Smith, I will be paying for all of our adventures this summer with all of my money. He said I make a lot of money at all of my meetings. (What?)

The never-ending pukes

Smith and Lainey have been really sick this past week. I keep thinking they're getting better, especially when Smith asked for chocolate chip pancakes, French toast, and a hard boiled egg for breakfast this morning, but then he eats and he's sick all over again or falls asleep naked in his towel after taking a bath. Smith has a good friend who lives next door and they play nearly every day. Since Smith has been sick, I've been trying to keep Smith in and away from his buddy so that he doesn't catch it. Smitty does not understand this and begs and pleads all day long to go out and play, giving me thumbs up sign, meaning that his stomach has stopped churning. I tried to explain that if he gets his friend sick, then his friend won't be able to play either. And to that, Smith had this to say:

"Well, Mom, if I'm puking and Mason is puking, then we'll both be puking and we can both play together."

How do I explain that logic to Mason's Mom?

*ADDENDUM FROM DAD*

When I came home tonight, I asked Smith if he had puked today. Smith said, "No pukes Dad. Just puke-poops."

Ice Cream Social 08

Smith's best buddy Andrew Hoag.
The annual Peter Pan Preschool Ice Cream Social was last Saturday. The class did a short performance for the parents after the silent auction. Smitty was very proud of himself...and as if we didn't know all ready...loves to be on stage. He put on quite the show. So, without further ado...

Bouncey Balls?

Mom: "Smith, please, keep your hands off your private."

Smith: "But Mom, what are these ball-ee things?"

Mom: "Well, balls, I guess."

Smith: "Can I take them out and bounce them in the tub?"

I never thought I would have to talk about this...ewe! Gross!

Diet Coke

Smith: "Hey dad, can I have some of your drink?"
Dad: "No."
Smith: "What is it?"
Dad: "Coke."
Smith: "Is it Diet Coke?"
Dad: "Yes."
Smith: "You're not supposed to drink that."
Dad: "Says who?"
Smith: "Jesus."

Movie Night

Dad: "Hey Smith, if you finish your mushroom soup, I'll go get you something . . . something that rhymes with groovy."
Smith: "A smoothie?"
Dad: "No."
Smith: "A booby?"
Dad and Mom: "What?" [laughter ensues.]
Smith: "Yeah, yeah, let's go get a booby!"
Dad and Mom: [laughter stops.] "WHAT???"
Smith: "I love booby traps!"
Dad: "Oh . . . right. Booby traps are cool. But I was thinking of getting you a movie. . . ."

Jellyheart

Like many fathers and their children, Smith and I wrestle . . . all the time. Last night, as we wrestled, Smith was holding on to one of his beloved Hot Wheels cars. I rolled over him, and my body dug the car into his chest. He yelped in pain. Smith said the following:

"OUCH! Dad, you just broke off a piece of my heart! But that's okay . . . because tonight, my heart is a jellyfish, so the broken part of my heart grew back. I'm okay now. I'm ready to rock."

Speechless

Two recent incidents have left us speechless.

A few days ago, Smith and his good buddy Ethan went over to play with the five-year-old boy that lives next door. When they came back, Ethan was wearing Smith's underwear and Smith wasn't wearing anything below the belt. As of yet, I have not heard a satisfactory explanation (it had something to do with sprinklers, and Ethan refusing to put his underwear back on because they were Venom underwear, not Spiderman).

Then, over the weekend, the boy next door came over to play at our house. I walked upstairs and heard both of them in the bathroom making quite a lot of noise. I opened the bathroom door and saw them both, naked. Neighbor-boy was sitting on the toilet doing business of a secondary nature, and laughing. Smith was standing in the tub peeing on all the tub toys, simulating the explosion and machine gun sounds that only small boys can make.

As I write this, I'm reminded of the scene in the movie "Better Off Dead" when Lane Meyer's father opens the bathroom door and sees Lane with Q-tips sticking out of his nostrils and ears, and making walrus/alien sounds at himself in the mirror. Lane's father looks at Lane for a moment, closes the door and slowly walks away.

I feel you Mr. Meyer. I feel you.

Don't cross the streams!

As we were playing pass with a bouncy ball, I realized that Smitty desperately needed to use the bathroom. He was prancing instead of running. We quickly paused for a potty break.

"Mom, I'm going to use the guest bathroom. Come in with me. Let's do light sabers."
"Umm. Smith. I can't stand to go to the bathroom."
"Well, you have a private. Just use it. Come on! Dad and I do light sabers all the time."

Thanks Adam. Now I understand why I am constantly cleaning the toilets.

