Wrap with a side of disgusting

I've recently started letting Sam make his own food decisions, and then (depending on the difficulty) letting him prepare it himself. I don't keep unhealthy foods in the house, and he doesn't really know of their existence so this is a safe procedure. Today he wanted to make his own sandwich, and this is what he put on it.

Veggie Wrap
Pine nut hummus
Vegan Cheese
Raspberries
Peanut butter


Now I am all for combinations, but this looked disgusting..and he ate the entire thing.
Yesterday he dipped an entire container of strawberries in hummus and ate it for breakfast. Some of the things he eats are so gross I can't even watch. I suppose I can't judge, my favorite thing to eat when I was little was cold chicken dipped in Jif peanut butter. Jif, you know it right? It's the best peanut butter ever. I don't eat it anymore what with it being the equivalent of mowing down 120 Twinkies, but damn...I miss me some Jif.

Guess what the one on the left is?

Boobs.

My son just drew boobs. How am I sure? He told me...quite specifically that they were.

Sam: (making googly noises at his magnadoodle.)

Me: What are you doing honey?

Sam: Loving what I just drew.

Me: What did you draw honey

Sam: A girl with her boobs and nipples

Me: Let me see that...umm, why did you draw this honey?

Sam: because I love boobs.

Me: Fair enough, but don't draw this for anyone but me and daddy okay, because it's kind of inappropriate.

Sam: I love boobs.

Me: Time to build that shed out back.


I love how this woman is mainly just boob. She has the makings of legs, a maybe a head but mostly she is just boob and nipple. This also happened on the day that he first wrote Mommy perfectly on the same magnadoodle. I'm not sure which one his dad is more proud of.

"Hey Honey bun, where did you put my hammer?"

Me: ahahahhaha Why did you call me Honey Bun?

Sam: Because that is how men talk to ladies

Me: Of course it is, how silly of me.

Everything bad happens at Wal-Mart

Sam: I don't want to be here, I hate it here.

Me: So do I honey, I just have to pick up some pictures.

Sam (when we get to the counter) I don't want to be here, there are too many brown people here.

(a level of anxiety rises in me that I had never experienced before. There was also a large group of African Americans standing right next to us. Hysterically panicked doesn't begin to explain it. )

Me: (whispering) Sam, do not talk like that, I'm serious.

Sam: I'm the one that is serious! There are brown people everywhere and that is gross.

(The angry arm grab is in full effect, and I'm whispering as angrily as I can)

Me: Oh my lord Samuel, that is so horrible, stop saying that,why would you say that?

Sam: You know how they get like that? Because they eat turds, the turds go into the skin and they turn brown so they stink. Brown people stink.

(The African American lady at the counter, has now caught on to the conversation, so I pretend I have to pee)

Me: (in the bathroom) Sam, people are different colors because of a pigment in their skin called Melanin, it makes some people white and some people brown and some people black. It is not because they eat poop.

Sam Really? Promise?

Me: Yes, I promise..they are exactly like you and me.

Sam: Okay good, Because there is a kid at the park that is really nice, and I was mean to him because I thought he was covered in turds. We can be friends now.

Me: That's great honey...

(I never got my prints by the way, I just re-sent them to Walgreens. So now Wal-mart has the pictures of a supposed mother of a racist 5 year old)

"What is a Quiche? Sounds digusting...I'd rather eat a turd"=Sam

"Enough with the kissing already. When you kiss me, I want to barf."-Sam

A picture is worth a thousand messes

This was Sam's reply, or "non reply" to me asking him why he destroyed the living room, and emptied all the boxes I just packed.

Perfect.

No..... appropriate.... response...

Me: Sam, we are meeting with a very important person this week, do you remember?

Sam: Who?

Me: She is the head of a very important school that I am trying to get you into, but you need to show her how smart you are because it costs a lot of money to go there.

Sam: How much money?

Me: A lot of dollars, more than a comedy writer makes...that is all I know. So, we need to impress her with stuff that you can do.

Sam: I will tell her lots of things to impress her, want to know what I will tell her?

Me: sure, what?

Sam: I will tell her that sometimes when I first waked up, my wiener turns into a statue.

Me: (in my head) I literally have no idea what to say in response to that.
Me: (out of my head) Maybe we shouldn't tell her about your penis honey, let's show her that you can write your name.

Sam: Sometimes it turns into a statue when I have to pee too, I bet she would like my wiener story better.

Me: I'm sure she would.

Mom, want to know what I do when I'm bored?

