Some people have been known to sniff glue. Justin misunderstood and decided to “Sniff Blue.” (Relax, it’s just aerosol from the blue spray paint.)
A few weeks ago, Justin announced that he had been thinking about names for our “Man Cave” (grunt…grunt…grunt). The two leading contenders were:
“Girls Don’t Come In Here. Boys Only. Man Cave.”
And the longer:
“Girls Don’t Come in this Shed Because It’s Only for Boys.”
On our way to school this morning, Justin announced that had been thinking of a new name!
“Daddy? I have a new name for the shed.” Justin said.
“What do you want to call it?” I asked, in anticipation of his great mind at work.
“Okay daddy….how about the ‘Man-Boy Cave?’ I was quiet for a moment.
(Oh, great….the last thing I wanted was to have my 5 ½ year old son telling people that we have a place in the backyard that we built called the “Man-Boy Cave.” It either evokes the imagery of Michael Jackson bringing young boys to “Neverland Ranch” or gives the broad impression that something very weird was going on in there. Neither of which are accurate! And, just to clarify, I only told him to ‘put the lotion in the basket’ once after we applied wood sealant to the desk without wearing gloves!)
“Well, Justin….I like that you’re thinking of names, but that one may be a little inappropriate.” I answered cautiously.
“What does ‘inappropriate’ mean?” he asked.
“Inappropriate means that the name isn’t a good representation of what the shed is becoming. It doesn’t fit.”
“What does ‘representation’ mean?” he inquired.
“Well….representation is…” I gave up. “Justin, I love you, but think of another name.”
He sat quietly for a few moments and I could see him thinking.
Finally, he said, “You’re right daddy. ‘Man-Boy Cave’ doesn’t fit because it’s too long. How about just “Man Cave” (grunt…grunt…grunt!)
Relieved, I said, “I think that’s a great name. Good job!”
Whew!
In twenty-four hours, GWE will be on a flight and it will just be me and the boys until Monday afternoon. I assume that we will find ways to get ourselves into trouble and I’ll do my best to document everything that happens. I don’t want to wake up on Monday morning (like in “The Hangover”) with no memory of what happened and having the only clues be the pictures on my phone.The last thing I need are photos of Garrett getting a tattoo of Mr. Rogers giving “the finger,” pictures of a butt-exposing Justin getting thrown out of a strip club, or a “new” mugshot of me and my cellmate “Betty.”
