Actual conversation with my son

…who, remember, isn’t yet three.

SETTING:  The boy has just gotten up, and I’m getting him changed and dressed.

HIM:  Daddy, are you a teacher?

ME:  Yes.

HIM:  Why?

ME:  I have no idea.

HIM:  But you’re a teacher?

ME:  Yes.

(Several minutes pass; various early-morning toddler things happen.  I ponder the chain of events leading up to that question; I have never said the words “Daddy is a teacher” to my son, and I’m not sure he knows what the word means.  He decides he wants a chocolate graham cracker for breakfast, a request which is denied until other, more appropriately breakfasty foods are eaten.)

HIM:  Chocolate graham cracker!

ME:  No.

HIM:  But I want chocolate graham cracker!

ME:  No.  You can have a chocolate graham cracker once you eat some cereal or a squeeze pack.

HIM:  But I want chocolate graham cracker!

ME:  Kenny, do you remember asking me if I was a teacher a few minutes ago?

HIM:  Yes.

ME:  This means that I am used to disappointing children who want things, and that I don’t care even a little bit when I do it anymore.

(He contemplates this for a moment.)

HIM:  …I want raisins.

Exeunt.

CORN!

photoWe went to one of the local Chippleday’s for dinner tonight.  Turns out the boy really, really likes corn on the cob.  I posted the picture on Facebook prior to putting it here; one of my friends said something about how great the kid’s eyes looked.  That, folks, is the glassy-eyed stare of a hardcore addict.  He had no idea there was anyone else in the room with him while he had that corn on the cob in front of him.  I was concerned he was going to drop it if we didn’t cut the corn off the cob; silly me, the kid didn’t even put it down until it was almost all gone.

A side note: I’m fat, I know this; I’ve been fatter and thinner at various points in my life, and I will be both fatter and thinner than I am now at other points in my life.  What I am not, however, is hugely broad.  I’m wider than a lot of guys but I can think of quite a few that I know who are much wider than me– and I outweigh some of them.  This is all just to say that the width of the urinals at Chippleday’s borders on criminal, in addition to the sin of being the purely evil toilet-bowl-set-into-the-wall style.   I had to keep my arms in front of my body in order to fit, and had I decided to toss my elbows out to the sides I probably could have smashed the divider right out of the wall.

“Why didn’t you just use the stall?” is a question I’ll leave to smarter people.


Random, quick note: We’ve been watching our way through the first season of Deadwood for the last couple of weeks– which I’ve actually seen before, but not for long enough that I remember the finer details.  I mention it now just to point out that I think I have a healthier appreciation than most for profanity well-used, and the dialogue in Deadwood is a fucking masterclass in how to use profanity in dialogue.  There isn’t a character on the show that I wouldn’t be perfectly happy to hear reading the phone book so long as the show’s writers sprinkled some appropriately salty modifiers in there somewhere.   I almost don’t care about the actual plots of the episodes; I could just listen to these folks talk forever.


One more note: I’ve decided to try and win this.