The Money Boot

Money is officially the dirtiest, nastiest stuff around.  And now I have just one more reason to think this.  I thought these were just a pair of rubber boots.  Perfect for splashing in puddles (not that we've had any of those in months).  But apparently I'm dead wrong.  What you see before you is what my (now 6 year old) calls his "money boot".

Some people put money in their wallet, some in their purse, some in a piggie bank.  He puts his money in his boot.  I wasn't sure what he meant until I heard him walking around in them yesterday and you could her what sounded like the jingling of a little change purse.

Me - "Hey buddy, why don't you put your money in your bank?"

Him - "Nope, I put it in my money boot!"

And he removed his boot (like I couldn't hear it) to show me that not only was he not wearing any socks - so gross in unbreathing, black rubber boots - but also was carrying around the sweatiest looking dollar bill I've ever seen; and that's saying a lot as I've been to a few strip clubs.

Later last night they pleaded to be taken to the Convergence Zone (CZ) on the navy base so they could play a few video games.  I agreed, but only because I was super tired from working and didn't have the energy to entertain them.  Still in his boots, and a pair of shorts, looking like a hobo, they picked out a game that would entertain them for 30 seconds or so.  He sat down in the video game chair tipping onto his back with his feet in the air.  A shower of loose change was falling out all over him.  I giggled a little and went back to the book I was reading.  After about an hour it was time to head out.  I helped them pick up their Xbox controllers and spied a nickel he had missed.  Wouldn't want him to be missing that so I slipped it into his money boot.  But how dare me!  I had foolishly put the money in the wrong boot!!  I was educated, by my 6 year old, that the money boot was on the "yeft [left] foot".  Jeez, I'm so dumb.

We returned the game and I could not stop giggling the whole way out of the CZ and all the way home.  So while I'm glad that no matter how tired I am they can still make me snicker, I'm also glad they reminded me how much you want to sanitize your hands after you touch money.  Seriously, you never know whose boot it's been in.

There's a lady I know...

... if I didn't know her... she'd be the laaaatteeee (long pause), I didn't know.  Now my lady she went downtown (in a whiny Aerosmith-style voice).  She bought some broccoli.  She brought it hoooommmme.  She's chopping...

Ah, is there really anything more satisfying than going out to your backyard garden and chopping a bowl full of broccoli and cooking it up for dinner?  No I didn't pollinate those seeds.  Crap, I didn't even start the plants from seeds I bought them already growing.  But it doesn't matter.  I weeded out the garden plot.  I created underground irrigation.  I planted those beautiful little plants that grew into broccoli giants.  And now I lovingly cut those broccoli stalks in just the right spot so the broccoli just keeps coming.  For those of you who have never had veggies that were fresh from the garden, I'm so sorry.  They're unlike anything you've ever tasted.  Even fresh produce at the grocery store doesn't come close to comparing.  The florets are so nice and meaty, not cramped and lacking flavor.  And the boys love it too as a day later they can amuse themselves by running around the house farting and giggling.  Ahhh broccoli.  How I love you.  And clearly I'm not alone.  After all, legendary music was created about you.  See... http://www.nbc.com/saturday-night-live/video/derek-stevens-chopping-broccoli/2729/

Devil in Disguise

Oh Ice Cream Man, you and your player-piano music are the bane of my summer existence.  How innocently you troll around the neighborhood, waving sweetly at my boys, with the sides of your truck covered in delightful treats.  Tempting them to chase you the way a dog chases the mailman.  And as if the sound of your repetitive music wasn't enough to lure all those young sweet-tooths, you actually take the time to slow down and stop in my neighbor's driveway to encourage her to spend all her sweaty stripper dollars on ice cream for her 5 munchkins just so they might stop screaming about the ice cream man!!  I had just finished giving my 2 youngsters a sugar cookie treat.  In fact, their mouths were so full of sweetness that they couldn't even fully articulate your name, though they were ready to chase you all over town for a Spiderman on a stick.  In the words of the Saturday Night Live Church Lady, you might be "Satan?"

P.S.  My neighbor isn't really a stripper, but anytime someone pulls out a wad of singles it's the first thing I think of.  Oh, and if you are reading this in time, I left that $2 you handed me on your tv cabinet which might buy you one freezie pop from the devil's dessert truck.