What?

I just had to have a conversation with the Boy about things he's not allowed to say. I'll be honest, I was a bit weirded out this evening. As I was running the bath the Boy was lying on his back, rolling over backwards because he wanted to see his bum hole (its nice that he has ambition.) At the same time, the Girl was sitting down trying to shout her trousers off.

"GET OFF TROUSERS!"

So I might have over-reacted when the Kids were playing "throw the sponge" at each other and I heard the Boy yell.

"Oof! Right in the dangleberries!"

It seems that when I asked him what he'd learnt at school today he omitted to say;

"Jordan taught me to say dangleberries. And nuts. It means winkle."
"No, it means... actually, never mind what it means."

The real point of what I'm talking about here is that it took three attempts to get him to pay attention to me telling him not to say it again. Recently I went to my first parents evening, the whole of which I kept expecting my dad to turn up and tell me I needed to pull my socks up. The Boy's teacher asked me if he was happy, told me he was a bright boy, explained how she was teaching the children to read, that were using PowerPoint and designing slides (annoying, as I don't know how to design slides in PowerPoint) and then told me that he was easily distracted. My reply ("I'm sorry, what did you say?") was met with a thin smile and reminded me why the Wife sometimes introduces me as "This is my husband. He thinks he's funny." After a moment of awkwardness, I agreed with her, and when it had all finished I went home to speak with the Boy. I told him what the teacher had said about being distracted to which he replied earnestly;

"I've got a hurty nipple."

Things like that can rather deflate your righteous indignation, especially when the Wife has to do an about face and pretend she's laughing at the radio. Which isn't on. With the Boy I work on the three times average. If I only have to say something once we write to the Pope. Three miracles and he'll be declared a saint.

Only tonight the Boy, never taking his eyes from the telly, asked for a drink.

"Sure. What would you like?"
(Pause) "Ok."
"No Boy, I'm asking what kind of drink you'd like."
(Pause) "No thanks."
"BOY! Pay attention! What kind of drink do you want?"
"Ooh! I'd like a drink!"

His lack of listening has wider implications than the Wife having to talk me down from window ledges  though. Its why he says things like;

"There was an earthquake in the sea and then there was a massive poonani."

Or;

"What do you want for lunch? Ham? Cheese? Eggs?"
"Cheese eggs? I LOVE those!"

Or rather unfortunately;

"Mum bought me this ray from the Sea Life Centre!"
"Cool! Is it a stingray?"
"No, its a paedo ray."

Which is embarrassing when said in mixed company. There are even occasions when he doesn't even listen to himself.

"Daddy, do you know... You know the... Um... do you know...?"
"Do I know what?"
"I don't know."

I have been genuinely worried for his hearing, but over time it has become clearer that it all stems from having the attention span of a strobe-lit goldfish. On amphetamines. My mum tells me that he gets it from me. At least I think that's what she tells me, I don't really listen. She might have a point. I can honestly say that the only time I've ever given something a hundred percent of my attention was beermat I once stared at for seven hours in a bar. In Amsterdam.