Today was a doozey. During the winter months having a young boy is a lot like keeping a silverback gorilla in your house. I know when I tell people he makes messes, they literally have no comprehension of what I really mean. it's not their fault, I myself didn't know until I had a child that they have a special ability to make a mess out of anything. It's always at the worse time too, what's that? My car needs a new engine? Awesome, because Sam just emptied a bottle of ketchup into my underwear drawer. So, what I'm trying to say is, today was a hard one. The parade of stressful occurances ended with Sam showing me something he does when he is bored...wanna hear about it? Well here you go...

Me: Ugh, baby..You need to lay off Mommy for a while okay?

Sam: Want to know what I do when Im bored?

Me: sure.

(Sam takes me by the hand over to the kitty litter box and proceeds to scrape up about 3 or 4 cat turds. )

Me: Sam, honey get out of the litter box, what are you doing.

(I am so tired and worn out at this point, I barely even whined this to him, and was defeinltey too beat down to even try to stop him.)

Sam: Okay, the first thing you do is get the cat turds, then you open the basement door. Make sure the light is on okay mom?

Me: I dont like where this is going.

Sam: when the door is open and you have the turds, you do this.

(My Son then proceeded to take his shovel full of cat shit, and whip it down the basement stairs at about 60 miles per hour, splattering it against the back wall.)

Sam: See, that's what I do when I'm bored.

I am not kidding when I say, that instead of yelling, I just went into the refrigerator, got a Guiness and laid on the couch. Sometimes, they just win..and today I was glad to throw in the towel. A cold Guiness tastes a whole lot better than yelling at your son and cleaning up cat turds.

Milestone?

For probably 6 months, Sam has been trying to do an armpit fart. He saw one of my brothers do it and has been obsessed ever since. Sam has always been very hard on himself, when he was 3 and couldn't hit a baseball with a regular sized bat, he sat on home plate and said "I'm bad at everything" I know, could it have broken my heart more? NO, no it could not. Anyway, I have no idea where this comes from because I am probably the most encouraging and positive person in the world, probably too encouraging...for example: I have felt really bad for him not being able to armpit fart, not because I really wanted him to do it, but because HE really wanted to be able to do it. The Armpit fart just seems like a right of passage for little boys, and I wanted him to be able to achieve it. Well, we've tried everything, I've even wiped my own spit underneath his armpit thinking that would help (It didn't). Then suddenly today...he did it. What surprised me more than him doing this finally, was how excited I was. You would think he had just learned algebra, I got up and started jumping around like a complete idiot. We were jumping around in a circle holding hands saying "armpit fart" over and over. What in the hell happened to me? I used to be a girl right? If someone came up to me tomorrow and asked me what my most exiting moment this week was and I was being honest, I would have to say: " My son figured out how to make a fart noise with his armpit."

Want to talk to the garbage?

Me: Sure, what does it want to talk about.

Sam: Never mind, it doesn't want to talk to you.

Me: You are a silly goosen foosen.

Sam: That made my wiener tickle.

Me: What did?

Sam. You saying that.

Me: why would it make your wiener tickle?

Sam: Because I put the walkie talkie on my wiener when you said it.

Me: Ummm, okay. I'm sorry?

Sam: I forgive you.

Secret Agent Sam

Sam got Walkie Talkies for his birthday from my Mom and Dad. Within 10 minutes of opening them I was in the back of his closet, "wounded" trying to hide from rogue agents out to kill me. We played this for about an hour, and then when I started making lunch, Sam started telling me everything he was doing into his walkie talkie. This is how it went:

Sam. Mommy, are you still there? Over.

Me: Honey, I told you I'm making lunch, I can't talk on it right now, but keep telling me what you are doing, it's very important, over

Sam. Okay, over

Beeep: I am in the bathroom, I just kicked the cat and he ran away, over.

Beeep: Okay Mom, I'm going upstairs, it's really dirty, you should clean it here it's gross. Over.

Beep: Where is my optimus prime mom, over.

Beep: It's on my dresser, over.

beep: Okay, found it, over.


5 minutes later....


Beep: Okay, going through your box of jewelry that you told me not to, over.

beep: Sam, get out of there.

beep: Sorry, official spy business. Please don't come in your room, over.

beep. Get out now.

beep: ummmm, I think I broke your lamp, please don't be mad, over.

Beep: Get down here and eat your lunch please.

beep: you forgot to say over. I love you, over.

Beep: over

Sam: I'm standing next to you, you don't have to say that.