Conversations with Denny are somewhat stressful….I’m always worried what he will say at school or friends houses. People say, “oh he’s a 3rd boy”…Really, he reminds me of Stifler from “American Pie”. I don’t feel it’s a 3rd kid thing and more Denny just being Denny thing. That’s what scares the shit out of me. Here’s a few conversations with Denny…
The night time routine in our house is the only thing Chris and I do right. Boys line up. Pee in the toilet. Brush their teeth. Kiss me good night. Chris marches them upstairs. They say “lock it down and put it in a box”. Done. One night, the boys were brushing their teeth. Chris and I randomly heard the boys arguing in the bathroom.
Patrick: “Shut up.” Denny is constantly in Patrick’s ear, whispering naughty thoughts.
Denny: “Don’t tell me to shut up.”
Patrick: “Why are you taking the tooth brush and touching your dick?” Chris and I stop and stare at each other. Why does dick sound so harsh? What happened to the word penis? Chris goes rushing into the bathroom.
Denny: “Because you told me to shut up.”
Dad: “Denny get the tooth brush off your dick! Why did you put that on our dick?” Gross, more importantly whose toothbrush did he use? Stop using the word dick! My ears are ringing.
Denny: “No! Because he told me to shut up.” Nothing is safe in our house, if you piss Denny off. He will put his DICK on it.
It’s the weekend and Chris and I are sitting at the table. My back is to our back door and Chris can see the kids playing outside. Suddenly, Patrick comes rushing in from the back door. Denny is right behind him on his heels. Something is about to go down.
Patrick: “Mom, Denny called me an A-S-S-Hole.” I loved that he spelled “ass”, instead of saying it. He’s such a good boy.
Mom: “Did you call Patrick an asshole?” I should not have repeated the word asshole. Chris is trying not to laugh and has his hands in his face. We are failing at parenthood.
Denny: “I didn’t.” His eyes are wide, but looking other places.
Patrick: “YOUR LYING!” Patrick is getting mad and tears are filling his eyes. He’s so emotional.
Mom: “You have to put a dollar in the swear jar.” We have a decorative “swear jar” on the wall. I have no idea where he’s getting a dollar from. I was tired of putting him in timeout. The kids have never put money into the swear jar, just me.
Denny: “NOOOOO!” Screaming and full of rage.
Dad: “IF you are going to talk like that, put it in the jar.” Suddenly Chris has composed himself and stepped in to help parent.
Denny: “I’M NOT PUTTING IN THE JAR, I AM GOING TO PUT IT IN MY OWN BANK.” Storms off…Again, not really sure where money is coming from at this point? He ran upstairs to possible take money out of his own bank to put it back in? Or he is playing. Fuck it, he’s out of hair for five minutes.
On a Sunday night, we were playing games with Denny’s cousins at my mom’s house. It was the game where you put the card on top of your forehead and you ask questions to the other players. The questions can be only yes or no questions. Kind of like “20 questions” back in the day. It’s Denny’s turn and he’s so excited.
Denny: “Is it alive?” Hmmmm good question.
Denny: “Is it animal?” Hmmm animals are definitely alive.
Denny: “Is it an instrument?” That’s a good question, but does he know what an instrument is?
Denny: “Is it scissors?” That was the last person’s answer. That’s a hard no.
Denny: “Is it the middle finger?” What? Gees Denny. Thank god we were not at a friends house.
Speaking of middle finger, one day we were driving in the car together. It was beautiful outside.
Denny: “So if you put these fingers down and leave the middle finger, that means the B word.”
Me: “Oh wow.” The B word? So is that Bitch? I was afraid to ask and was thankful he didn’t say the F word.
Denny: “No I actually mean the F word.” Oh fuck, he does mean the “f word.”
Me: “Oh, well Denny we don’t do that. You will get in trouble for that.” Thinking maybe I should start flicking people off with my index or thumb finger to throw him off.
Denny: “Yea, because if you have the middle finger up, that means…What the hell?” Wow, dodged a bullet there. He clearly needs to work on his alphabet.
It’s night time, Boys and I are on the couch together. Having a real nice moment.
Me: “Oh man, what smells? is that your feet?” Seriously smells like BO.
Patrick: “Haha I don’t know, let me smell them…oh shit.” My oldest is now swearing. What the hell?
Me: “Don’t say that.”
Patrick: “What they smell like shit.” Why does he keep repeating like it’s okay? I didn’t start swearing in front of my parents till I was 15.
Me: “Gross.” Everyone in my house is fucking disgusting.
