First day of Pre-school

Smith's other half, Dane

Me Too!

Smith: "Mom. Did you know I have a spinning wheel in my head?"
Mom: "Really? What does it do?"
Smith: "It spins around and tells me what kind of dessert to have."

Smith's Buddies

(Dalton, Dane, Mason and Smitty)

Our cul-de-sac is bustling with boys and Smith is loving every minute of it. After nights of begging to have a movie night with his buddies, we gave in. As you can imagine, it was crazy, and they had a blast.

Smith learns a fact of life

Today we were doing errands and Whitley really needed to go. She had her legs crossed and was bouncing up and down in the front seat of the car. Smith told her, "Mom, just go! You can just go outside!" Whitley explained with urgency, "Smith, I can't go outside, I'm a girl." Then Smith said to no one in particular, "That must be a wiener thing."

Efficient Invocation

Smith usually says the prayer before our meals. This repetition has allowed Smith to develop a standard prayer. This standard prayer always--and sometimes only--contains the following phrases: thank you for this day; thank you for my family; thank you for the food; bless it to make us healthy and strong. A couple of nights ago, maybe we were having one of his favorite meals for dinner, because he streamlined his standard prayer to the following: "Father heaven! Thank you! . . . Day! . . . Family! . . . Food! . . . Health and strong! . . . Amen!"

Here's to a Long Year

Smith: "Hey Mom. Are we going to walk down to the school to meet my teacher today too?"

Mom: "No. You aren't going to that school yet, remember?"

Smith: "But, I get to go to kindergarten when I'm five, right?"

Mom: "Well, you get to go when you're six."

Smith: "That stinks! That really stinks!"

Smith just realized that he will not be going to kindergarten this year because he has a September birthday. He's bummed. Poor kid.

You're Not Spidey....

Smith: "But Mom, I was being careful!"

Words Smith uttered as I entered his room to find the windows and screens open in the upstairs bedrooms.  He had been out climbing on the roof of the three story cabin instead of staying in his room for his time-out.   After exploring an even higher pitch of the roof, Smith got a nice scolding from his Mom and Geeps.  And thanks to Geeps, I don't think he'll try that one again.  

Smith's Recall

In Woodland, there is a canal that comes off of the Provo River with a pretty calm current and is much deeper than the river.  Graydon, Jenni ,Smith and I went to float it last Saturday.  We found a great little life jacket for Smith, some tubes and we were off.  The water was FREEZING!  We're right in the Uintahs, so it is just ice cold water.  As soon as Smitty felt the water he was immediately apprehensive and well, terrified to go down.  We got him on my lap, waved to Lainey and my parents and headed down the canal.

We didn't get very far before we had to bail, get out and walk around a low bridge.  Getting back in the water proved to more difficult than our first attempt.  The water here was much more swift and a few yards down, there was a rather large tree branch sticking half way out of the water.  Gray lost his tube, and since he was helping me with Smith, Jenni floated down to catch the tube.  She hit the branch, and continued on.  So, Smitty and I got on, and hit the same branch.  We weren't so lucky.  We flipped over backwards which sent Smith head first into the chilly water.  The problem was that I was on top of him with the tube on top of me, and because of the current, I was stuck and couldn't get him out of the water.  Graydon was only a few yards away, and saw our plight, and came to the rescue.  Safely in Gray's arms and dripping wet, Smith choked out, "This stinky life vest didn't even work!"

That was it for Smith.  We took him down a little farther to meet my parents and he high-tailed it out of there.  Jenni, Gray and I had a great time floating and shivering the rest of the way, but because of a few more trouble spots, and another tip over (Jenni), I was glad Smith had headed for dryer, warmer ground.   

Giddy-up!

Smith had a horse lesson today. During his lessons, he rides around an arena and learns to balance, do simple commands, and to get his horse, Peppy, to obey go and stop-"WHOA PEPPY!" Sue kept telling Smith to kick with his boots and "click" to get Peppy to go. Poppie and I were standing on the fence watching and saw Smith riding along on Peppy snapping his fingers like he was keeping a beat to some rhythm only known to Smith.

Sue yelled out to Smith, "Okay, Smith, kick and click." Smith gave Peppy a solid kick with his right boot and kept snapping his fingers to the mystery beat. Sue said, "Smith, I can't hear your clicks." She then realized that he was clicking with his fingers not his tongue. No wonder Peppy didn't Giddy-up at his command. Snap to it Peppy!

Protector of the Innocent

Even when we're out-of-town, in a totally different ward, Smith still does something to shock/amuse/baffle those who teach him. This story comes from our friend Sue who is the Primary president in my parents ward. She is also Smith's horse riding teacher and one of his favorite people. He absolutely loves coming to primary when she is there because she really gives him special attention (which he just eats up). Anyway, according to Sue, she was up at the front doing the sharing time activity and observed the kids making fun of one of the little Sunbeam kids. They were calling him names and telling him he had a purple face or red face. She even said one of the kids that never talks turned and told this kid that he had a black face. At this, Smith turned around from the front row to all the older kids and said, "You guys stop being mean to that kid!"

