Van is my 6 year old son. He is quite serious, very observant and strives to “do the right thing”. Since February, I have been keeping an ongoing log of things that he says that crack me up.
We are sharing a roll of all cherry flavored Life Savers.
Van: (Sternly) “Let me tell you something….You can get rolls of Life Savers with several different flavors. This, this, with all the cherry, this is no good. ”
Van wakes up Sunday morning and turns on the TV to watch cartoons. He doesn’t know how to turn the channel. About 20 minutes later I get up. Blinking blearily at TV.
Me: “Van. Do you want me to change the channel?”
Van: “I don’t think you should. Obama is on.”
I look at TV, he is watching a black minister speaking at a church service.
Van eyes plate of sausage links, says, “Here, let me help you with that.” Proceeds to arrange them in a pattern of checkmarks. “There you go.”
Van: “We haven’t had art class in like 20,000 days.”
Me: “Really? Is your teacher sick maybe?”
Van: “No, I think our bunnies are being roasted.”
(as near as I can figure out – clay bunnies getting fired in a kiln… i hope)
Van: “I’m done with shirts.”
Van has written the word “cupcake” on his headboard in huge letters with a black sharpie so that when he wakes up it will remind him to make cupcakes. We really need to have a convo about Post Its.
He also just asked me if I had any “ointment”. huh?
He is telling me a story about a friend, and I say, “Oh, he sounds like a good friend.” And he says, “No. He is my gigantic, humongous friend.”
We took a hike today… lately we have been taking a trash bag because he is *obsessed* with picking up trash. including broken glass, fishing hooks, you name it. It actually is making it hard to take a hike because he won’t budge unless we pick the trash up. Today, we exited the trail to a playground, and he runs over, picks up a piece of trash, shakes fist in the air dramatically, and screams, “Blast you! You littering scumbags!!” I look up to see three or four families staring at us. Thanks Earth Day.
Also on the hike, he is scratching (down there) a lot. So I ask, “Van do you have to go to the bathroom?” and he says, “No. When it’s hot outside, my penis gets dried out.” Yeah, sure. OK.
I told him that he looks so tired, he probably doesn’t even know what day it is. He looks back at me, “It’s Sunday”.