The "Itchers"

It was warm for about five minutes today so I took the kids out for a quick walk to the park. Smith grabbed his beloved Yankees hat and was out the door and on his scooter in seconds flat. Not even a block away from home, he stopped dead in his tracks and yanked off his hat.
"Hey Mom. Do you know what itchers are?"
"No."
"Oh. Itchers are the bugs that live in hats that make your head itch."
He scratched his head really hard for a second, told me he got them all, slapped the hat back on his head and off he went to the park.
As long as the 'itchers' aren't really lice, then he can keep the hat.

Pop goes the Smitty

Smith: "Dad, where did you pop out?"
Dad: "What?"
Smith: "When you were born, who did you pop out of?"
Dad: "Um . . . [clearing my throat], Oma."
Smith: "Where did mom pop out?"
Dad: "Poppy."
Smith: "I know where I popped out."
Dad: "Where?"
Smith: "Mommy's birth canal."

About a month ago, Smith asked me how a baby gets out of a mommy's tummy. I didn't want to tell him something untrue, but I wanted to keep it vague . . . so I told him that babies come out of the birth canal. Of course, he then wanted to know where a mommy's birth canal is. I tried to change the subject, but he wouldn't drop it, so I made something up. I told him that the birth canal attaches to the bellybutton when a baby is ready to be born. I'm an idiot, I know. We hadn't talked about it since.

Wondering where the dinosaurs went? Smith knows.

This weekend, mom went to NYC with friends, so Smith, Laine and I took advantage. Last night, we rented a movie that is not mommy-approved: Jurassic Park III. While at Blockbuster, Smith assured me, "Dad, I can handle it," and then every time a dinosaur bit into a human, Smith told me, "Dad, I am handling it!" Despite Smith's handling of it, I fast-forwarded a few parts. After the movie ended, Smith explained to me where the dinosaurs had gone. His analysis is not quite at his cousin Chase's level, however, here it is nonetheless:

Dad, dinosaurs aren't stink-ed. There are real dinosaurs in Dinotopia, and the others turned into animals. You know giraffes dad? Giraffes used to be long-necks. When they were long-necks, they lived in Jurassic Park. Now, they live in giraffic parks.

This actually sounds more like something my mother-in-law would say to me

Smith: "Dad, you are not bald; you have hair on the sides." Instructively, Smith demonstrates this phenomenon to me by gesticulating toward the appropriate areas on my head. "And, I think I even see some hairs on the top."

"Frustration" personified

The Setting: Mom, Laine and Smith are hurrying to the gate to fly home to Colorado after spring break (do pre-schoolers really need spring break? They need a break from play time?). They are just on time according to Whitley's schedule, which means they have about two minutes to get to the gate.

Mom: "Smith, what are you doing? We need to get to the gate!"

Smith: "Hey mom, guess what I am."

Mom: "What? What are you doing?"

Smith: "I'm pretending to be a rock!" (Smith bends down and grips his knees to his chest, and keeps completely still for the first time in recorded history. From his office in Colorado, Adam hears the faint sound of a familiar scream coming from the west.)

Just Disneyland

Our trip to Disneyland last week with Poppy and Uncle Gray, was a surprise for Smith.  This was precautionary because of the level of hyper-ness that would have consumed him the week prior to getting to Disneyland.  We didn't even let on until we were on the tram that took us from the parking lot to the entrance to the park.  Smith thought all along we were headed to the zoo, until the driver of the tram came on the loud speaker and said, "Welcome to Disneyland Park."

Totally shocked and a tad let down, Smith said, "This isn't the real Disneyland.  This is only Disneyland Park."

It wasn't until the very end of the night, 12 hours later, as we took a picture by the Mickey Mouse at the entrance, that Smith said, "That really was Disneyland, wasn't it?"

Our little Tom Sawyer

Mom: "Hey Smith, can you go pick up the Lincoln Logs and put them back in their tin, please?"

Smith (in the other room): "Hey Poppy. Could you carefully put these in there?"

Not so nice.

Poppy: "Smith, are you excited to see Poppy and Geeps?"

Smith: "I'm excited to see Graydon."

California Dreamin'

Mom: "You need to get ready for the beach Smitty."

Smith: "Wait. You mean Aunt Shanon lives by Disneyland and the beach?! Whoa. That is awesome. . . ."

Easter Egg Hunt

Smith's best buddy Ethan Stout

Smitty's Snowman

March in Colorado...still a bit chilly!

Heart to Heart Talks between Smith and Mom

#1
Smith: "Mom, I pray to the superheroes everyday. At breakfast, lunch, dinner and at bed."
Mom: "What about Heavenly Father, do you pray to him?"
Smith: "No . . . only superheros."

