I typically have zero to do with car maintenance but Chuck was out of town and unable to get the tires rotated, so that little task fell to me yesterday afternoon. The mechanic we use is a little locally-owned place away from the center of town. Tire rotation takes only minutes (thank goodness) so the boys rode along with minimal complaints.
That is, until we crossed a few main roads into the older part of the city.
Jeremy: “Oh great, I don’t like coming over here. It smells likes cigarettes and old people.”
Jackson: “Old people aren’t scary.”
J1: “I didn’t say they were scary. They just smell different. And cigarettes smell even worse.”
J2: “Yeah, I don’t like cigarettes. But I like old people.”
J1: “I like them too, Jack. I didn’t say I didn’t like old people! I just said they smell different.”
J2: “Okay! Well I LIKE old people!”
J1: “JACK. I didn’t SAY I don’t LIKE old people! Can’t you hear me?”
J2: “YES. OKAY.”
J1: “They just smell different.”
There’s a moment of silence, and then Jackson adds: “Yeah, but they aren’t scary.”
What? You don’t like swimsuit shopping with your mother?
It’s not like I took them into the dressing room or anything. I perused the sales racks and then moved along to other things, but in those few minutes you would’ve thought I performed a chorus line in a two-piece across the aisles of Kohls.
Geez, boys. Get a grip. It could be worse. In fact, it’s going to get A LOT worse when you have girlfriends. I’ll make sure of it.
Yesterday I started our casual French lessons by teaching the boys the days of the week. Lundi, Mardi, Mercredi… etc. Today is lundi. Tomorrow, it will be mardi.
Massive giggling. Lots of laughter. Saying the words in funny voices to make them sound even more funny. Synchronized jumping with each flashcard. Then someone farted and it went downhill from there.
Afterward I sent them to bed and wished them a bon nuit and then wondered if I’m completely wasting my time. Is this how it’s going to be? Is everything that stinking funny? I’m SO OVER POTTY HUMOR.
By the end of the night I convinced myself to keep going. This is an experiment, after all, not a course for semester credit. They may not retain a single noun or verb, but at least I know that going into it. I just need to take the pressure off and chill.
Of course, these efforts may pay off years from now when I make them read Le Petit Prince and they’ll remember that summer Mom introduced them to the days of the week in French. They might remember some colors and numbers or how to introduce themselves and say “please” and “thank you.” If that’s what we get out of it, great. For that, I suppose I can tolerate a little more laughter and subsequent potty humor.
But not much more potty humor. No, I think I’m about done with that.
Parquet flooring may be dated but I love how nostalgic it is. It’s the hardwood floor of my childhood, and I don’t anticipate changing it out anytime soon. (It just needs a little love.)
Our foyer is as wide as the main living room, and right now it’s completely empty because we have nothing to put in it, making it a perfect play area.
Just beyond the foyer is the den, and wedged in between the two rooms is the hideout. Jeremy is standing on the ladder.
We’ll be working on that space this week, painting and such. Do you know the family password to get inside?
The boys finished two weeks of swim lessons yesterday and both of them did very well, despite a few obstacles.
I brought my camera (because I always bring my camera!) and the boys’ reactions were classic.
Jackson: “Mom! Look at me!”
Jeremy: “Mom! You’re embarrassing me!”
Now that swim lessons are out of the way, we are ready to parlais français. On y va!