if I give you everything you'll ever need...

...and it all comes down to/your half smile, country mile, angel child

no. 2 seems bound and determined to continue on his "learn fake spanish through the language menu on your favorite movies" deal, as no. 1 and i were forced to watch "the fantastic four: rise of the silver surfer" in a version of spanish that seemed to be a meld of mexican and spain spanish, that actually cracked me up because they used a word which in spain means "to grab" and in argentina is one of the most vulgar and offensive ways of saying "to fuck."

no. 1 explains to me at length how the "chopper janner" he created with his legos will cut through trees and is also equipped with lasers and crystals and a gun, so that the driver, "qantas" (who's cover is the ceo of a major australian airlines apparently) can shoot the "villians" ((a tangent: it's an odd turn of events that my son has gone from referring to the ones who end up dead in all his play as "bad guys" and switched over to calling them "villians." strange. and as far as i can tell, it happened as quietly and incrementally as the holocaust. wish i could trace this shift to some one thing. anyways...) oh, and why exactly do the "villians" have to end up dead? really. i mean, he watches superman, spiderman, batman. these guys don't kill anybody. they beat fuck out of 'em, yeah. i'll give you that. some of 'em probably wish they were dead. but still. again, anyways...) as he travels at high speeds across some fantastical landscape that exists only within the brainpan of my oldest child. i am momentarily sidetracked from the demostration of how the saw arms swing out by no. 2 stomping up and down the stairs, a goofy smile on his face as his head bounces around like one of those springy-necked dolls and says, "dolopo atto. khee ganam? apodo dolodo."

i got yet another chuck palahniuk book from the library (i am working my way through all of them) and was laying in bed reading it when i realized my wife was no longer watching tv and all the lights were off but mine.

"you going to sleep?"

"yeah, baby."

"what time is it?"

"ten-thirty."

"holy poop!" i say, and slap the bookmark into my book and shut off my light (ten-thirty is late for us old farts who spend all day mentally and physically wrassling two overactive boys).

my wife is cracking up.

cause somehow or other, i managed to say "pooewuph" or something along those lines.

"did you just turn french in the middle of that word?"

now i am laughing.

"no, i just kinda messed up the pronunciation!"

"it's like when you say 'jewLAH' instead of july." making fun of the redneck way i say the seventh month sometimes when i am not thinking about it.

"i told you, my dad was from texas!"

"jewLAH."

"july, july, july."

"pewup!"

we have both graduated from snickers to all-out laughing, in bed, in the dark, which i am pretty sure counts against you if you were making a case for your ongoing sanity.

we are cracking up now over completely silly things that aren't really funny, but we are already on a laughing jag, so what the hell, right?

i laugh so hard and fast i am not actually making any sound, just sitting with my eyes squinched together and my mouth open and my shoulders rocking, the tears rolling down my cheeks.

my wife on the other hand, is snorting between guffaws. her face approximating a grimace of pain almost, tears welling up in her eyes in the corners next to her nose as she winds down to a "*snort* kahee, tahee, tee hee."

i have said it before, and i will say it again, o my beloved non-existant readers: i am one lucky motherfucker. truly blessed. somewhere, somehow, i did something right.

cause i have the fucking coolest fucking family ever, and there aint no two ways about it.

darth sardonic