Despite my best efforts, BB is a tad acquisitive.  He’s always looking for ways  to accumulate more stuff and making lists of stuff he wants to get.  So, I wasn’t surprised when last night at bedtime he asked me to sit with him for a few minutes while he wrote up a wish list so that if he needed to know how something was spelled, he wouldn’t have to come and find me.


I was surprised to learn, however, that he was writing said wish list in the form of a letter to Santa.  For those of you not near a calendar I will confirm your sanity and state that, yes, it is March.  More than 9 months away from Christmas.  I firmly told BB that he was not permitted to mail the letter to Santa before November.  “Santa doesn’t read letters sent before November,” I explained.  BB was okay with this.


When I balked at sitting beside him for potential consult on a second letter to Santa, he asked me what I wanted.  Thinking about what I wanted at that particular instant I replied that I would like a day on a beach with a good book and someone to bring me drinks and that would require a good babysitter to keep an eye on BB and LB.


BB informed me that my request was too complicated for Santa because a beach couldn’t fit into the sleigh.  I retorted that Santa could simply send me plane tickets and reservations for an appropriate beach resort. 


BB continued, “Well, Santa can’t provide babysitters.”

jolt, “Why not?”

BB, “Besides daddy could stay with us, he probably wouldn’t want to go.”

jolt, “Oh, I think daddy would like a nice day on the beach.”

BB, “Nah,  that sounds like stuff for ladies.”

jolt, totally mystified, “What about beaches is only for ladies?”

BB, “You know, the man servant to bring you the drinks, if the servant is hot.”


I spluttered internally, Hot!?! Hot!?! How the heck does my kid know anything about hotness or people’s desire to gaze upon hotness and, holy cow what is going on in this kid’s head!


jolt, “Do you even know what hot means?”

BB, “Kinda cool, . . ., you know.”


And we dissolved into giggles.


There you have it folks.  Not only does BB now know what I want for Christmas, he thinks I’d prefer it without mr. jolt so that I may freely gaze upon male hotness without mr. jolt’s boredom/indifference to said hotness interfering with my day on the beach.  Oy. 



It’s funny (funny weird, not funny haha) how some words have different connotations, good or bad.  And that some distinctions seem somewhat silly.  For example, the flap a few weeks ago about the American Family Association changing athlete Tyson Gay’s last name to “homosexual” because of some replacement widget they were using.  Isn’t it amazing how the gay community’s pride in that word has caused the AFA (also known as the APA (American Patriarchy Association) – read that on punkass blog I think) to insist on something else.  Boy, did the APA look like a bunch of assholes.

My boys are at that stage where references to body parts are considered Hee-larious.  I seem to have finally moved them past calling everything poopy, which got very old very quickly.  But they clung to frequent use of PEEE-nis and BUTT (emphasis theirs).  Which is fine, but again, got old  fast.

Fortunately for my ears, they have moved beyond these plebian terms to the more euphonious “weinerdog” and “buttocks”, respectively.  Please note, they pronounce buttocks as BOOO-TOCKS, which for some reason greatly amuses me.  I sincerely hope that it will continue to amuse me until they move on to some other area of fascination.