Between the two kids, our place has become a virus manufacturing plant, which is always rough for Little Sis and amps my germophobic anxiety into a hand scrubbing, mask-wearing Defcon 1. Last week, Little Dude was enjoying a wet, redfaced cough– the “owie” kind. After a bout that looked pretty uncomfortable, I asked if it hurt.

“No, but it makes my throat frustrated.“

We’ve got a flagstone path that wraps from the front of the house and into a flagstone patio in the back. It’s cool and all, but to a four year old it’s an open invitation to a rock and sand excavation buffet. We’ve tried to be vigilant on not allowing the little dude to play palaeontologist and dig up the sandy grout, but sometimes he’s sneaky. After a day out and about, Little Dude was stoked to show me the rocks he’d collected. As he laid them all out, I noticed one rock was flat and nicely shaped for use in, say, a flagstone path.  I tried to be as innocently clueless as possible.

“Oh, this one is cool. Where’d you find it?”

“I found it in my rock collection.”

Pause. Realization.

“Oh, maaaan. I shouldn’t have said that.“

When Little Dude goes to bed, it’s usually 10 minutes or so and he’s lights out. We also know Little Dude has a confectionery sixth sense.  The other night Little Dude had been in bed for at least 25 minutes when my inner fat guy put discretion in a headlock and gave it noogies ’til it cried “Make me cookies!”. Not one to argue, I decided to make some cookies. And by that I mean Lady-Friend did all the work because she’s awesome.

At the first “clang” of the mixing bowl being pulled from cabinet, a voice called out from Little Dude’s room:

“Save some for me!!”

Little Dude started soccer last week. Lady-Friend was at a photo shoot and came late, so at the end of the game we split up to leave in separate cars. I figured Little Dude would ride home with “Mama” but as I crossed the road to get to the truck, he came tearing after me– not bothering to look as he bolted into the road. Fortunately, the street was residential, traffic was slow and the guy in the oncoming minivan saw what was going on. Unfortunately for the driver of the van, he saw me become “That Guy” as I gave Little Dude a mistakenly loud, “Really? In public?” chastising.

Feeling stupid as we hopped into the car, I apologized.

“No, Papa! It’s good that you did that. You’re still perfect.“

Little Dude has taken on the role of official household fly killer. Last Saturday, a chump fly wandered inside and landed on a window. Little Dude was on it. He sprinted to the fly swatter, crept up to the window and quickly sent the fly on a one way trip to fly heaven. It was kind of impressive.

“Wow– Nice job, My Man!”

“Yeah! I didn’t even practice! I just aimed and fire, fire, fire! That’s what flies get if they come in houses. I smacked his bum up.“

The other night we had chard for dinner. Chard. I like it, but Little Dude wasn’t having it and after fighting him to try some, he let us know what was up.

“Chard tastes like a dead octopus.”

As I was putting Little Dude to bed the other night, he went for a gold medal nose pick. He must have felt a need to explain after seeing my germophobic disgust:

“I pick my nose when I’m in bed. Because I’m so bored and because there’s boogers up there.”

Last week we had a 5.0 earthquake. Very exciting stuff. Little Dude was nervous, but we talked him down and explained that while they may be scary, they’re normal. Apparently, he’d been doing some personal soothing as well. As I tucked him in, he began explaining what earthquakes were all about.

“Earthquakes are blessings.”

“They are?”

“Yeah, it’s Jesus talking to you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, when we had our earthquake he was talking to us.”

“Really? What’d He say?”

“Obeeeey the commaaaaandmeeeents.“

Speaking of religion, Little Dude has been getting a dose of the Old Testament lately– the really cool Cecile B. Demille stuff where Moses delivers a mighty haymaker to the Egyptians. Little Dude wasn’t familiar with the slave/master relationship going on, so Lady Friend explained the concept to him. It must have stuck– he quickly used it for ammunition when Lady-Friend asked him to vacuum up a mess he’d made after tearing apart a Styrofoam ball in the living room and down the hallway.

After protesting for a few minutes, he melted down and let her have it:

“You’re like a woman that does slaves! You just sit around and enjoy and do nothing!”