Vocabulary Fail

Eric was playing with the kids while I made dinner today. Lee was trying to climb everything, and Dylan was working on a puzzle with Eric. Some altercation occurred between them, because Dylan's indignant high-pitched voice suddenly soared over to me in the kitchen.

Dylan: "You're not my Daddy!"

Eric: "Yes Dylan, I am."

Dylan: "No, you're not! You're not my Daddy!"

Carol: "I assure you, he is."

Dylan: "No, he's not!"

Carol: (joking with a wink to Eric) "Are you saying Mommy's a slut?"

Dylan: (does not know what this word means) "No, Daddy's a slut!"

I thought this statement was hilarious and started giggling in a gleeful manner. Then Dylan got angry with the world at large.

Dylan: "Daddy's a slut! Mommy's a slut! Lee, you're a slut! YOU'RE ALL SLUTS!!"

After that much repetition and reinforcement of the newly acquired word "slut", I think we might have some trouble with his preschool in the near future.

I'm Not Into This

After this long, something fairly momentous must have occurred for me to think to myself, "I should blog that." And here it is:

What is it with my generation and marathons? It has become increasingly clear to me over the past couple of years that marathons are a big deal. It seems everyone I know is training for one, planning to train for one, running their first one, running their first half-one, running a bunch of half-ones with the goal of running their first whole one sometime soon, somehow getting Tiffany's necklaces for running one, having people make documentaries about them training for and nearly failing to run one, impressing their future spouses by riding their bicycles alongside their love interests as they run one...the list goes on.

This trend horrifies me. I have always had a fondness for sitting which is only surpassed by my fondness for lying down. The mere idea of running for four or five hours at a time makes me so tired I feel I need to...well, lie down. It also kind of makes me want to vomit. Back in high school when we had to do that 15-minute run, I remember being so out of breath I was wheezing like a sick old man. I had a Scarlett O'Hara moment where, as God as my witness, I would never go running again. And so I haven't.

But seriously it's all over Facebook, people are crazy about marathons. So congratulations to all friends and family who self-flagellate with this extreme form of physical achievement - I will never in a million years be able to join your ranks. Perhaps one day I will proudly post pictures of a sweaty sex-a-thon Eric and I had. Then it will be your turn to vomit.