As Frank’s ability to construct sentences improves over time so does the crazy that comes out of his mouth.  A lot of it is probably only funny to us, and by us I mean me.  One thing that is very different between me and Tracy – our sense of humor, especially when it comes to the stuff Frank says.

So for your comical judgment I offer Volume 5 of the crazy crap my kid… well I guess I have to be specific now that we have two, the crazy crap Frank says.  Although I imagine a lot of you would realize Anne Marie is a little young to be speaking and if she could speak I would like to think she would have more to offer than the following gems from Frank.

 

That’s very dangerous.   For whatever reason out of nowhere Frank has decided he can’t like getting his diaper changed.  He used to have no problem with it, now it’s a chore.  He’s tried every gambit he can think of to keep it from happening.  His latest effort – propaganda.

One day I see him heading down the hall and his diaper was hanging off the back of his front, making him look like a WWII fighter pilot heading to his aircraft.  You may have seen some pictures.  In the old days pilots wore their chute and it was slung low. They sat on it while they were flying.

Frank’s diaper was slung so low it looked like he was suited up and ready to take to the skies.  I said, “hey Frank looks like you need a diaper change bud.”  He says, Oh no I can’t like that. That’s very dangerous.  

He wasn’t kidding this time though.  He really punished that diaper.  However his attempt at psychological warfare not withstanding, he got a new chute.

Photo courtesy of www.aviation-art.net

Where’s my hat?  This after he saw me laying out the lines to rebuild our deck.  He’s said he wanted to help.  He was stunned when I said he could.  I suggested he could be like Bob the Builder. He’s started to watch that a little bit.  Of all the responses I was imagining, Where’s my hat? wasn’t in the top 20.  I had no idea what he was talking about.  The only time he wears a hat is when we go to the golf course. What made this funny to me was the matter of factness to it all.  It felt like he was saying, Ok let’s get to work, Where’s my hat.  He then started searching for a hat.

Probably would have made more sense if I had actually watched an episode of Bob the Builder.  Bob always wears a hard hat.  Who knew?

Now I have to get Frank a hardhat so he can help.  He is a good tool holder.  But once he hears the circular saw rev up the first time he’ll most likely run to hide in his closet. That’s a two for one in my book.  I didn’t say no and he’s not under foot.  Daddy for the win!

 

I want some food!   Gone are the days of Frank wanting cheeseburgers or crackers for his mouth – stuff he used to ask for at three in the morning.  He’s no longer choosey with his menu items.  Now I get a general, I want food and you can figure out what I want. He’s still not hard to please, he eats just about anything.  It was just more fun when he would ask for something specific for his mouth.

 

He needs a bottle!   Still working on those pronouns, as he is referring to his little sister.  He’s not doing this out of concern for his sister.  I usually get this demand when she starts crying during Little Einsteins marathons on Disney Jr. and he can’t hear the TV.

 

That’s too fast!  I caught him messing with the speed setting on his sisters swing.  We found, through trail and error in the NICU, that the fastest speed is a side to side motion. It works best for her reflux.  Moving that fast is really the only way she’ll be calm when sitting in her swing.  Of course there’s always a chance we’re just sloshing around her brain pan too much and all she can do is sit there in a stupor, who knows?  Anyway I come into the living-room and Frank is pushing buttons.  I asked what he was doing and instead of acting like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar he started to admonish me.  That’s too fast daddy!   He was adamant.

All of a sudden I’m explaining myself to my 3 year old like he’s an undercover child protection services agent.  He would accept no explanation either.  After about 10 seconds of babbling I got hold of myself and told him to leave it alone.  As he’s walking away he mutters, It’s too fast.  Maybe he is concerned for her after all.

 

I’m a ballerina!  I got this after I witnessed him spinning around and around with his arms out.  I asked him what he was doing.  His gleeful response came a millisecond after I asked.  Which is a minor miracle.  Normally you have to put him under the hot lamp to get him to answer any question. But not this time.  He was more than happy to tell me how he was a ballerina.  Not that there is anything wrong with that, but is there any money in it?  Will I get to play Augusta National if my kid is a spinner and not a champion golfer?

 

No need to answer that last question.  I already know the sad truth.