The last few months I’ve been a little delinquent in providing my colorful summarizations of my family life. This is due to the increased neediness of my employer. As of late, it seems like a majority of our workforce are becoming increasingly inept at answering their own questions. As a result, I’ve spent an inordinate amount of time answering phones calls, emails, and drop in visits. My evenings at home are spent trying to catch up on my longer term projects to make progress and not get demoted.

So my creative writing time has been victimized by the man once again.

But I have a few topics about Son #1 that I just need some time to get after. And tonight, after checking my work email, I reached a critical mass on it all. No work tonight, let’s write a little something that puts the value of the innocent conversations with Son #1 in perspective.


Today’s entry is about the little gems that Son #1 innocently yields in conversation and sometimes in a cold and calculated way. If you spend enough time or observe from a safe distance (which I recommend), you’ll begin to understand that he has an innate way of capturing the moment. And typically, it’s an uncanny set of words that may not work in the classic form of grammatical rules but strangely pass for catchy phrases that emphatically communicate a specific cognitive thought or emotion.

If you have at least two kids, you’ve most likely experienced the ugly reality between your kids that is competition. It’s over everything; pop tarts, fish crackers, squirt guns, buckets, blankets, stuffed animal rats, and toothbrushes. So this may be more of my personal experience on this matter. Our two kids are generally pretty good friends and typically share with each other. It usually works out well because Son #1 likes to play with Son #2’s toys and Son #2 likes to play with Son #1’s toys. However, there’s the occasional occurrence when both want what the other has. The result isn’t pretty. Typically, there’s a physical confrontation with the younger instigating and poking the older usually goading by saying,”Angry, angry, angry.” What happens next is the older shoving, pushing, or hitting the younger. There’s an awkward moment of silence and then the younger begins waling and his tears flow like the mighty Mississippi. At that point, you hear Son #1 in a loud and projecting voice, “What’s wrong?” The fact that there’s screaming followed by a voice that’s purposefully loud for adults to hear incriminates Son #1. Anytime you hear, “What’s wrong?” in a projecting voice, you can be sure the older blasted the younger. Of course, he will deny it.

Son #1 wasn’t born with the gift of grace. One would say that he has his mother’s sea legs. The poor kid just has the worst luck when it comes to walking, running, or standing. It’s not that he lacks athletic ability. It’s quite the opposite. He’s got a motor that doesn’t quit. The real problem is that he and inanimate (and immobile) objects are his sworn enemies. To complicate matters, he and his younger brother are compelled to run laps around the first floor of our home. This can be disastrous given the walls, corners, furniture, and floors. That’s right. I said floors. But you can substitute in any horizontal walking surface. Floor, ground, sidewalks, etc. Here’s how things play out; Son #1 and Son #2 decide to ‘race’ each other. With each lap around the house, the level of excitement is noted by the increase in the volume of the screeching. This increased volume is directly proportional to the decrease in situational awareness. The next is what I like to term, ‘man-down.’ For some reason, the floor reaches up and grabs him and hurls him to the Earth. It’s hard to not laugh but that only makes the situation worse. Son #1 takes no accountability and quickly blames the floor, “Bad floor!” If it’s a chair, it’s “Bad chair!” I think you get the theme here. I’ll give him this, he can yell loud. He goes from zero to pissed off in seconds after the floor or chair grabs him.

It’s not always about causing diversionary tactics by suggesting his younger brother has some sort of malady or about casting blame on inanimate objects due to his lack of spatial awareness. Sometimes it’s about coining new phrases that can be used in every day vernacular regardless of context. Son #1 doesn’t do this by design. It’s quite the opposite. In fact, he has a tendency to sit and mumble unintelligible words, sounds and gibberish over and over again while he sits next to you, eats at the dinner table, or rides in the car. It’s flippin' annoying. BUT…(and we all like big buts)…Son #1 has the knack of creating annoying jingles and slogans. A couple weeks back on some nondescript night, I was whipping up a gourmet dinner of chicken strips and French fires while Son #1 was jabbering away in the living room working on a creative project. And whether he had an accident or not I don’t know, all I heard was a high pitched cartoon-like sound of him screeching, “Uh-oh my pants!” Now it wasn’t in terror or concern. It was in humor over his accident and sounded like a robot chipmunk geeked out on jet fuel. And it’s not that he did anything to his pants, but when I heard the phrase, I pissed myself with laughter which only made him say it again and again. The truly funny part of it all is how “Uh-oh my pants!” is an applicable exclamation in all social situations no matter what the context. Think. You are at the bar and annoying fat girl is talking your ear off. “Uh-oh my pants!” and you’re out of there. At Thanksgiving dinner and you don’t like the gravy. “Uh-oh my pants!” and you’re back in the living room watching the football game. Your wife wants you to wash the dishes, “Uh-oh my pants!” and you’re in the safety of your own space.


Words. That’s what Son #1 is about. Saying and using words; in a calculated and sometimes unintelligible way. Some I can't even write here which is pretty awesome. I guess I’m not all that different.