Owen is insane, but in a charming way. The following is a conversation that we had yesterday that cracked me up:
Me: Owen, what’s your favorite animal?
He: Um…. a zebra.
Me: What’s a zebra? I’m not sure I’m familiar with that kind of animal. Can you tell me about it?
He: A zebra is an animal that walks ahead of all the other animals and shoots apples out of it’s butt so that they have something to eat when they’re hungry.
I’m expecting a description of a horse with black and white stripes and instead, I get apples shooting out of an animal’s ass. I’m fascinated by this as I love to pick the brains of small children.
Later, once Dean gets home, I share this little story with him and he laughs and then asks Owen himself what a zebra is:
Dean: Owen…. what’s a zebra?
Dean: A zebra. Your mom told me that you guys talked about your favorite animal today and you told her it was a zebra. Tell me what a zebra is.
Owen: Oh, I’m not into zebras anymore. I’m only into monkey’s now.
Well, alrighty, then.
I once considered writing a book about the study of children and my findings, but in a humorous way. I wanted it to be like Jane Goodall and the chimps. I often find myself identifying my kids as one would identify something they don’t really know too personally. Olivia frequently becomes, “the small blond one” and Owen is referenced as, “the Sinatra looking one.” while Matt is frequently, “the big one” or “that forty year old kid”. In fact, in my house, I rarely use their names except when I’m talking directly to them. An example of this is as such:
Me: Hey, Dean… you know that one kid?
He: Which one?
Me: The small one… about ye’ high… the one with the dimples.
He: Yeah. I know that one.
Me: Today, he told me that zebras shoot apples out of their asses.
I also tend to refer to the children as “it” or “thing” a lot:
(Last night Dean and I were curled up in a bubble bath together when the small blond one wakes up and comes into the bathroom too see us. She stands there freaking out because she wants in the tub)
Me: That thing wants to take a bath with us.
Dean: I see that.
Me: It is NOT getting into the tub with us.
Dean: Most certainly not.
Olivia is trying everything she can to get into the tub. She is wearing a diaper and a nightgown and she pulls her nightgown up and sticks one leg into the tub.
Dean: Oh, hell no.
Olivia: But my legs are naked!
A huge fit ensues and Dean finally hops out of the tub and puts her back in bed. Later in the night, I get up to pee and notice that the light is on in her room as I can see the strip of it under her door. I open the door and she is passed out on the floor on top of this gigantic, stuffed cow. I can’t lift her and so Dean comes and scoops her up and puts her back in bed all tucked in.
Me: Dean… it’s asleep on the floor.
Me: Do something with it. We can’t just leave the thing lying there on that cow.
Or, when one is driving me crazy on purpose:
Me: Dean, that thing is poking me.
Dean: What thing?
Me: That kid… the one with the shaggy hair.
Dean: Owen stop poking your mother.
Owen pokes me again and grins.
Me: Dean… it’s doing it again. Make it stop.
The Sinatra looking one continues poking me until I kick his ass and then he stops and we snuggle. By “kicking his ass” I mean pouncing on him and tickling him under the armpits until he damn near pees himself laughing. This is pretty effective.
Kids are cool. Those things really make life interesting.
This morning, the large one asked me how many grandchildren I want.
It is a wonder to me that my children are as articulate and well spoken as they are considering I rarely use proper grammar around them. I tend to screw with pronouns and plural’s with them, like if Olivia looks tired and I’m rocking her in my arms, I can typically be heard saying something like, “Awww…. her is sleepy!” Or, like, if I’ve got Matt held down on the couch and I’m twisting his nipples, I’ll usually be screaming something like, “I’m gonna get him nipples!” or something along those lines.
Sometimes, I pluralize things that should not be pluralized. I frequently refer to Johnson Freckelmeyer McNasty III as “My mans.” He’ll be rubbing furiously on my ankle and I will be scratching him behind his ears and saying, “I just love my mans. Is my mans getting his ears scratched?”
We frequently speak in accents as the kids think it’s hysterical. Dean might come in the door from work and brightly say, “ello, Gov-na! Ow’s about a nice plate of spotted dick?” He also tends to put on a very Bronx accent at times as well:
“ehhh…. you want I should…eh…. get the kids they suppa?”
Or, what I commonly refer to as “The Cajun”:
“Haw hee haw haw hee haw haw!”
He’s Scottish an awful lot, too.
Or, perhaps we will just imitate certain, weird people:
“Dean, von’t you pour me le drink? No? But I am zee greatest sing-air in zee weeerld, Celeee Di-aw! And when Celeee Di-aw vants zee drink, Celeee Di-aw gets it!”
This just kills them. They’ll be in stitches, looking to furniture for support. Also one they love is when Dean and I do Ike and Tina:
Dean:”What did I say, woman! I said I want my supper! Now.. you gonna get me my supper or am I gonna have to beat you down?”
Me: “Ain’t no man’s gonna come up all in MY face and tell me to make him supper. You go on right ahead and hit me and we’ll see what happens….MMMMMMhmmmmm. You don’t scuuuure me.”
You know how in movies or television shows, people just break into song and dance and no one finds it odd? That’s us to a tee. We do this allll the time, in fact, most things in this house are sung. Dean and Olivia tend to just change the words to other songs to suit their needs where as Matt, Owen and I just make up some random crap.
Twinkle twinkle, smelly butt….
I am gonna poop on yer face.
And when I’m do-one poopin’ on yer face
then I’m gonna make you eat it.
Twinkle twinkle, smelly butt
I am gonna poop on yer face.
I’ma gooooonnnnnna eat yerrrrr cand-deee and whatcha gonna do, gonna do, gonna do when I eatcher can-deeeeee……
Matt’s are too elaborate to reconstruct.
Our life suddenly, as I write this, seems a little strange. Almost as if we all live as though we’re in a movie. It’s either very sad and pathetic or it’s wicked awesome. At any rate… it’s interesting and it’s fun.