So about 3 or 4 weeks ago, 4 1/2 year old Stewie says to me, “Daddy, I think I have a loose tooth”.
Sure, I think to myself, there is no way at that age you have a loose tooth. You just want to be like your brother… So I reach into his mouth, he points to the bottom row of teeth, and I grab 2 or 3 of them and perform the wiggle check on them all at the same time so I can assure him there are none that are loose. Satisfied, he moves on and being Stewie, he understands nothing can be loose – and now he really believes it.
Fast forward to just over a week ago, when Stewie blurts this out while watching TV with his brother; “Daddy, I think I lost a tooth”.
(Hey, I just noticed that the word “Brother” is really “Bother” with a “r” – maybe they are meant to be pains in the ass to each other…)
So I walk over to Stewie, he opens his mouth and he’s sticking his tongue through a space in the bottom of his teeth where a tooth once was. The tooth? No where to be found.
So off he went to write a letter to the tooth fairy to explain what happened with that tooth and it was that note that got him $5.00 and a reply note from the tooth fairy – which told him to keep up the good work brushing his teeth. He was so happy he carried the letter with him for days and he read it over and over again… Cutie.
He then took the $5.00, and $2.00 that I had given him earlier in the week and he used it all when he was at the park with his mummy, nanny, brother and sister when he bought them all ice cream from the ice cream truck.
What a little man.
And one last Stewie story…
Last week he came with me to Linus’ t-ball game under the promise that he would play in the park and not hang off my arm the entire game as he had each time he came to a game. I was helping to coach, so having him there was a bot of a distraction to say the least. He promised to go to the park. Needless to say, he didn’t, and instead hung off my left arm, holding my hand for most of the game (such a cutie!!!) So while we’re standing watching the game, Stewie looks over at the woman sitting with her legs crossed and part of her thong showing.
I notice he’s staring at her thong looking confused.
“What’s that daddy? He asked.
“What does it look like?” I asked
“A whale’s tail” he shot back. “Why does that woman have a whale coming out of her underwear?”
Worrying that she might hear this conversation we head over to the field, but the questions continue; “Is that a whale? Will it bite her? Why is she wearing it? Is it wet?” and so on and so on. So to remember this conversation, I snapped a picture of said thong and sent it to my wife with a note attached about a whale tail.
She didn’t reply – she was tutoring, saw the picture and wisely ignored it.
The game went on, the woman got up and walked away with her kid after spending what seemed like every minute checking her ass and pulling down her shirt to cover her underwear, each time drawing the attention of Stewie who was looking, I’m sure, for the whale to come out.
What was funny was when Linus came to the plate, cracked a hit up the third base line, trotted down to first, then noticed this woman walking away and yelling to me, “Daddy, that’s my teacher!”
I quickly deleted the picture I had taken.