Denny: “Old McDonald had a drunk.” Suddenly Denny chimes in and singing Old McDonald song.
Me: “What?” What is he singing?
Denny: “Old McDonald had a drunk.” Haha Singing it perfectly with the rhythm of the song.
Me: “Don’t say that.” I roll my eyes and go make myself a drink. I live in a frat house.
I pick Denny up from Preschool 4 days a week. There are two only moods when picking up this kid. One mood, is super fucking happy and has to tell me how awesome he is. The other mood is anger over what happened in class with someone, if I didn’t bring him a snack, or just being a cranky bitch. So, this day…he gets into my car and pick up.
Denny: “Omg my eye.” I look back at him.
Me: “What happened?” I kinda of don’t give a shit. He always has a problem at pick up.
Denny: “The seatbelt hit me in the eye and now I can’t put it on.” I look and he does have a little mark by his eye. Shit, the seatbelt must have hit him.
Me: “Well just sit there, we live a block away.” I still don’t give a shit. He causes so much drama in the car. I am used to ignoring all shenanigans in the back seat. Plus we literally are a minute drive.
Denny: “My eye hurts my feelings, because Hayley hit me in the nuts.” Hahaha wait what?
Me: “What? Hayley hit you in the nuts and that’s why your eye hurts?” I had to repeat the story back. I didn’t understand it. I thought the seat belt hit him. Now it’s Hayley’s fault for hitting him in the nuts. Which apparently sends nerve endings to your eyeballs?
Me: “Okay.” I seriously had no fucking response to this. I was still wrapping my head around our conversation, as I pulled into the driveway.
Denny: “Hayley saw Caroline’s underwear and started laughing.” Hayley is on a roll at school today.
Me: “That’s not nice.”
Denny: “It was not funny.” Yea definitely not funny. He loves Caroline and wants to marry her.
Me: “Yea you should never laugh at someone for seeing their underwear, she might have been embarrassed.”
Denny: “Hayley sat in timeout.”
Me: “Well that’s good then.”
Denny: “She pulled my pants down.” Wait what?
Me: “What? She pulled your pants down too?” I can even think now. So this little girl, hit Denny in the nuts….that caused his eye to hurt…then laughed at someone’s underwear…then pulled Denny’s pants down. This shit is unreal. We are still sitting in the car, parked in the driveway.
Denny: “Yea, she’s naughty…and sat in timeout.” If any of this is true, Hayley’s mom must be having crazy days.
Me: “Wow, I can’t handle this story anymore. Let’s get out of the car.” I just couldn’t do anymore of what Hayley did or did not do. Denny is just like his Dad. Full of BS.
It’s Mother’s Day and I’m trying to get kids to sign cards for their grandma’s. I can’t find anyone and yelling for anyone to come out of their holes. I randomly open the side door to the house and see Denny in the neighbors lawn. Oh what the fuck.
Me: “Denny! Get off the neighbors property! Get in here and sign these mother’s Day cards.” He was making faces at the other neighbor kid in the window.
Me: “What are you doing?! That’s Patrick’s name. Leave it alone and write in this space!” He literally was signing Patrick’s name underneath Patrick’s name…just write Denny for fuck sake.
Denny: “No…um no!” He’s getting super pissed at me.
Me: “Denny stop it…I said write your name and give Patrick’s name space.” Poor Patrick can not even have space from Denny on a Mother’s Day card. Denny is Patrick’s parrot. Always repeating his big brother and wants to do everything just like him.
Denny: “NO I’m trying to write baby Jesus!” Oh my god…what?
Me: “What? I just want you to write your name.” Where did Baby Jesus come from? We didn’t even go to Church today.
Denny: “No..I’m writing baby Jesus.” What the fuck is he talking about? I just need him to write Denny and stop the bull shit. He constantly has to be in control of everything. The fact I told him what to do…he makes me lose my mind.
On a Monday, I was driving like fucking mad woman to Denny’s TBall practice. I’m trying to get Denny to TBall, Tucker is at the house with the therapist, Patrick has a baseball game in an hour, and Chris is flying. I was having one of those days, where all my kids shit was packed on one day. TBall is chaos. It takes hundreds of adults to manage practice and games.
Me: “Denny no throwing your glove in the hair, picking grass, no potty words, hitting anyone with your hat…you need to listen to your coaches and be respectful. Got it?” I’m talking in a stern voice and mean business.
Denny: “My dog can pee in the toilet.” What? That would be amazing if she could.
Me: “Denny, nobody needs to hear that comment.” I’m rolling my eyes. So he heard nothing and kicked him out of the car. I’m so doomed with this kid. Whatever.