Adventures With Mini Stalin
SETTING: the car. The Kid and I are driving to the grocery store; he’s in the back in his carseat. I’m driving. It is a small road on a heavily populated street, the speed limit can’t be more than 30 MPH, if that. A truck speeds up behind me and proceeds to drive what seems like 3 inches from the rear bumper.
ME: Stop tailgating me, dumb head!
KID: What him doing?
ME: he’s driving poorly.
KID: ‘TOP it, dumbhead!!!
ME: You shouldn’t call people dumbheads. I shouldn’t have said that. Sorry.
KID: I just HATE dumb heads. They so stupid. They make me angry. Stupid dumbheads. We put all dem dumbheads in box and just look at them.
ME: good idea. Let’s put them all in a box.
KID: I HATE dumbheads! Dey stupid faces! HAHAHAH STUPID FACE. I call dem STUPID FACE!
ME: You shouldn’t really call people stupid face. They are not good drivers. Just call them ‘bad drivers.’
KID: I HATE stupid faces! Dey DOUCHE FACE!!! HAHAHAH DOUCHE FACE
~~at this point, I decide not to even interfere; any talk of not insulting people will just make him stronger. He will feed off the forbidden words energy like those Star Trek aliens they tried to shoot with the photon torpedoes.~~
KID: I hate them! I kill them wif my super powers! I not kill dem little bit, I kill them big big big bit with my super hero cape! I smash them with my super hero cape! I just smash dem wif my cape and dey be DEAD! I make dem DEAD, stupid face!
::sigh:: I guess this is that Inner Male Aggression they’re always talking about. He’ll grow up to like westerns and fry ants with magnifying glasses. Look out world.
::as I’m writing this, he is seeing how close he can get a drinking straw to his eye before it goes in. He keeps blinking and laughing when he accidentally stabs his eye with the straw.
::yesterday he was trying really hard to “bwow gwape wif stwaw” (i.e., blow a huge grape out of a tiny straw that came with a juice box). Thus I introduced the concept of a pea shooter. I got a regular sized straw, and since we didn’t have any peas, I made some ammo out of small balls of tin foil. the kid was entranced with shooting the balls out of a straw. He was totally into shooting them at the couch and then scrambling around and finding them and doing it again… until I hear “I EAT AMMO NOW!” I turn around and he has that smug look of satisfaction. “I eat ammo. It in ‘tomach it go down down [points down to where his esophagus is], make Big Ew! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHH!” He has grasped the concept of eating food and then pooping it out again and is endlessly amused by this. “I POOP AMMO!!!!!” I guess he likes the idea of crapping silver balls. oy vey. Maybe he’ll command me to “CWEAN MY DDDJJJJJUNK!” again when I change his diaper. I must say I’ve never been commanded to clean anyone’s junk before, but there has to be a first time for everything!
Needless to say, Pea-Shooter Time was over quickly, and may never be reinstated. Maybe when he’s 40.