Skip to main content

Dinner Conversation

In the middle of munching on corn-on-the-cob, hot dogs, and mixed fruit, Henry pondered.

Henry: Mommy, what's barf mean?
Me: It means throw up. Why?
Henry: I don't know.
Me: Who said it?
Henry: No one.

A couple minutes of silence passed. Then...

Henry: Mommy, are these corn guts?
Me: What???
Henry: These! Are these corn guts??! (He points to the half-chewed kernels still clinging to the cob.)
Me: Ummm. Yeah. No. I don't know. Why?
Henry: Yummmy guts.

This is the kind of stuff we, as parents of the H-Man, deal with on a daily basis. Life's just a series of questions. We, as parents, are his own personal Google. You think we're kidding? Just ask our friends Ted and Anne who served as our hosts during a 4th of July weekend in Indiana. The stuff H comes up with...no one could make it up. In fact, Anne started writing things down. I'm sure it'll be some of what we torture him with when he's older.

Comments

AnneR said…
Oh, yes, we'll definitely back you up. The transcript of the weekend is on my blog--feel free to copy and paste to your heart's desire!

Popular posts from this blog

Holy Separated-At-Birth, Batman!

Gary Oldman...meet Uncle Knit-Knots from Imagination Movers.

So, I Changed My Mind

More than four years ago, the blog and I parted ways. I needed a change. A whole lot happened in my world since then. I switched jobs a couple times. My kid went from an elementary school tween to a teenage high schooler. We built a new house and moved. Both my parents and my sister have passed. The world around me changed as well. Mass shootings, racism, the #metoo movement, a misogynistic bigoted narcissist in the White House ... go ahead, add to the list. Toss your woes into this dumpster fire we call 2019.  I appreciate my previous sentiment, that I was no longer wandering. But let's be honest, we're all trying to find our way through this mess. I decided to reboot the blog to give myself a creative outlet, a way to sort through the confusion and frustration and attempt to make sense of it all. I have a voice, and I'm not keen to silence it anymore. Guess what? I'm back, bitches.

In memoriam...

I remember the first time I heard the name "Les Anderson." A bunch of Wichita State University communication majors were sitting around on campus, talking about classes they planned to take. Several people warned me: watch out for Les Anderson. He was tough. He had a murderous grading scale. It was nearly impossible to get an A. They weren't kidding. But he wasn't tough just to be a tyrant. From his teaching sprang a fleet of incredible, successful journalists, writers, editors, broadcasters, public relations experts, advertisers, non-profit professionals...I could go on and on. Most importantly, he created a legion of people who wanted to make a difference in the world. The greatest gift Les gave to them all? He believed in them, cared about them for their own personal stories as well as the stories they told for class assignments or in the pages of his hometown newspaper. Les was my teacher. My boss. My mentor. My conscience. My champion. My friend. When I started c...