Month: May 2014

Say Whaaat?

Ever notice that, sometimes, kids say stuff that make you do a double-take, like you can’t believe what you just heard?

Shoot, I talk to B and J for long enough, and I’m saying “What!?” more often than Lil Jon.


What! OK! YEAHHHHH! Whoa, sorry. Whenever I see that guy, I feel like yelling his catchphrases.

No rhyme or reason, either. Doesn’t matter what their little moods are.  The randomness out of their mouths is always unpredictable.

See, they could be happy, like this example…

B opens the fridge, then gets excited:

‘Blackberry yogurt! Is this new? I’ve never seen this before! They don’t make pennies anymore but they make blackberry yogurt!’

(Note: I think that we mentioned to B once, months ago, that Canada discontinued the penny. Somehow, this fact stuck. Meanwhile, I tell him to tidy his room, and he tells me that he forgets how to do it.)




Or they could be mad, like this example….

B (to me, angry) – ‘Do it! Or else I’m not going to let you take me to my birthday party!’

(Note: It’s May. His birthday isn’t until December. Based on how he talks about it, though,  you’d think it was right around the corner. He also keeps inviting people, mainly strangers or kids that he just met, to come. At this rate, with his growing guest list, I’m going to have to rent out the Rogers Centre.)

Or they could be having some sibling rivalry, like this example…..

B and J are putting on their pyjamas. B picked his out.

B – ‘I’m the winner! My shorts are shorter!’

(Note: Didn’t realize that they were in a hot pants contest.  With his tight shorts that were halfway up his thigh, he looked like an NBA player in the 80s.)



B's shorts showed way more leg. Sorry, Dr. J!

B’s shorts showed way more leg. Sorry, Dr. J!


Or even when they’re feeling silly…..

Right now, B is all about the penis, and its various synonyms (the PG rated ones).  Cracks him up, he thinks they are hilarious. Thanks, B’s kindergarten class, for the anatomy lesson.

K and I told him one day that weiner was also another word for a hot dog. So of course a few days later:

B – ‘Dad, you lied. I told everyone that a hot dog was a weiner and everyone said that I was wrong.’

(Note: Who’s he talking to? How many people is everybody? The image of B telling anyone who will listen at his school about hot dogs and weiners is ridiculous, and reeks of say whatness, for real.)

Not now, famous composer Leo Weiner!

Not now, famous composer Leo Weiner!


Anyway, at least that comment was in the privacy of our own home.

Unlike this time at the grocery store…..

B  was in a shopping cart.  I’m grabbing some corn husks out of  a bin amongst a crowd of people. So this naturally led to:

B (loudly) – ‘My dad is brown! My dad is the brown one! My dad is the brown one!’

(Note: This was said to no one in particular. Hey, at least the little old ladies who were also at the corn bin weren’t confused about who his father was.)

You get the idea. Me saying ‘What?!’ comes at any given time. It could even occur during serious conversations, like this example….

Once a couple of weeks ago, while he was quietly playing with his cars:

B – ‘I’ve had beer before, right?’

Me -‘No.’

B – ‘Yeah I did. I like beer!’

Me – ‘No you haven’t! Don’t say that out loud!’

Me – ‘Yeah I did! I went to a birthday party and I tried beer. I liked it!’

Me – ‘That was pop!’

B – ‘Oh, yeah. I liked pop. Right.’

(Note: And then it was back to playing quietly, as if claiming to be an ultra underaged alcoholic was no biggie.)



Yep.  Every now and then, talking to B can make you feel like your mind is playing tricks on you, no doubt.

It’s not just B, however. J has her moments.

Like this time, a couple of weekends ago….

Me – ‘Lunch time! What do you want?’

J – ‘Chicken and fries!’

Me – ‘No. Something else!’

J – ‘Chicken!’

Me – ‘We don’t have any chicken.’

J – ‘Fries!’

Me – ‘We don’t have fries, either. Do you want a sandwich? What kind of sandwich do you want?’

J – ‘Chicken!’

Me – ”No chicken!’

She sat down at the table, so I made her a sandwich. Peanut Butter. As I brought it over to her:

J – ‘Yay! Chicken!’

(Note: Holy one track mind, Batman! Anyway, she happily ate it. Maybe she was pretending that it was chicken.)