Then Smith turned to the kid sitting next to him and whispered, "But he really has a yellow face."

Are you Smith's Dad?

Sometimes, its best to answer no to this question. The last two Sundays, Smith's primary teachers have tracked us down to tell us of "Smittyisms" that occurred in church that day.

1. Two weeks ago, the kids played charades during Sharing Time. Each kid acted out something they could do to help their mom and dad. I'm sure you can imagine: one kid pretended to vacuum the floor; one kid cooked pancakes; another kid pretended to change a diaper. When it was Smith's turn, he walked up on stage, and stood completely still. He then hurried and hid behind the lectern. Then, he got on his belly and army crawled. Apparently this went on for five minutes. No one could guess what he could be doing that was supposed to be helpful to his parents. Finally, one kid yelled out, "You're a spy!" That was it. I may still have him fooled.

2. Last Sunday, a new ward member tapped my should and asked if I was Smith's dad. She told me that during class that day, she asked each kid to thank Heavenly Father for something for which they are thankful. Smith said, "Heavenly Father, I'm really thankful for the Ninja Turtle dream you gave me last night. Can I have more of those?"

Since She Runs Like Flash

Slept in the Tent

We went on a camp out near our home in Superior to Marshall Lake with some friends over the weekend. The kids had a blast and Smith's all ready for next year, promising that then he'll be five and will be brave enough to sleep with Abe and Ethan in their own tent. Sure, buddy.

Hamburger Mouth

Smitty had a little accident as we were walking through the locker rooms to leave the pool yesterday. He really smacked himself hard! Poor guy slipped and landed face first onto the tile. Luckily, he is much better today. The picture just does not do it justice. His gums are so black and blue and he has puncture marks in his lower lip from his upper teeth and a bump in the middle of his forehead.

Nobody's Perfect (according to Smith), Part Deux

This post does not signify a return to Smith's anti-Jesus phase. He just strongly correlates Jesus-the creator-with everything and anything that has been created on earth. For example, we were walking to the Boulder Farmer's Market the other day, and Smith saw a brick in the sidewalk that had eight round nubs on top. He stepped on it and said, "Look, it looks like there is a Lego in the sidewalk. Ha! Jesus must have been playing a joke."

Cool Dude?

Smith and his Dad on their way to see Kung Fu Panda.
With his hat on backwards, he boldly exclaimed, "I'm so cool, huh. I saw this really cool kid today who had his hat on backwards; it was a Sponge Bob hat. He was so cool."

Nobody's perfect (according to Smith)

Smitty and I went to see King Fu Panda last night. As we walked from the car to the theater, Smith hopped and tiptoed over the cracks in the pavement. He stopped when he saw one especially big crack, turned to me and said, "Woah, Dad, look at that humongo crack! I guess Jesus messed up making this street."

Busted

Smith called me at work today and asked what I was doing. "I'm just typing something boring," I replied. Silence filled the phone line. I wondered if Smith had hung up, since silence and Smith usually don't mesh. He spouted out, "You mean you are not going around spying on stuff?" An equally long pause ensued. I just then remembered that when he told me to quit my job and have mom make the money by going to meetings, I told him that I didn't actually go to meetings; I was a secret spy. I then swore him to secrecy, and he allowed me to continue going to work in the mornings. I tried to recover, "No, Smith, I'm really spying on stuff. I forgot you knew my secret." "Dad, I can hear you typing. You're not a spy. Bye." *Click*

The Truth Comes Out

After church today, Smith came to me, begging and pleading for some computer game time. I had taken this away from him earlier when he threw the first tantrum in the church parking lot as we were trying to rush inside to get there in time for the sacrament. And, the second tantrum began when we were finally seated, about who knows what. So, when he came to me asking for a game, I reminded him of the earlier incidents.

"But Mom. Those were fake tears."

Not so Sentimental?

Smitty had his last day of school last week. I asked him if he was sad to be leaving Peter Pan Preschool. He quickly responded with a huge "No." When asked why not? He said, "Well, Mom, next day I can visit Sue or whenever I want and Pat said she is going to come live at my house."
Oh, really?

We really will miss Peter Pan.

Nothing But Net

I found Smith on the toilet this afternoon.

"Mom. I pooped. But it didn't touch my underwear or my shorts. It just went straight through to the floor and look...(pointing right to where my barefoot stood on the bathroom floor) No marks on the floor either. Sweet. Huh."

Smithen Hawking

Last night, Smith came with me to pick up Megan the babysitter. I asked Megan what she had done that day, and she said that she went on a bike ride through the golf course. Smith piped up from the back seat, "My dad was at the golf course today." I had indeed been to the golf course on a run, but hadn't told Smith. I turned around and asked Smith, "How did you know that?" Smith replied, "My brain told me dad. I have a really big brain." Megan and I exchanged glances. The following exchange ensued:

Me: "Really? How big is your brain?"
Smith: "My brain is as big as space."
Me: "Wow. That's pretty big. But I think my brain is bigger."
Smith: "How big?"
Me: "My brain is as big as infinity."
Smith: "Dad, space and infinity are the same."

Touché.

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.