With one joke, my day is shot to hell.

Today my son laughed so hard, he threw up. And really, if you’re going to throw up for any reason, isn’t that the best one? I got the call from school that I have dreaded since his first day. Your son threw up, the school administrator said. But he’s fine! Just a bout of uncontrollable laughter! So you probably don’t need to come get him. But of course I did, how could I leave my poor post-vomit boy at school? Wouldn’t he be tired, or sore, or freaked out?

In short: no. If he was upset about anything, it was that I dared show up and ruin his good time. The teacher recounted to me how the other children barely registered that one of their own had just upchucked all over the lunch table. One of them—put down your corn dog when you read this—continued to eat the grapes that Henry had just thrown up on. I hasten to add that they were not the actual soiled grapes, but the few pristine grapes remaining in the bunch. I ask you, who could be so totally unfazed? Only a bunch of preschoolers, that’s who. Those adorable nitwits.

Anyway, on the way home Henry cheerfully shared with me the hilarity that caused his sickness. Are you ready? He and his best friend had invented Peanut Butter Man, “which were like our fingers walking across the table.” And Peanut Butter Man had a special gun that squirted peanut butter at bad guys. “It’s a peanut butter gun,” said Henry, sensibly.

“No,” said his friend, “It’s a penis butter gun.”

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAHhhhhhoooblluuuuugh.

The End.

Henry’s first post.

This is a story called the X in the Rock.

One day there was a rock. His name was Fred. He liked his friends, the knights. One knight was a very strong knight and one knight was a very fast knight. And they were all friends. The little knight was the fastest so he was the brother and the other knight was the strongest so he was the big brother.

The rock was stuck together with very very very very very very sticky glue. The rock could only be split apart with! The! Powerful knife. Four people had to hold it, I mean five people, to split the rock. I’m going to draw the big knife. [Henry draws the knife cutting the rock in half.] Now it’s in half. So the big X is actually a real treasure. But do you know what’s the problem? The glue can’t get unstuck! The rock is just stuck together. So they called for help. And do you know what they saw running toward them? In the darkness they saw a shadow. It wasn’t to a monster. It wasn’t to an alien. And it wasn’t to a spooky thing. When the sun came up they saw it was the Dag Knight. He thought they were calling for him so he just ran over! His castle was nearby.

And you know what the real problem was? No treasure was in there. And they decided, where’s the treasure? This is not a treasure rock! This is just a plain rock! That X was just a trick for you, silly!

4.2

Now that I am two months into Four, I am learning all sorts of things about this fascinating creature.

Whereas Two and Three can be easily distracted from any complaint or demand, Four lets go of nothing. Four forgets nothing. Four wants to sit with me at the end of the day and review my parental failures. “You shouldn’t have given me a banana with my lunch last week,” Four wants me to know. “And you promised not to take off Band-Aid even when it was hanging off but then you pretended your hand slipped and it just came off by itself. That was not true.” Then he gives me a thumbs down.

Four is onto me. And you. Don’t you give him that look.

Four is also terrified of everything. Oh, he’ll act like a tough guy, insisting that some cartoon meant for the 6-and-up set doesn’t scare him. Do not believe him, readers, because before you know it Four will be unable to stay in a room by himself, and will have to walk everywhere in front of you, pressing his back against your thighs, because otherwise the zombies he saw for 2.5 seconds on the Nicktoons Network might get him.



Or maybe this is Four and Two Months talking; maybe by the third month he’ll be pleased with me again, and fearless enough to, say, sit in a room without being curled up in a fetal position on my lap as he berates me for my shortcomings.

(Also: there's a new post at Wonderland today.)

It begins.

Henry: I have to tell you something. My best friend William French [not his real name—Eds.] had a cold today.

Me: So he wasn’t in school?

Henry: No. I just said that.

Henry: Actually, I was just kidding. About the cold. I was kidding! Do you know what really happened?

Me: No, but you’re going to tell me, aren’t—

Henry: I have to tell you something. So. Today we went to see Star Wars at the movie theatre.

Me: You went to see Star Wars.

Henry: We went to the movie theatre to see Star Wars. And on the way out William French hit! A! Pole! Like a wooden pole. He hit it.

Me: How did you get to this theatre?

Henry: We all got into a giant, monster size Toy Yoda. We went to see Star Wars, and on the way out William French saw a big wooden pole and he hit it with his hand, like a karate chop with his hand, and he broke it! He went hi-YAAA and broke it all in half.

Me: This story keeps getting better and better.

Henry: And now I have to tell you the very scary part. He had a Big. Wooden. Piece. Stuck in his hand. And the nurse had to take it out.

Me: The nurse at the movie theatre?

Henry No, the teacher who is also a nurse. She had to pull it out of his hand with giant tweezers. And he shouted, AAAH! But then it was all right. His hand was just fine!

Me: Wow.

Henry: You know what? I was kidding! William French just had a cold.

Me: That was a good story!

Henry (whispering): Actually I’m kidding about the cold. Everything else was real.