Category: Wild West’n

“Mama’s making waffles because I’m a little diarrhea.”

-Weston

TRANSLATION: Mama is making waffles for breakfast because she thinks they would be better than cold cereal for the diarrhea currently troubling my bowels.

Any text would detract from the photo…

Using “state-of-the-art technology” we have determined that Weston picking his nose (with both hands) looks more like Claire than he looks like Rich with big red plastic lips.

Last summer, 2006 BC (Before Conrad), we decided to take Weston and Julia to a Mets game. As is part of the ritual, we got a couple hot dogs and drinks. Because Weston’s reflexes were a little unpredictable, we should have expected something like this would happen. He picks up the hot dog which is covered in ketchup and hurls it. He scores a bullseye on the kid in front of us, and, just like in the movies, it sticks to the back of his shirt and slowly slides down it. To make things worse, the poor kid was there with his buddy and both of them were decked out in Mets gear. It wouldn’t surprise me if the jersey was autographed.

What do you do?

We both apologized of course and, as only a mother could do, Claire offers the poor kid a wet wipe. He declined. We tried to look the other way and pretend the whole thing never happened. When we finally gathered the courage to look forward again, we noticed that the two wise fellows had casually gotten up and moved to the empty seats at the far end of the row.

I bet they were still within range — Weston has a good arm.

We were in church. The kids were somewhere close by…we were certain. Anyway, they seemed to be entertaining themselves, so we figured we’d relax and listen to the speaker. The talk was about charity…about loving your fellow-people…etc…etc…etc. Just as we were remembering what it was like to go to church and actually listen to what was said, we hear Weston. Weston was, until now, quietly playing in the row behind us. Loud enough to make everyone in the vicinity wonder what kind of parents this kid had, he bangs a couple toys together and yells, “Kiw aw da bah-byes!” Despite his tendency to mumble on occasion, this was loud and clear. I actually think the people sitting around us appreciated his contribution. You just don’t get enough “kill all the bad guys” at church anymore.