Holy Dickens!

Joe-Henry finishes kindergarten this week. I am confident that this summer will go by both too quickly AND too slowly for both of us. My voracious learner has read over 400 books in kindergarten and during testing read at 138 wpm with no errors and full comprehension. Gone are the days when we could spell things out that we didn't want him to understand. Looooong gone.

I have him signed up for two weeks of swimming lessons, a sports camp (with me) where he can play different things and find out if he likes any of them, and two weeks in California visiting Grandma and Grandpa. We've got plans for the Library and learning to tie shoes and doing experiments and going to the Science Museum and the Children's Museum. But I am already pooped thinking about how I will keep him occupied and involved with other kids his age.

He needs stimulation and interaction, like all kids. I feel like we've been riding some gentle waves and now we're entering the headwaters of childhood: Playdates, stricter rules, more structure on my part. He thrives on it, whereas before he could entertain himself for hours with a trainset, he needs more guidance, not less. My little boy, who couldn't write his name in September, now writes letters to people, signs his name to everything and has a vocabulary that trumps a lot of twenty somethings. He is also beginning to understand the power of words. "Shut up" is forbidden in our house, and is worse than a curse word. "Crap", "Damn it", "Goddamn It", and "Shoot" apparently are all kind of the same in his mind. So he's come up with some alternatives, my favorite being "Holy Dickens!" But because of some huge lapse in parental guidance on our part, the F-bomb is hysterically funny to him. The night before Father's Day he is signing the card to his dad, and he writes "Happy", then "F", then looks at me with wild eyes. "Mom. Could I write, you know, the bad word that starts with 'F'. On the card?" "No, Bud. That's not a nice thing to say." "I know. But it's funny, right? Could I leave a message on Dad's phone?" I shake my head. "Well, could I just say it? To you? Out loud?" The look on his face is pleading and angelic, and I know that if I say no, it will become far too powerful a word, and he'll start using it out of my earshot, like verbal heroin. "Okay. But only here in your room, with me."

His eyes light up and he mimes getting out his cellphone and dialing a number. "I have to leave a message. 'You've reached my new number. I'm not here right now. Leave a message after the beep'" He is beside himself laughing at this point, and he says "Hi Dad! It's me, Joe-Henry. I'm just calling to say 'Happy Fuckers Day! Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck!'" At this point, he's spent, from laughing so hard. And I'm exhausted from keeping a straight face.

"I know I'm not supposed to say it, Mom. Thanks for letting me." It's out of his system for now. He knows not to say it at school, or anywhere else for that matter. Hopefully it won't come up again for a while. I know that's completely wishful thinking.

Of course I told Charley later. "Man. I wish I had that message on my cell phone."

As for me, I can't stop saying Holy Dickens!

potty mouth

You may have noticed a trend here in the last few days. Things are being said by Joe-Henry that might lead one to believe that we live in a truckstop, with foul-mouthed, white trash folks popping in and out that are filling my boy's mind with words that are only used by lazy adults with limited vocabularies.

Well, I have to tell you, we don't. I do my best to limit my cursing, because I think it's a sign of ignorance. But I'm not proud of the fact that he's learned most of them from me, usually when I find a cat poop surprise in the basement. Still, I was kind of stumped as to why certain things were flying out of his mouth. I mean, really, he's kind of a goody-goody, like me, and wants so much to do the right thing at all times. He's forever reminding anyone who says "Oh my God", that they should opt for the much nicer "Gosh", and if I do happen to let slip a curse while cleaning up after the cat, or in traffic, he reminds me to use nicer words. When I reprimanded him about his Bush comment, he felt so bad that he'd used a bad word. I have never said anyone was a "fuck" (or "fucker" for that matter) in front of my son, nor has his dad. But he must have heard one of us use it at some point, so he just thought it would probably be a good thing to say to stay in the conversation. Because he's just smart that way, I guess.

But last night, when he made his comment about how his feet smelled like "ass", I couldn't figure out where it had come from. But I just got it. He's been watching "Ice Age: The Meltdown", and I heard one of the characters say "your breath smells like ants." and at the same time I saw the 100 watt lightbulb go off over Joe-Henry's head. He actually said "ANTS! It smells like ANTS!" Then he said, "Mom, I thought they were saying ASS! But that's not really nice, is it?"

No, but it IS pretty funny.

So in case any of you were thinking that Joe-Henry needs to have his mouth washed out with soap, or more importantly, that he needs to find some parents with more sense and less trash talk, rest assured, we've got it under control.

At least, gosh darn it, I hope so.

Joe-Henry for President

We've been celebrating President's Day somewhat differently at our house. Well, to begin with, we didn't celebrate at our house. We celebrated at Grandma and Grandpa's house in California. By the beach. Sweet! I'm sure that's what they had in mind when they came up with this holiday - "Yeah, verily, and we shall crowd the nations byways and skyways with children on holiday from school, and they shall remember the founding fathers, and be thankful." Or something like that.

Then of course, there is the general, um, how to put this politely...distaste? for our current leader. That's just in our house, of course. But G&G don't care for him much either. So when dear leader showed his mug on the news the other night, Joe-Henry said, in his best grown up, authoritarian voice "President Bush is Such a Fuck."

With all the air sucked out of the room, I quickly put on my mommy hat and chided, quietly, "Joe-Henry!", which completely dissolved him. He was trying so hard to be part of the conversation with the grown ups, and I reminded him, quickly, that he wasn't. I later told him that I was sorry, not for reminding him not to say that word, but for embarrassing him, and for using the word in front of him, at some point, so that he could pull it out of his arsenal in front of his grandparents. I told him it wasn't a good word for a six year old to use, but that if he WAS going to use it, he used in the proper context (although I didn't add that he should have added an "er" on the end). And I agreed with him. About the president.

Anyhoo, today in the car he said, "Mom, I think I want to be President. I think I'd be good at it." "Would you?" I asked. "It's a hard job. What would you do that would make you a good President?" Here, Ladies and Gentlemen, is the first draft of his stump speech....
"First, I'd fire President Bush. Then I'd be kind to everybody. I'd be a good worker, I'd tell people it's important to save their money, and not just spend it all on one thing. I'd tell everybody to be good, to be nice to each other like Martin Luther King, and cooperate with each other. I'd also say it's important to spell words correctly."

That's my boy. He's got my vote.