#2
When Smith told Mom that his girlfriend was going to marry another four-year-old, Mom told him that Ellie wouldn't marry anyone unless the boy got her dad's permission. Smith's reply: "If he says okay, then Ellie will marry me? Let's call him right now. What's his number?"

#3
"Mom, do you know that so many girls like me? Like all of them. Girls just stop and stare and smile at me. They do it all the time. They think I'm cute or something."

#4
Smith: "Mom, tell me a superhero story."
Mom: "Smith, I don't have one in my head right now.
Smith: "Then I'll put my brain in your head, and my brain will tell your brain a superhero story, and then you can tell it to me . . . okay?"

#5
[While practicing saying his scripture for primary sharing time]
"'. . . For my soul delighteth in the scriptures, and my heart pondereth them. . . .' But Mom, my heart isn't shaped like a brain. . . ."

Guilty until proven innocent

After school yesterday, I was informed by a third party that Smitty was not on his best behavior at school...something about listening or something. So, I sat Smith down to ask him what happened at school.

Mom: "Smith, how was school?"
Smith: "Good. Fun."
Mom: "Oh."
Smith: "Mom. It's just that I cheated when we were playing tag outside. So, that's all."

This was all that he could come up with. I of course believed the parent and not Smith and assumed that he had done something horrible at school. He was sent to his room without a play-date for the day.

Well, today when I showed up at school, one of the other parents profusely apologized to me for her son's behavior. She was mortified that her son had hurt Smith at school yesterday. SMITH WAS INNOCENT! He was completely innocent and I feel so bad that I didn't believe him! Guess I have some major kissing up to do....

Dinner Quips Encore

"If I swallowed my eyeball, I could look down at the food in my stomach."

Dinner Quips

"That smells so good my eyes are watering."

"I don't want to say the prayer . . . EE-I EE-I OH."

"The good food goes in my mouth and then it goes over here in my body to give me energy. The bad food goes down here and into here, and then over here where there are axes and swords and stuff that chop it up and then it turns into poop."

Rock-Paper-Scissors

Yesterday, Smith and I were sitting on the couch relaxing, when we decided to play Rock-Paper-Scissors. Like everything in Smith's life, it soon became competitive. After the second game, Smith was already cheating. I scolded him, but he was relentless. He was doing anything and everything he could to catch a break.

He tried "The Delay" (When one player delays committing to a hand formation until the last second in an attempt to glimpse the opponent's hand maneuvering). He tried "The Countdown Malfunction" (When one player throws down on four instead of three after the opponent has already shown his formation). And in a last-ditch, pitiful attempt, he tried "The Switcheroo" (After both players have thrown down, one player changes formations to whatever defeats the opponent and explains, "I forgot I wanted to be rock"). That was the last straw.

"Smith, I'm not going to keep playing if you're going to cheat." I warned paternally. Smith dropped his hands defiantly, pursed his lips, and gave me a menacing stare. After a moment, he silently extended his left hand, palm facing up, with his right hand in a fist. I interpreted this gesture to mean: This one is for the game. "Okay, one more." I said. "You're not going to cheat?" Smith shook his head. I accepted. Then just before we started the countdown, I saw the corner of his mouth turn up.

"One, two, three!" we said in unison. I threw down paper. I looked at Smith's hand. His index finger was pointed directly at me and his thumb stood up vertically. "Gun beats paper. I win. BANG!"

Finally, he wants to be like Jesus . . . sort of.

Followers of Smittyisms know that Smith hasn't always been best buddies with Jesus. Last night, I was reading an article in Newsweek about President Hinckley. Adjacent to the article, was something about Christian artifacts with a large picture of a golden crucifix. Smitty stood up on his chair and began to show me how Jesus died on the cross. He must have just learned about it in primary, because he went into a five minute ordeal about how they put him up there with nails and on and on and on. I stopped him, thinking I could turn this into a "teaching moment." I posed a few questions and told him why Jesus died and that after he died he was resurrected and what that meant.

Smith: Whoa, wait. Stop. Is that what they did to President Hinckley too?

Mom: Umm, No.

Smith: Well. I want to be like Jesus. That would be so cool . . . then I can die and then come back to life. Mom don't you want to die so that you can come back to life? That is like the best magic trick!

This isn't as bad as it sounds, but. . .

Yesterday we were on our way to a Super Bowl party, when I told Smith which kids his age would be there. Ethan, Asher and Abe were those we expected. Smith's reply was:

"Good. They like me. And they follow me."

Yikes.

Not a Pundit yet

Last night was another democratic party debate. I wanted to test Smith's retention of the candidates and the issues.

