Wilder by Far

A look at life with the Wilder family. Updated most weekends and some vacation days. You can contact me at movingnorth@gmail.com..

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Wednesday, August 23, 2006

"A hundred million terrorists in the world and I kill one with feet smaller than my sister." - Bruce Willis, Die Hard

This picture will make sense in a minute. I promise.

Election day (for the primaries) has passed. That’s nice. Now instead of Republican bickering, I can hear Republican vs. Democrat bickering. It’s less like sibling rivalry and more like a good neighbor feud. If we’re lucky, maybe there’ll be a bare-knuckle brawl, or at least some dog poop thrown over a fence or two.

I can (for this brief moment) listen to the radio and not hear ads indicating I should (or shouldn’t) vote for someone based upon their (alleged) acne problem when they were fifteen, or how a candidate doesn’t love children as much as the other or . . . I’ll stop here so I don’t give people ideas.

I still get the regular ads on radio, but they’re somewhat harmless. Mostly.

I was giving The Boy and Pugsley a bath the other night. The Boy was talking, as usual. Mostly I tune it out, because the last thing I don’t want to be known as is a parent who cares. It’s a weakness kids can turn against you.

In this case, The Boy lifted his right foot out of the water and pointed at his heel.

The Boy: “Why does alcohol hurt you here?”

This was interesting. I decided to see where it would go.

Me: “What??”

The Boy: “Alcohol hurts your feet-us.”

Me: “Ohhhhhhhh.”

The Mrs. allows The Boy to listen to a (monitored) number of local radio stations. On one of the stations, a public service announcement runs that indicates, “Any amount of alcohol is dangerous to your fetus.” (I almost spelled it feet-us just now). I recalled this and chuckled.

Me: “No, alcohol won’t hurt your feet, unless you’re running naked down an alley at 2AM and you stub your toe in the dark.”

The Boy: “What?”

Me: “Never mind. Long story.”

Then comes the long explanation of what a fetus is. Actually it was short. Wikipedia to the rescue! The clean pajama-clad The Boy and I looked at a picture posted there from Leonardo daVinci (okay, he didn’t post it, somebody else did, but it was his sketch) and The Boy understood. The Boy said, “Oh, it’s a baby.”

Maybe I should have waited to tell him. Say, just after college graduation. But he’d probably be faster than me then, because he had good feet-us.


Blogger Dame Koldfoot said...

Will the wikipedia have the answer when the boys ask you why Mom has a special cupboard filled with bright pink boxes just for her in the bathroom? Glad I have girls--that talk is all part of the game plan.

2:29 PM  
Blogger Woofwoof said...

I am glad you spared us the "long story."

7:30 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

The long story sounds better than Gilligan, Skipper, and Mr. Howell in a liquor store, please tell!!!!

9:22 AM  
Blogger SusanE said...

I love it. Nothing as fun as the world through children's eyes.

5:17 AM  
Blogger John said...

No, sadly wikipedia is silent on that subject, but The Boy, while being able to inventory my drill bits, has no interest there. Paper products . . . bah!

Well, yeah. It was a long story, except for the whole "made up" part.

Hey, it was you who wouldn't shave the mustache!!!

Yup. It keeps me young, along with that stem cell extract I drink.

7:49 PM  
Blogger Jim said...

Nice and funny.... just what I needed imagine Coke coming out my nose all over the keyboard.

'nuf said?

5:19 AM  

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