Monday, December 13, 2010


Occasionally, my children, like any other children, get a little confused about what something is called.  And usually, it is pretty safe to let their precious mistakes go.  For instance, we let Miss Proper say "hospamital" for "hospital" until she was in elementary school because it was so cute to hear our little perfectionist saying something wrong.  We also let her say "fuman" instead of "human" and "egg least" instead of "at least" until she was way too old because we are cruel parents with very sick senses of humor.  And yes, we would have to hide our laughter by running out of the room or covering our mouths.

RNR used to call strawberries "sharbellies" and drink a glass of "lemalade" while she ate them.  Hamburgers were "hangaburs."  Cute, right?

Well, it was all fun and games until we had the boy. 
And now we are paying the penalty for laughing at our girls behind their backs.  You've heard how Bonus made me want to run out of the beauty store with his pronunciation of "peanuts."  We barely skirted a similar incident this week.  We were going to a real place to see real people when he told me that he hoped these real people would cover their wieners.  And I gasped because I, too, certainly hoped that there would be no uncovered wieners at this event.  I mean we are really not those kind of people, and we are not friends with those kind of people (that we know of anyway... except The Naked Brothers from college, and that doesn't count, does it?).  With a probing I greatly irritated Bonus and was able to get him to provide further information. 

You know, Mama, wieners in covers? 

Ummm...  This is still not sounding even PG.  Deeper probe. 

I'm still not sure what you are talking about, Bonus?  Can you give me a little more detail?

Bonus raises his voice significantly and scowls at me.

Mama, I like it when they put blankets on their wieners.

And then he looks at me like I am a complete idiot.  Because, clearly, he is speaking English and he is making perfect sense.  And I reluctantly ask him to TRY to explain this to me a little bit better before we get in the car (because I don't want to have to laugh off the wiener talk in front of my friends).

It is at this point that I know that my child may, in fact, someday be a brilliant communicator.

He hops down from his chair, goes over to the island, and returns with the Sam's catalog that he was looking at earlier that morning.  Opening the catalog, he takes his little pointer finger and places it on top of an item.

"I like wieners in covers."  And then he huffed a very big sigh at his mama.

Yes, sometimes my mind could stand to get out of the gutter, but until I saw the picture, I was completely baffled by covered wieners, wieners with covers, and blanketed wieners.

Bonus, those are called pigs in a blanket.

Nothing matters, Mama. Another big sigh. (And I don't know for sure where he got that smart-alec, little phrase, but I have two guesses.)

Son, it does matter.  PIGS IN A BLANKET.  Say it with me. PIGS IN A BLANKETS.

PIGS IN A BLANKET.  Actually, it's the same thing as covered wieners, Mama. (And, yeah, he really did say "actually.")

Glad we cleared that up before we got to the party.

No comments:

Post a Comment