Me: "Smith, who is that guy"
Smith: "Barack OBAMA!"
Me: "Very good! Now, who is the woman?"
Smith: "Barack . . . O'Mama?"

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.

Smith's Brain Cells

For Thanksgiving, the Colorado-Romneys road-tripped to Utah. It was relatively painless, even though Highway 6 was closed, forcing us to take a long and winding road from Helper to Duschesne. Before that detour, we stopped for gas in Price. It was bitterly cold outside, so when I got out of the car, I tried to work fast. Once I hurried to get the credit card worked out, informed Chevron that I did not want a car wash, and got the pump into the car, I leaned back and waited with my hands in my pockets, trying to keep warm.

At that point, I heard a wistful voice from behind me say, "I love this smell. . . ." I looked over my shoulder and saw Smith sniffing gas. By "sniffing gas" I mean his nose was pressed up against the metal nozzle of the gas pump, right next to the hole in the car where the pump is inserted, while he inhaled deeply through his nose. "Smith, STOP!" I yelled. I was expecting his eyes to roll back, and for his body to go limp. Instead, he grinned and said to me, "Dad, I really . . . like the smell of gas."

Smith was pretty quiet for the remaining few hours of the drive.

Birthdays

There seems to have been a lot of talk in our house lately about birthdays. Smith has been invited to a few parties lately, and Smith's cousin Chase had a birthday while he was here visiting last week. On Saturday, I was taking Smith to another of his buddy's birthday parties and I think Smith got to wondering when it would be his turn to have a birthday party again.

"Dad, the next birthday party is going to be for me, right?"

I replied, "Actually, your birthday is a long ways off. We have to celebrate Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, Easter, the 4th of July, and a few other holidays before we will celebrate your birthday again."

"Oh . . . what day is my birthday?" Smith asked.

"September 11th."

Right then, we arrived at the party. There were about 50 people in attendance: 20 kids and 30 parents, all crammed into the old CU bowling alley. The host of the party greeted us, as did a few other parents and friends. I said hello, but Smith's head was still stuck on picturing his own birthday party, so he returned their greetings by screaming out, "I LOVE SEPTEMBER 11TH! I LOVE SEPTEMBER 11TH! I AM GOING TO HAVE THE BIGGEST PARTY IN THE WORLD ON SEPTEMBER 11TH!"

I think every head in the room turned and stared at us. I am sure my face turned a deep shade of red . . . maybe purple. I was able to explain to tell those within close proximity that September 11th is Smith's birthday and he is already looking forward to his next birthday party; however, the rest of the people at the party may still think we are terrorists.

No descriptive explanation needed

"Sorry mom, I thought it was a toot . . . but it was a poop-toot."

O'Thank You Poppie!

Poppie, in case you are wondering, is Grandma Clark. A few days back, Smith wanted to tell Poppie thank you for letting us stay with her at the cabin last week. Smith loves the cabin. Like every kid, he loves seeing wildlife, playing in the rocks and dirt and going on hikes (which he calls "hunts"). The cabin is really the best of all of his worlds. So, the other day, Smith and I set about writing Poppie a thank you card.

But before I tell that story, I have to provide some background information. Since Smith has become interested in learning to read and write, he has made it crystal clear, on numerous occasions, and with exceeding emphasis, that his favorite letter is "O." If there is an O within Smith's proximity, he will identify it. If presented with pen and paper, Smith will commence by writing the letter O. When attempting to spell most words, Smith begins by writing the letter O; this includes the spelling of his own name. Whenever he sees his own name in writing, he will write an O in front of it, like this: "O'Smith." We have recently noticed that the artwork and projects that come home from church and school are signed by the teacher, "O'Smith." He can be very persuasive.

So . . . back to thanking Poppie. On the thank you card, Smith drew a black sand monster robot. I asked him to sign his oeuvre. "Dad, I can do it myself!" Fine, go ahead buddy. Smith gripped his pen and began to write with such concentration and force that he could have etched it into stone. Once completed, Smith handed me the card with his name written prominently at the bottom: "OSHITM."

Abs

The other day, I was sitting in a chair feeding Laine from a bottle. I was cradling Laine in my left arm while holding a burp cloth under her chin with my right hand and the bottle was propped up against my chest with the nipple directed downward into her mouth. Smith walked over and looked very excited. "Dad! Are you feeding Laine from your abs?"

Happy 4th Birthday Smitty

Whitley put on a great birthday party for Smith. Here are some highlights:

1. Here is the crew. Yes, it was a superhero birthday party.

2. Pin the spider on Spiderman.

3. Smith blowing out candles, but what I really like is the sneaky Spiderman over his shoulder trying to do the job himself.

