Stinkin' Farts

So let me set the stage. Tonight Canadian wife and I (she's not from Canada, but that's the only place we're currently married. Oh, and I suppose in Massachusetts, sort of, but not in the eyes of the federal government, so I continue to consider her my Canadian wife) got the boys ready for bed, then put them in the van to go look at Christmas lights about 20 minutes away.

Within a few blocks, CW and I were practically high-fiving each other as the boys' eyes drooped and we made plans to do this every freakin' night. Then we hit the light display and they rallied. After a couple of loops through the light up neighborhood, we headed back and they were pretty wakeful. They insisted they wanted to go somewhere else. They were not specific about where somewhere else was, but very specific about where it was not -- home. Since we were still deluding ourselves into thinking that the lights were a temporary setback, we decided to indulge them and drive around a bit more. They wanted to know exactly where we were going, which seemed unfair since they wouldn't tell us where they wanted to go. But we settled on "looking for Christmas" which satisfied them for a while. Eventually Chas fell asleep. But not Eddie, who became convinced that we were lost.

Now, an aside on the whole pointless driving to put boys to sleep thing. Mea culpa. I am fairly certain that by the time they are grown, the cumulative total of miles driven to put them to sleep will result in 1 degree increase in global temperatures. I'm sorry.

OK, back to our story. Eventually, we decide that this is really pointless and head home. Eddie keeps asking where we're going. We tell him he'll see. Then he starts asking if we're there yet. So I tell him yes, that's why we're not stopping. This exchange happens a couple of times, then CW and I get really annoying and start telling him, "Now we're here and in a second we'll be there. Oh look, now we're here." This was, admittedly, obnoxious. But his angry response took me by surprise:

"You stinkin' farts!"

Now I've called the boys little stinkers, little farts, and in my more uncharitable moments, little stink-butts. But the rather, um, charming melding of two of these endearments took me a bit by surprise. Oh well.

Now he's in bed and I am getting him a drink of water. Can't you tell? But he's catching on and yelling for me. I'd better go before he either wakes his brother or bursts out in a streak of curses based on other words he's heard his mommy use.