Afterwards, I gave her a coconut cookie. As she was eating it, B, never to be out done, walked over:

B – ‘Hey, where did she get that chicken?’

Sigh. One more time, please:









deuces pic


I thought that things would be different.

Getting B to go to bed occasionally borders on ridiculous. Some of his exploits have been legend – wait for it- dary (word to Barney Stinson!). He’s a non-stop maniac.

Conversely. J has such a chill personality. I figured that once she hit the terrible twos, by comparison,  getting her to hit the sack every night would would be Easy Street.

As usual, I was wrong.

Take the the other night, for example. K had gone out, so it was just me with the kiddos. My routine evening was then, of course, interrupted by the Bedtime WTF Awards! The nominees are:


1) To encourage the kids to use the toilet before bed, we’ve been giving them little treats if they go potty. What a foolproof system, right? No possible room for loopholes.  So, with the promise of chocolate, B dutifully took a duty in one bathroom, and J took a tinkle in the other bathroom. After I gave them their chocolate, B said that he had to go again. He clearly just wanted another chocolate, and held in some poop, so he took off to the bathroom J was in previously.  Yeah, Maybe my system isn’t so foolproof, I know. J, upon realizing that there was a chance for more chocolate,  ripped off her diaper and took off to the bathroom that B was in before. I helped her onto to the toilet and had this conversation:

Me – ‘Do you have to pee?’

J (smiling, in a sing songy voice) – ‘Nooo.’

Me – ‘Do you have to poop?’

J (same goofy grinning singy voice) ‘Noo.’

Me – ‘So why are you here?’

Silence. Blank stare. Then she hopped down and walked away.


Logic: 1, chocolate loving toddler: 0.

2) After the kids’ bowels were empty, it was story time! I asked B to pick a story. He looted his book shelf…and selected the one book that wasn’t a story. It was some educational phonics workbook. I told him to try again. He did some more looting…and, with a smirk, handed me the same workbook, but upside down.:

3) I figured that I’d stay upstairs and get some important work done. And by important work, I mean stretch out in my bed and watch Lebron James work his magic. The kids were in B’s room. Suddenly, J walked into my room. She had her nightie lifted up and was wearing a pull up diaper in such a way that it somehow looked like she had crotchless panties on. I walked her back to B’s room, and saw that B was trying on different pyjamas and pull ups. I don’t know, maybe he was walking the red carpet later and wanted to pick the right outfit.

Unfortunately for B, we were out of gold body paint, for his red carpet premiere.

Unfortunately for B, we were out of gold body paint, for his red carpet premiere.

4) Anyway, I got them dressed proper after that, and left.  All was quiet for a few minutes. J then walked in my room again, but with B following her. She closed my bathroom door,  closet door, and then my bedroom door behind her as she left. I got up, went to follow them, and saw that every door was closed upstairs.

Me – ‘What is J doing?’

B aka Captain Obvious – ‘She closed all the doors, dad.’

Me – ‘Why?’

More silence. More blank stares.

5) After getting them tucked in, I left to go back to my game. I could hear the kids talking. Not long after, B ran into the playroom. Said that he wanted a couple of toys. OK whatever. Not long after that, J walked by pulling this:



I saw her loading it up with a bunch of random things. Cars, stuffed animals, a box. She then walked back with it to B’s room. Weird. At the next commercial, I went to see what the deal was. To say that it was a disaster would be an understatement. They had took apart a shoe rack from B’s closet. B had put blankets and pillows on a couple of rack pieces. He actually stacked two pieces so that one end was elevated up a bit. I have no idea what J had in mind. She had the pull toy on top of her rack, on top of her pillow. I stood there in shock, like my name was Jay-Z and my wife’s sister suddenly started pummelling me in an elevator. B climbed over the mess, wrapped himself in a blanket, and lied down on a rack:

B – ‘We made fancy beds!’

Me – ‘No more playing! No fancy beds!’

B – ‘But where can I sleep?’

Me – ‘In your bed!’


We tidied up a bit. Shockingly enough, they were fast asleep a few minutes later.

That night’s winner: Lebron. Doesn’t matter what the competition is, Lebron always wins.

That night’s loser: Me.