4. Two nice pictures of Smith, but the best part is the rogue Spiderman scaling the wall in the background.

Imaginary . . . Friends?

Lately, Smith has been referring to what could be described as imaginary friends. There is not a specific imaginary friend, like I had as a kid (his name was Kenny), but imaginary things that Smith seems to interact with regularly.

This began a few weeks ago when the family went on a Saturday hike around Estes Park. On the hike, Smith caught several imaginary wolves, tied leashes around their neck, and made Whitley and me hold the leashes throughout the duration of the hike. Anytime we relaxed our hand from the leash-holding position (which, for the uninitiated, means arm down at your side, elbow bent at a 90 degree angle, with your hand positioned as if gripping the string of a helium balloon), Smith called us to task. Throughout the hike, Smith gave the wolves orders, sent wolves on hunting expeditions, and released those wolves who did not behave. After the hike, Smith helped the wolves into the back of the car, and they have been there ever since.

Next . . . how do I put this . . . Smith began referring to his brain in the third person. For example, we were walking into Blockbuster, and there was a poster for the movie "Wild Hogs" on the front window. Smith explains to me, "Dad, wild hogs are motorcycles, not pigs." Impressed, I ask, "How did you know that?" Smith explains, "My brain told me." "How did your brain do that?" I wondered. "My brain tells me lost of things." Then just yesterday, Smith drew an excellent depiction of "Brown rabbit alien that is nice, not mean." When I asked how he knew what a rabbit alien looked like, he explained, "My brain told me. Brain tells me everything. Brain tells me to drink some orange juice. Dad, can you get brain and me some orange juice?"

Finally, Smith regularly plays with imaginary teenage mutant ninja turtles. For those who have had the pleasure of learning the finer points of the ninja turtle lifestyle, you know that ninja turtles live in the sewer. Smith is very keen to this fact. Somehow, he has interpreted the ninja turtles sewer dwelling to mean that ninja turtles deserve preferential treatment in the bathroom. Confused? Well, when I take Smith into the bathroom, and the ninja turtles are accompanying us, Smith opens the lid, and says, "Okay, first, its the orange guy." Then he waits about 15 seconds, and says, "Now its blue's turn," and on he goes until the red and purple ninja turtles have also had their turn. But not until the ninja turtles have each had their turn at the toilette will Smith acquiesce and finally just go.

It's too early for the "birds and the bees" discussion, but. . .

Smith: Dad, do you have a band-aid on your belly-button?

Me: No.

Smith: I do.

Me: Really? Did you hurt yourself?

Smith: No, I cut a hole in my stomach to see all the babies. And Laine was in there.

Terrifying words from a three-year-old with arms too short to reach his bottom

Setting: It is 6:45 p.m. in Superior, Colorado, Dad has just gotten home from work, and the entire family is rushing out the house for a 7:00 appointment.

Whitley: Smith, do you need to go potty before we leave?
Smith: No. I already went poop.
Whitley: What? When?
Smith: This day . . . in the morning time.
Whitley: Who wiped you?
Smith: I did.

Irrational Rage

When I came home from work yesterday, Smitty was completely exhausted from a sun-baked day at the pool. The moment I saw him, I knew he was on the brink of collapse--and his state-of-being was bringing our home to an emotional boil. It was when I heard Whitley say something about retrieving her .22 and rubber gloves that it occurred to me to take Smith upstairs with me while I changed.

As is my routine, I changed into shorts and a t-shirt and headed for the bathroom with Smith yapping at my heals. I raised the lid of the toilet and saw that Smith hadn't flushed his no. 1 from earlier in the day. No biggie. I've seen him do this; in the bathroom I can tell he is thinking that he can't waste time on frivolities like flushing the toilet, especially when he is building the biggest Lego tower in the world in his room. Nevertheless, I yelled to him, "Smith, you forgot to flush! Next time, remember to flush!" And then I went no. 1. And then Smith exploded.

"DON'T PEE ON MY PEE!!! DON'T PEE ON MY PEE!!! DADDY . . . YOU JUST PEED ON MY PEE!!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!! WAH-WAH-WAH-WAH-WAH-WAH!!! MOM, DADDY JUST PEED ON MY PEEEEE!!! WAAAAAAAAAA!!!"

And that was the end of Smith's day. Bed time.

Private

How should I put this . . . in our family, we are not comfortable saying the "P word." Heck, I refuse to even type it. So instead of teaching our children the actual names for their body parts, we have resorted to awkward monikers. In our family, we have done this by changing the word "private" from an adjective to a noun. Get it?

