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."