Owen is very into the movie, Moana, these days. (It’s a very cute movie – I recommend it!) He thinks the characters are named Rihanna and Molly, however, instead of Moana and Maui. And for some reason he thinks that “Molly” is a boy’s name (he has an imaginary friend who is a boy named Molly). So now when we are outside, he makes me be “Rihanna” and he is Molly, and I have to force him to return the heart to Tafiti. Sometimes we can enlist Dorothy to be the lava monster, Taka, by keeping a stick just out of her reach.
I must say that I would be happy to never hear the word “butt” again. I never remember finding butt humor very funny, even when I was young, yet now I hear nothing but butt this and butt that. “Stupid” is another word I’m tired of hearing. I told Owen the other day that we were going to start teaching him other insults and words for “butt” so that at least he could be bratty in a rather Shakespearian way. We’ve started with “tuchis”. Perhaps next will be “’swounds!”
I have a new perfume I got for Christmas called “Pale Gray Mountain, Small Black Lake.” I was putting it on the other day and had Owen give it a sniff and told him of the landscape it was supposed to evoke. The next day he asked me why I never wore another perfume on my shelf, and I said I didn’t really like it. He smelled it and said, “But it smells like a bulldogge walking up a mountain!” Hard logic to beat.
Owen: Is Granny going to get me some more t-shirts?
Me: You have enough t-shirts! But she is going to buy you some shorts.
Owen: Make sure they are shiny.
Me thinking: I most definitely will not pass on that request!
Owen got into my bed the other night and then wouldn’t fall back to sleep. After we chatted for a while I began to get annoyed and told him he had to go to sleep! He said, “No, I’m not tired. I’ll just lie here and look at the stars” and he pointed toward the light on the ceiling that is our smoke alarm.
Around St. Patrick’s day, Owen was talking about how they made leprechaun traps in school – I forget how. A bowl of lucky charms, perhaps?! Anyway, I asked rather absentmindedly if once you catch a leprechaun you steal its gold? And Owen replied, horrified: “You don’t steal gold from a leprechaun, mom! You ask him nicely!” I felt duly reprimanded.
I was down in the basement doing laundry on a Sunday, and Owen was sitting on the stairs chatting to me as I worked.
Owen: Can you tell me that story about the time a tomato chased you down the basement?
Me: I never told you a story about being chased by a tomato!
Owen: Yes you did! You told me there was a tomato, and you had to go down the basement!
Me: Ohhh! I told you that if we ever had a tornado, you should go down the basement! Tornado with an “N”!
Owen at 8 a.m. on a Sunday: Are you thinking what I’m thinking?
Me: I don’t know! What are you thinking?!
Owen, rubbing hands together: That we could make a chocolate pie!
When we are playing outside, Owen will chant, “Miss me, miss me, now you’ve got to kiss me!” And then he will stop and wait for a kiss.