A few nights ago, I was reading to Smith at bedtime. We were reading "Where the Wild Things Are," which surprisingly, he doesn't really like. One would think that a kid like Smith would relate to Max and get into bossing around huge monsters, but for some reason, Smith has never really liked it. Anyway, for some reason, he chose it that night. We read about Max refusing to eat dinner, being sent to his room and his room turning into a jungle. Then, I read the following line to Smith, ". . . and an ocean tumbled by with a private boat for Max and he sailed off through day and night."

Smith blurts out, "What the . . . Dad, what is a private boat?" I don't understand why he is confused, and I quickly say, "Smith, it's a boat just for Max." Smith has an unsatisfied look on his face. "What?" he asks, and repeats the question. "A private boat Dad . . . what is a private boat?" I still don't get it. I turn and look at him face-to-face. "Smith, a private boat is a boat just for Max. It is a private boat." But as I say the words, I realize what is going on.

Smith contemplates my answer. Then, he says, "Yeah, my private is a boat too. This is so cool. . . . Dad, my private boat is sooo fast."

Bug bite

I came home from work the other day and tout de suite went about the usual routine of kicking off my shoes, untucking my shirt and bracing myself for immediate impact from a charging Smith . . . when I noticed something. Smith's right ear was about twice the size as his left. Not his entire ear, but the top of his ear was red and had ballooned like Martin Short in "Pure Luck," Will Smith in "Hitch" or that guy's pierced tongue in "Rat Race."

"Woah! Smith!" I said, "What the heck happened to your ear?"

Smith immediately lowered his head and covered the offending ear with his hand, hiding it from my view. "It got swallowed."

"What?" I asked.

"It got swallowed dad. A bug bit my ear, and swallowed it."

(Moment of stupor)

"Whit, what happened to Smith's ear?" I needed a second opinion. "A bug bit his ear, and now it is swollen," said my disturbingly indifferent wife.

Ooohhh.

Seriously, life must be so confusing for three-year-olds.

He's Back!

Getting into the van:

Me: "Hey Smith, are you going to climb up into the car on my side or on yours?"

Smith: "Up yours, dad."

Gospel Q&A with Smith

Smith's primary teacher found me after church one day and told me about the answers Smith gave that day in class. (Before I continue, let me just say that this was not the first time this woman has come searching for me. Once, she stopped me after church and said that while the children were trying to practice some songs for the Mother's Day program, Smith decided that he did not want to participate, so he put his fingers in his ears, and began yelling, "LA-LA-LA-LA-LA!!! She wanted me to "address the issue" with my son.) The first three Q&A's were related to me by Smith's primary teacher. The fourth is from something Smith said to Whitley today.

Q: Who lived in the Garden of Eden?
A: My dad and Eve.

Q: Who did Noah bring on the Ark?
A: All kinds of animals, and two Santa Clauses.

Q: Who gave you your body?
A: Not Jesus. It wasn't Jesus.

Q: What is your favorite primary song?
A: "I Am a Giant of God"

A New Low

A while back, we were driving to a favorite restaurant, when we passed a Ford dealership. Smith saw the Ford insignia and said, "Dad, there is American Idol!" Oh, the shame.

I promise we don't watch that show . . . much.

Steel Trap

On Saturday, Smith and I were at Sports Clips to get him a haircut. The only book they had in the waiting area was a Sports Illustrated NFL 50th Anniversary picture book. We opened it up to a picture of Peyton Manning. Smith saw the helmet and said, "Hey, I know them. It's the horsey team! But I wanted the Bears to win."

In case you forgot, the Colts beat the Bears in Super Bowl XLI, 29 to 17.

Deep Thoughts

This morning, within 15 minutes of waking up, Smith uttered three deep, profound thoughts:

Thought One: "Dad, when we go camping, let's get a tent that has robot fingers and big tires."

Thought Two: While Smith and I sauntered along the sidewalk (yes, we were the first ones at the park that morning at circa 7:15 a.m.), Smith asked, "Dad, what is that!" It was a huge bird poop on the sidewalk. "Bird poop? Wow . . . I love bird poop. . . ."

Thought Three: "Dad, can you lift that tree up over your head? No? Shrek can."

Never Talk to Strangers

We own a children's book entitled, "Never Talk to Strangers." As you would guess, it teaches kids not to talk to, or go with strangers, even if the stranger appears fun or nice, or invites the child to do fun things. I think Smith has learned the letter-but not the spirit-of this lesson.

Friday night we went to a barbecue at a friend's house, located adjacent to a large public park with a playground. At one point, Smith, along with a slew of other kids, went to the playground with the father of our friend. Twenty-or-so minutes later, I realized I hadn't heard Smith's uncanny shrieks and shrills for a while (an unusual occurrence), so I decided to go and check on him. Smith was just fine, and was being pushed in the swing by our friend's father.

