Sponges

I apologize to the faithful readers of my superfluous rants (apparently I have some because my statistics say that some of you have checked in for my installment. THANK YOU!). I have been delayed in posting my weekly outburst. I arrived on my own doorstep at about 7 this brisk morning after a 22-hour scenic tour of each bathroom along the corridor of the interstate highway. This week's rantings will be short, due to the brain fog from driving-in-the-car-with-six-minions lag (akin to jet lag with much more symptomatic swearing).

Have you ever heard the phrase about children being sponges and absorbing information whether or not we want them to? I have decided that the absorption rate is disproportionately quick when the behavior or information is of a negative nature. This week, my children have discovered a few behaviors that I will probably spend the next month wringing from their little minds and others that have been absorbed and are being used for evil purposes. Perhaps these are the circumstances that my husband refers to that require, "Brain Bleach."

My youngest minion is nearing his 18-month benchmark. Due to the overwhelming voluntary assistance in communicating, his speech is limited to a primitive language of clicks and grunts. As if the clicks and grunts were not difficult enough to interpret, he has found the art of glass-breakingly-shrill screeching as an effective form of communication. He sponged this delightful behavior by watching another toddler and observing the favorable results. So, my nearly full day of vehicular travel was peppered with ear-splitting serenades. I am going to have to wring the dreadful behavior out of the spongy mind of my minion before I have to build him a sound-proof room.

In an attempt to circumvent the squealing, I told him that he would receive immediate assistance if he simply made the request, “Help me.” I have made this plea before and it fell on deaf toddler ears, but apparently the absorption was merely delayed. The part that I ceased to mention to him was the “help me” didn't need to be repeated innumerable times in succession and ad nauseum. In addition, he has chosen another choice phrase to absorb from one of is new friends, “I'm stuck!” Anytime he is restrained from full range of motion, he again repeats ad nauseum, “I tuck, I tuck!” He has combined this with the high-decibel and high-pitched skills described in the previous paragraph. I finally resigned myself to a lack of audible entertainment on our trek and listened to “Elp me! Elp me! Elp me! I tuck, I tuck, I tuck, I tuck!” Being screamed like a barn owl. On my to do list for this week is to wring this headache-inducing behavior from his spongy little gray matter.

We have also collectively adopted several British adages from watching Harry Potter continuously on our vehicular entertainment system. Being rather innately comical by nature, my minions have become followers of Ronald Weasley complete with colorful words and phrases. These exchanges between myself and my children progress somewhat like this: (this is a true story, all characters are not fictional and have been quoted for maximum application of humor. All of this of course uttered in polite company for the ultimate in embarrassment.)

4-year-old minion to toddler: What the bloody hell is that? (Complete with inflection and consonant dropping)

Me: 4-year-old minion, that is not polite to say.

4-year-old-minion: Mom, I shouldn't say, 'What the bloody hell is that?'

Me: No, dear!

4-year-old minion to toddler: Hey, did you know that you shouldn't say, 'What the bloo.....'. Hey Mom, I stopped myself and didn't say, 'What the bloody hell is that?'

Me with a heaving sigh: Good job, 4-year-old minion.

4-year-old-minion to toddler: Because saying, 'What the bloody hell is that' is naughty.

We have had similar exchanges about not calling your brother a “git,” not teasing a sibling about the desire to “snog” someone or something, not sticking things in nostrils to retrieve “bogeys,” most especially the nasal cavities of other individuals. If they want to lobotomize themselves while we drive, I guess I am remiss to stop them. The list of sponged menacing British colloquialisms continues to expand.

 

I am amazed at the sudden absorption of information that has been lovingly crammed into their little craniums for weeks and miraculously surfaces at inopportune times. My 4-year-old minion has been learning to subtract with limited success and profuse distractability until he has the desire to complain about the disproportionate number of amusement park attractions that he has ridden in comparison to his older siblings. (With arms folded, lower lip protruding, and brows knit together in disgust) “Moooooom, Grumpy Minion has ridden 15 roller coasters today and I have only ridden on 11. That means that he has ridden 4 more times than I have and that isn't fair.” My eyelids flew open at the correct application of a concept that I figured was lost to this child. I was convinced that he was going to be a successful millionaire who still didn't know how many children remained on a school bus when three walked away. He couldn't have absorbed this special skill when discussing apples or schoolbooks in his textbook, he had to use it as empirical evidence to support a temper tantrum?

During our vacation, we had the opportunity of meeting a friend's delightful daughter. She was sweet, kind, brilliant, fun, and beautiful. What did my little spongy minions absorb from their interactions? The correct and most painful application of “the noogy”...oh, and how to escape a headlock. I am hoping to wring the noogies out of their porous recollections so we can go back to sporting fashionable hairstyles.

Lastly, my youngest minion has absorbed the desire of using the toilet. This information would normally bring celebration, but he chose to absorb this useful skill DURING our ride home from our vacation. The drive that started at 9:30 a.m., Sunday progressed at an excruciating pace to be finally concluded at 7 a.m. the following day. I have decided that perhaps my writing career has gone astray and I should invest time in writing a lucrative restroom guide, having visited every single facility for research on what should have been a 14-hour journey.