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.