Rowdy Rebel: “Mom, you cannot EVER marry a mummy.”

Me: “Okay. I won’t.”

Rowdy Rebel: “Because they are DEAD. Also, if you could marry a mummy, you should not do it. Because you can’t ever KISS it.”

Deep Thinker: “Yeah.”

Me: “Eeeeeee…That’s true.”

Deep Thinker: “Also, you can’t have children with it.”

In conclusion, I felt this was very sound advice, so I plan on following these tips closely.

Oh my. My first grader has been using the computer more and more. I am not ready for this. Yet I encourage it. We often use it together to find the answers to his questions–you know, things like “What’s a spider web made of, Mom?” So he has seen me do Internet searches many times.

The other day he said he wanted to do an Internet search. So I said, “Sure, what should we search for?” He explained that he, only he, wanted to do an Internet search, and could I leave the room please.

Uuuuuuhhhh, no. But I was so curious about what he wanted to search for and knew there was no way of getting it out of him. So, I left the room. And when the taps on the keyboard stopped, of course, I ran right back in to see what the big secret search was for.

I nearly died with laughter. I am putting a photo of the Internet screen here–click on it to make it larger. I know many of you can decipher the first grade spelling, but for those who can’t, the translation is below.

[Translation: How to draw a butt.]

It’s so hard to get Rowdy Rebel in the front door, because he loves to stand and stare at the caterpillars screaming “WOOK, a piwar! WOOK anuder piwar!!!!” (LOOK, a pillar! LOOK, another pillar!)

So, I was calling him to come on in, and then I hear a loud STOMP in his direction. I said, “Rowdy Rebel…What are you doing?”

He said, “I stomp pillar on face!!! He bwoken (broken)!!!” Of course, his eyes are all bright and full of excitement as he yells this.

See why his blog nickname is Rowdy Rebel?

Rowdy Rebel really, really wanted to collect snails too. Instead, we gave him an empty shell we found.

And thank goodness. When we got home, he threw the shell on the kitchen floor and began stomping on it. Now, he’s really a sweet, warm child. I swear it’s true. But there’s something about some textures (you know, eggs, ketchup, snails, etc) that give him the urge to explore, experiment, throw, and stomp…

Later, I went to tuck Rowdy Rebel in. I got the little guy all settled in, and thought I’d go clean up around the kitchen. As I walked toward the kitchen, I heard his voice. I asked who he was talking to, and he said he was telling his pet snails a bedtime story.

Please note: These photographs don’t accurately show just how THICK those spots on the carpet are. They’re like half an inch thick. In the photo they look so small. In person, they were not at all small.

The good news is that I was pretty surprised at how easily ketchup came out of our carpet. It only took me like 20 minutes to clean up the entire mess! And I would have been very nervous about Rowdy Rebel’s whereabouts and activities, except that he was having a timeout as he watched me clean up his mess.

The entire time he kept repeating, “Rowdy Rebel MAKE MESS…Rowdy Rebel MAKE MESS…He likes to keep everyone in the loop;)

Deep Thinker is always quiet, so I really wasn’t too worried about the silence in their room. But when the silence in the living room hit the 5 minute mark, my child radar went off. I headed into the room to make sure Rowdy Rebel was okay.

HE SURE WAS OKAY. What was not okay was the living room. He had taken my entire carton of eggs (eight left in there) from the refrigerator and thrown in different parts of the living room. Broken egg in the middle of the carpet. Four broken eggs in the corner. Two broken eggs in front of the couch. My mouth dropped open, and I think I stood like that for about 5 minutes while Rowdy Rebel explained repeatedly and jovially “Rowdy Rebel break eggs!!!! Rowdy Rebel BREAK eggs!!! ROWDY REBEL BREAK EEEEEGGGGSSS!!!”

I wasn’t even sure about how to punish him. I resorted to the time-tested guilt trip a la modern-day time out. I sat him at the kitchen table so he could watch me clean up all of the eggs. As I did it, I repeated numerous times, “Breaking eggs is BAD. It’s very difficult for Mommy to clean up eggs!” He quietly watched me clean them up.

Finally, I stood up to survey that everything looked clean. There was still some yellow yolk residue visible here and there, but my back was aching, so I decided to rest and finish later. And Rowdy starts pointing toward the front door where we put our shoes. “Shoe! Shoe!” I said, “Don’t worry about the shoes.”

Then he clarified, “Egg shoe! EEEGGGGG SHOOOOE!”I walked over to the door and saw what he was talking about. There was big yellow egg yold plastered across my favorite pair of tennis shoes. Of course.

My husband noticed an odd silence and turned to check on Rowdy. He had taken the egg cart out of the refrigerator and was cradling an egg in his hand, holding it over his shoulder ready to do a little up and over type toss. My husband leaped over, grabbed the egg, and went through the whole “Rowdy Rebel, it’s VERY BAD to break eggs” thing again.

After this, we all went shopping together and then to the park. Rowdy pouted the whole day. He kept bowing his head, wrinkling up his eyebrows and mumbling with his mouth almost closed, “Rowdy Rebel want break eggs. Rowdy Rebel want break EGGS.”

Uh, I guess watching Mom clean up all those eggs didn’t affect Rowdy’s conscience they way I thought it would. Apparently disciplinary action was needed. So, after being forced to clean up a roomful of broken eggs on carpet, I still managed to make parental errors in the way that I handle the aftermath. WOW. I have a feeling this is not over yet.

This morning, I walked in and Denise (our part-time nanny) was reading with Rowdy Rebel. He must have eaten something that didn’t agree with him, because he was passing gas. Every time he made a sound, he looked at Denise and asked very loudly and curiously, “Whassat!?!”

Denise was blushing throughout the entire ‘conversation’ and just kept answering, “That was a noise, Rowdy Rebel. Just a noise.”

So, the book explained how the wings aren’t used for flying but gliding. I thought about explaining the difference between gliding and flying to my son. But then I decided, he probably won’t understand (plus he was already late for bed), so I’ll just move on.

As I finished my thought and got ready to turn the page, my little deep thinker piped up, “Oh, I understand! The possum does the same thing as those guys who use parachutes.” Hm. Well, kind of…

I am always nervous while I fumble with the door as I lock it, because I am afraid Rowdy Rebel will fall down the stairs. (Deep Thinker or I hold his hand most of the time, but we had all of our walking gear today–water, diaper bag, toys, etc, and no free hands.) So, after I locked the door, I looked over and Rowdy Rebel had gotten down the stairs without an issue BUT had picked up a huge nasty snail.

He was eying it intensely, eyebrows wrinkled and all. I screamed, took it out of his hand, and threw it on the ground. What did Rowdy Rebel do? He immediately stomped on it.

Gosh, just when you think things can’t get any grosser! Just like that, didn’t think about it twice, just squished poor little snail.