“Mommy… can you help me please?”

“Sure, Zeke! What do you need?”

“I can’t find my white Clone Trooper helmet for my Lego guy.”

“The white Clone Trooper helmet that’s the size of a pea located somewhere in that pile of Legos the size of a haystack?”

“I really need it, Mommy…PLEASE?”

“OK, Zeke…Is this it?”

“No! That’s a Snow Trooper helmet! Mommy, you’re so silly.”

“You’re not the first one to tell me that, Zeke…Is this it?”

“NOOO! That’s a Lego Mime beret hat!”

“Of course it is…Is this it?”

“NOOOO! Mommy! That’s a Ninja hat from Ninjago Masters of Spinjitzu!”

“Oh, sorry but there are hundreds of white helmets in here, Zeke!”

“Never mind Mommy, that’s OK. I’ll find it myself. Can you just go to the kitchen and get me a snack please?”

Great. Now my 5 year old is treating me like a dumb housewife from a 1950’s sitcom.

Curse you, Legos!…



When I picked up Zeke from school, his teachers said, “Yeah, he’s been like that all day. What’s he doing?”

“You know,” I stammered, “this is new, so I’ll have to decipher it, analyze it and get back to you on that.”

“Hey, Zekey…whatcha doin’, Buddy?”

“Mommy I’m not an elf!”

“OK, Buddy…you’re not an elf. Can you tell me who you are?”


“OK, Zeke.” My mind does a fast Mommy-kid translation:  Buddy + elf = Will Farrell’s character’s name in the movie “ELF”. Wow! I’m getting good at this.

Taking a different approach to the landing pad, “Zekey, are you playing?”

“NO! I’m fighting!”

“Oh, I can see that. Who are you fighting?”

“No one Mommy…I’m just playing.”

Who’s on first?” I say to the imaginary camera I talk to because I live in a sitcom.

“What’s on second and I don’t know’s on third, Mommy!!!”

“What the…? Nevermind that. Zeke, do you need help putting your shirt on?”

“No thank you.”

“Do you need help taking your shirt off?”

“No thank you, Mommy. I need help making my shirt longer to cover my belly.”

“Of course you do.”

In the mean time, we pick up Nate from his class. He walks out, looks at Zeke and without hesitation says, “Hey, Zane! Wanna join up with the other Ninjas and train with Sensei Wu?”

(sigh) Little-Boy-Speak is a foreign language to me. I hope to be proficient in it before they leave for college.

Now, if you’ll excuse me…I have to sew some fabric onto the bottom of my son’s t-shirt.