It's Treat Day. The one day a week when I set my alarm for 5:40 only to awaken, with joy, at 4am to begin the eat fest. Honest to [your fave Deity]. I cannot express the importance food has in my life now. I used to just cram it without thinking. Now I calculate, perserverate and obsess about Treat Day and all it has coming for me.
First World Problems.
So I lept happily from bed at 5am, turned on the oven for my weekly cinnamon buns, and started to brush ye olde teeth. Only, Kiddo #2 arrived on the scene, eyes squinting and stumbling around in the blinding light of the bathroom.
Me: Honey, you should go back to bed.
Kiddo #2: No. It's morning.
Me: Well, not mostly.
Kiddo #2: You're up.
Me: Yes. But the sun isn't up.
Kiddo #2: I'll keep you company until it is.
Me: Oooooook.
So I got dressed and headed to the kitchen with 3 year-old in tow. As he sat there sipping his (organic, soy) milk, I could see him energizing for the day. This would normally be awesome-- his dance parties are legendary. However, at 5:40 in the morning, they're noiseier than they ought to be, so I distracted him with the bazillion magnets on the fridge.
He turned on the Leapfrog letter thing and out screamed "Le H est muet, comme dans hibou. Chaque lettre fait un son, le H est muet." He then started the English one and the two of them began a remix of letter sounds. I turned off the machines (which already woke the tippy-tappy dog) and told him to put the letters on the floor and we'd sound them out.
I can only assume he's learned his letters from his sister, or Miss Jenn, our beloved caregiver. While I take full responsibility for Kiddo #1's phonemic awareness at an early age, I have absolutely NO clue how Kiddo #2 has learned a dang thing. Honestly. I don't think I've even taught him how to brush his teeth.
I was busy,
I was occupied with Kiddo #1,
I was a wreck from mono,
I was finishing my masters
I was...
... insert whatever preoccupation I had while I was supposed to be teaching Kiddo #2 anything.
So, if you were the one who taught him all this stuff, thanks cuz you've been doing a great job.
Me: Let's spell Dad.
Kiddo #2: D-d-d-ayh-ayh-ayh-d-d-dd
And then he put the letters down on the floor.
In the right order.
I nearly shit my pants.
Me: Uh, let's spell dog.
Kiddo #2: D-d-d-d-ahh-ahh-ahh-g-g-g
Like, wtf? Who taught him all his letter sounds?
Me: Let's spell cat.
Kiddo #2: K-k-k-ayh-ayh-ayh-t-t-t
Me: Ha! Well, it's the other letter that sounds like K.
Kiddo #2: Oh. C.
Shit. I figured I'd trick him with that one.
Me: Let's spell Mom.
Kiddo #2: Ha. Mmmmm-ahh-ahh-ahh-Mmmm
Me: Nice. Ok. The cinnamon buns are ready. Want one?
Kiddo #2: Nah. I'll have a banana.
Frick! Who is teaching this kid so much stuff? He's choosing a better breakfast, he's spelling and sounding out words? What next?
Kiddo #2 normally has hockey on Saturday mornings while I take Kiddo #1 to her swim practice, so we don't normally have this extra time together. But this morning showed only swim. So when Kiddo #1 arrived on the scene, I decided I'd let Husband sleep in, with actual silence, and take everyone with me.
I left Kiddo #2's brilliance on the floor and, through a complex series of charades, got the kids dressed and out the door to the swim practice without waking Husband.
When we came back, of course, I had to pee like a mad woman. It was 9:30am; it took a lot of time to get the kids dressed and ready when I was only miming. Turns out Marcel Marceau was a much more gifted actor than I gave him credit for. While I mimed putting on underwear and pants, they guessed: getting a mermaid tail, boxing a kangaroo, painting a picture of a whale and Netflixing Lego cartoons. Admittedly, I think that last guess was simply a request, but I ignored it. Also, a 3 and 6-year old are not logical guessers-- my charades skills are above reproach.
But when we got home, Husband was sitting at the kitchen table. I ran off to pee and when I returned from the bathroom, he had been joined at the table by both the children. As I walked in, feeling relieved, the children began to giggle hysterically. Husband looked impishly at his cup.
Me: What?
Husband: Nothing. Nothing at all.
Kiddo #1: Nope. Nothing at all.
Me: Kiddo #2. What's going on?
Kiddo #1: Nothing. No-thing. Just ... you ... smell.
Kiddo #2: YOU SMELL LIKE GRU'S SOCKS!
And then all three of them erupted into peals of laughter.
Then Husband said, "Shh. Shh. Ok. Hold on. Knock knock."
Me: Who's there?
Husband: Mom
Me: Mom who?
Husband: Mom Stinks!
And then all three of them erupted into peals of laughter, again.
I looked around for hidden cameras and start opening the windows.
Husband: What are you doing? It's -14 out!
Me: Yeah, well, clearly there's a gas leak and you three are in the end stages of poisoning.
Husband: Nope. I have it on very good authority that you stink.
Me: Really?
Husband: Yep. The entire floor agrees with us, actually.
And that's when I finally noticed that my loving, caring husband put the letters for "stinks" under Mom.
You know what stinks?
Love stinks.
Crazy, stinky Love.
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