When I approached to relieve him, he told me that Smith had gone up to every other parent at the park (there were about 15), tugged on their finger or shorts, and asked, "Can you swing me, or are you a stranger?" According to our friend's father, none of the parents knew how to respond. They said things like, "Where is your mommy?" or, "Well, I am a stranger, but I'm a nice stranger."

I wonder if the children's book, "Never Invite Strangers to Play" has been written yet. . . .

Taking Notes

A while back, I was watching something on tv (probably Sportscenter or MSNBC) and Smith said something like, "Dad, this is a very interesting show. I need to take notes." He went to the kitchen and found a small pocket-sized notebook and pen. He returned to the family room, pushed his red rocking chair up to the coffee table, sat down, opened his book and assumed note-taking position with his pen. He watched the show for a few moments, until something struck him, causing him to put pen to paper and begin writing, carefully and deliberately. As he wrote, he slowly spoke the few letters for which he knows the names: "A . . . E . . . S . . . O . . . S . . . I . . . O . . . M . . . O . . . ." What he produced appears below.

Quel chanteur!

Here is a movie of Smitty showing off his singing skills.

Fertilizer Anyone?

Last weekend, we were in Salt Lake City for a wedding. On Saturday night, one of Whitley's friends invited us, along with a bunch of other people over for a barbecue. There were oodles of kids wriggling around the yard, screaming, shouting, crying, laughing, fighting, etc. At one point, Smith became so overcome with excitement that he had an accident, of the second variety. In other words, he did a little poop in his pants.

Whitley's friend's husband thought of a way to remedy the situation without ruining the fun. He brought out the Super Soaker Water Volcano. The idea is simple: you plug a hose into the volcano, pressure builds and builds as the volcano's eyes get wider and wider, and then, the volcano erupts, blasting water over 15 feet in the air.

Once the Water Volcano was unveiled, it took Smith about two seconds to get completely naked. We dared Smith to sit down on the volcano, which he did, only a little hesitantly. I bet you can imagine the rest. A mutually beneficial outcome resulted: clean bum on the ride home for us, fertilized lawn for them.

One good laugh

This movie doesn't really do it justice, but during the recital, Smith was able to get one good laugh out of the crowd. During one of the songs called, "Dance as Fast as You Want to," the vocalist says, "Now freeze like a statue!" Because Smith is absolutely incapable of standing still, he shouted out, "I am a walking statue!" after which, he stiffly shuffled across the stage, which induced a few laughs. After Smith's walking statue impersonation, there is about 15 seconds of the kids jumping around on stage.

First recital

On Saturday night, Smith's preschool held a fundraiser and a recital. I used to wonder why parents and grandparents are so awestruck by seeing their kids on stage . . . but I wonder no more. It was hilarious. Since Saturday, I have caught myself in the middle of the day thinking about those kids on stage, and have started laughing out loud. Here are some highlights:

I can assure you that Smith and his buddy Jimmy were singing as loudly as it appears.

Three very proud and handsome little dudes.

Here, Smith warmly offers Jimmy some singing tips. Okay, I am kidding; Smith and Jimmy just weren't very good and keeping their hands to themselves.

I am not quite sure what Smith was up to here.

Translation: More Vocabulary

1. Because
2. What did you say?
3. Champion
4. Computer
5. Vlasic pickle
6. Humongous
7. Cartoon network
8. Pretend
9. Pretty please
10. Hawaii

We Should Be Ashamed

Tonight, we ate Whitley's famous white bean chili for dinner. Yum. As usual, Smith had a hard time focusing on his food. Although we goaded and prodded him, Smith only managed to eat a couple handfuls of corn chips by the time Whitley and I reached the bottom of our bowls. Then, inspiration struck my wife.

Whitley put down her spoon and turned to Smith. "Smith, I want to tell you a secret about beans. They make you toot." Smith froze. His eyes widened, and a smile began to form on his face. I saw an opportunity. "You know Smith, I ate all my beans, and my toots are going to be a lot bigger than yours tonight." In case you have missed it, Smith has a competitive streak unsurpassed by any three-year-old in history. "And unless you finish your chili," I continued, "your toots won't be as loud or big as mine."

And that was all it took. Smith grabbed his spoon with conviction and dug in. He ate his chili in heaping spoonfuls, cramming his mouth with beans until sauce dribbled down his chin. After every few bites, Smith stood up on the couch, clenched his fists, flared his nostrils, and flexed his tooting muscles. "Watch this," he dared me. Right then I thought to myself, "this is parenting at its finest."

