Apr 132010
 

We’ve been putting some work into our house over the past few months. We put in a new laminate floor in the kitchen and dining room. No more carpet under our table! There’s the new fridge. And the new paint. We’re still arguing about the backsplash. We bought our first grown-up couch and recliner for the living room. Which, of course, resulted in new throw pillows and curtains. And I decided that we needed a new comforter set for our bedroom as the other one was old. I mean, we got it before we were married. Old.

I go through phases like this, where I simply want to change how things look or feel. It’s refreshing! Granted, we needed a new couch but had been waiting until the youngest of our boys was through the teething process. Teething children often wipe runny noses on furniture. It was much easier to toss a slip cover in the washing machine than to try and toss an entire couch in there or scrub it. Scrubbing boogers makes me twitchy anyway.

While FireDad had some definite opinions for our kitchen semi-remodel (no mosaic tiles on the backsplash? pfft.), he gave me full decision making ability in the bedroom. That sounds kinky but you know what I mean. For awhile, I considered the plain, reversible comforter in colors that matched our Red Wall. I wasn’t getting rid of the Red Wall and so I needed to go with things that matched or complemented the color scheme. I looked at paisleys and florals and geometric shapes. I looked at all red, red and white, red and black, black and white, taupe, green and just about every color combination that red can be paired with and not look scary. I couldn’t find anything that I wanted, looked good or was, of course, affordable.

Enter a random trip to Sears. And the sounds of angels singing.

I wasn’t even looking for a bed set that day but it found me. I was walking past it and I had to walk backward to look at it. Stripes. We like stripes. White, aqua, green (GREEN!), purple and, yes, red. The reverse side was green (GREEN!). And the throw pillows were fun as well. I waited until payday and went to buy it at our Sears only to find they were out of our size. I called my parents to have them grab it at their store as I grabbed the throw pillows and sheets. I’m so pleased with our purchase. It has brightened up our room immensely. I don’t know what to hang in the old quilt hanging spot but I’ll figure that out eventually.

I tell you all of this not because I think you’re interested in what our bedroom looks like. I tell you this because Dee sent me a link to the Best Firefighter Bed Set Ever and I am very, very sad that I already spent good money on our new set such a short time ago. I can’t even justify this as a gag gift to make FireDad’s eyes pop out.

I mean, he gave me full decision making ability. I totally should have gone with this.

Of course, FireDad does have a birthday coming up next month. I could get this for him to put on his bunk at the fire station. Right?

_
Disclosure: I wasn’t paid to share that bed set with you. I did that out of the goodness of my heart because I wanted to make my readers smile today. And/or make you choke on your coffee because you are laughing so hard. Either or, enjoy your Tuesday!

Apr 082010
 

Warning: This post contains a cuss word. Or four. Edited but evident.

This morning as I was getting BigBrother dressed for the day, he asked to wear a pair of sweater pants. In fact, the other day when we were dressing to go play out in our abnormally warm Spring weather, he asked for a pair of sweater shorts. He obviously means sweat pants and knit shorts that have the same feel as sweat pants. And, man, I’m not going to correct him because that’s too darn cute. Sweater pants. Look for it to trend in Fall 2010.

They’ve said, made up words and mispronounced lots of things over the years. The cuteness has been overwhelming at times. Like that one time when BigBrother said he wanted to have a “rocket show,” meaning a rock show. We asked him if he was a “rocket star” and he said, “No, I’m a rocket man!” Elton John would be proud. And then there was the time he was introduced to the word and concept of email. When I told him that the sound my phone was making was not, in fact, ringing but the sound it makes when I get an email, he said, “It’s your emo phone?” Maybe. It depends on who is calling. For years, BigBrother called fire trucks woo-woos. I still do sometimes.

LittleBrother, the just-as-verbal-but-shorter version of BigBrother, has been coming up with some killer mispronunciations as of late. The laughter around these parts has been infectious. Unlike BigBrother, he doesn’t often make up words (see: woo-woo) but has some adorable ways of pronouncing things. Burn comes out with a very Bahstahn like accent: boin. Purple also has a oi sound: poiple. As BigBrother recently mastered his L-sound, LittleBrother is giving a go at it and things just tumble out of his mouth, sounding cute and funny. It was all fun and cute and innocent.

Until recently.

We were playing a rousing game of Mario Kart after supper one evening when BigBrother got the lightning bolt, shrunk everyone and announced, “I SHRUNK YOU!” From across the room, LittleBrother chimed in, “YEAH! I F*CK YOU!

Insert pregnant pause here.

FireDad and I looked at each other and then at LittleBrother.

“Say shrunk.”
“F*ck.”

“Shrunk.”
“F*ck.”

“Sh.”
“Sh.”

“Runk.”
“Runk.”

“Shrunk.”
“F*ck.”

And then we made a bad parenting decision: we laughed. And when I say that we laughed, I mean we laughed so hard that our eyes watered. It was just so absurd! How do you get that from shrunk? He has always pronounced truck just fine which is usually a speech-tripping-block of humor for kids. So, we laughed. At that point, LittleBrother decided that he had found something that makes us happy and proudly walked around the house cussing it up one side and down the other.

Did I mention this was right before Easter? The Easter we were planning to spend with my very holy great-grandmother? Cue panic.

Thankfully he didn’t bust out with any shrinking commentary over Easter dinner. He did say it once over Easter weekend but not in ear shot of anyone who might have had an Apocalyptic, the-world-is-ending type reaction to a two-and-a-half-year-old with a teeny-tiny, sweet little voice dropping F-bombs. I mean, really, it is kind of funny to hear him, this happy little child, bust out with the F-word like it’s no big deal. But not funny at the same time.

Right now, we’re kind of avoiding the word. Shrunk, that is. We avoid the F-word itself on a normal basis, even if I step on a pointy toy fire truck in my bare feet. Thankfully the weather, until today, has been glorious so we haven’t been playing Mario Kart after supper. At first, we thought working with the sounds of the word separately, sh and runk, would help. But that first initial, rolling-on-the-floor laugh reaction has ruined him for life. I usually know better than to laugh. I am just mostly thankful that BigBrother wasn’t paying attention to the whole scenario and thus has not repeated the offending word. Yet.

Swinging, Not Shrinking

Something tells me this won’t be as funny when they’re 12 and 10.