Just a Joke

Smith has many strengths. Compliantly brushing his teeth is not one of them. Even though it is part of the nightly routine and he must know it is coming, more times than not Smith ardently resists brushing his teeth. A few nights ago, it was getting to be that time, so I took Smith by the hand and we made the long walk up the stairs to the bathroom. Smith turned to me and said, "Dad, can we brush teeth first?" I should have immediately known something was wrong.

We got to the bathroom, situated ourselves next to the sink, and procured Smith's teeth brushing implements: a Spiderman toothbrush and the Superman sparkle toothpaste. Smith said, "Dad, this time I want LOTS of toothpaste on it." "Well, okay," I said, dumbly. I generously lathered the toothbrush. Then Smith said, "Dad, this time I want to do it by myself. You go sit over there." "Well, okay," I said, dumbly, again. I went and sat on the edge of the bath tub. Smith grinned from ear to ear. He put the toothbrush in his mouth, and began brushing, and he began laughing. He brushed faster and faster, while laughing harder, and harder, until his mouth, cheeks and chin were covered with blue foam. Then, he took the toothbrush out of his mouth, cocked his arm back, and rifled the toothbrush at me hitting me squarely on the forehead. Used, frothy toothpaste splattered across my shirt and face. It was one of those moments when my temperament changed from calm and ordinary to a jaw clenching, teeth-gritting fury in an instant. And Smith was laughing hysterically.

I was about to open my mouth and let the rage erupt, but Smith interrupted. "Dad, Dad, Dad, wait. I've got to tell you something. It was just a joke."

Boom.

"Monsters and Boys" by Smith

Once there was a little boy and he found a yellow monster, and he didn't eat him up.


Then there was another boy who didn't have a name. Then there was a monster.


Then there was another boy and he was walking in water, but not mud water.


Once there was another boy who was walking, walking in the mud water because there was a monster.


There was a caterpillar monster and another boy.


This is a monster. This is a boy.


Once there was a monster and a boy walking on a big snake (that wasn't real) and a mean monster.


Trick or treat. There was a boy and he was hanging upside down.


There were two monsters. There was a little boy walking in sinking water mud. He hopped out and there were two monsters.


These are bug boys. Once there [was] a bug boy who was flying who ate a worm. And he chomped and chewed, and there was a lighthouse.

THE END

More Vocabulary

1. Uhcuz
2. What you said?
3. Champylin
4. Pewter
5. Blasick
6. A mungus
7. Cartoon neck wurt
8. Fortend
9. Prilly please
10. Why-eee

First Signs of Easter

Whitley: Smith, did the easter bunny come this morning?

Smith: Yes, he did!

Whitley: You haven't gone downstairs to look yet, so how do you know?

Smith: Because we got new haircuts, and I am wearing clean underwear.

I Think He Is Mocking Us . . . .

Part One
Smith: Dad, she is such a butt. Oh, sorry Dad, I said butt. I'll stop saying butt.
Me: Okay, Smith, just stop.
Smith: I know Dad. No more saying butt.
Me: Fine, Smith.
Smith: Right, no more butt.

Part Two
Smith: Dad, I just went to the bathroom, but I don't need to wash my hands because I didn't touch my wiener. Uh oh . . . I just said wiener.
Me: Smith! Where did you learn that???
Smith: I dunno. Is wiener funny?
Me: No!
Smith: Okay Dad, I won't say wiener any more.
Me: Stop!
Smith: Dad, I already stopped saying wiener in the first place!

Part Three
Smith: Oh damn . . . um . . . I didn't just say damn. I'm not saying damn.
Dad: Smith, you are still saying it.
Smith: No, Dad, I don't ever say damn.
Dad: [confounded silence]

UPDATE: Finger Quotes

Whitley, my self-appointed editor, critic, and voice inside my head (thanks Whit!), brought to my attention that Smith began forming finger-quotes at approximately the same time he spent six straight days with his cousin Chase. Chase, for his age group, is officially the world's foremost expert in all things dinosaur. In this vein, Chase adopted what I call the "two-finger T-Rex slash." Chase executes the two-finger T-Rex slash by tucking his elbows tightly into his sides, raising his forearms to imitate the T-Rex's disproportionately short arms, forming claws with his index and middle fingers, and then slashing repeatedly across his victim's torso.

Whitley believes that instead of forming finger quotes, Smith has actually been imitating Chase's two-finger T-Rex slash. According to Whitley, rather than speaking animatedly with his fingers, Smith has actually been pretending to be a dinosaur. I am not convinced-but not because I don't think Smith copies Chase. For example, I attribute the following phrase, which Smith said to me the other day, to cousin Chase: "Dad, I am the dinosaur and you are the meat. [Chomp, chomp, into my stomach.] Now, here comes the blood. . . ."