Several times during Sam's visit this week, Sam would let one rip. Sometimes they were big ones (big!), sometimes they were small but quite foul. Invariably, he would say nothing until called on it, and then only a giggled "'scuse me!" would be the answer.

I really can't stand when people fart around me. It drives me nuts. My fart-aversion probably comes from the infinite number times I was on the receiving end of my older brother's farts, though I'm sure I gave as sure as I got.

This is one time when asking for forgiveness after-the-fact ("Oops! Excuse me.") is definitely worse than asking permission before-hand.

So, I gave Sam one of the big house rules in my house. He has been learning that different houses have different rules: even though he can have only one juice box a day at Uma's house, he can have three really big glasses of (tragically caffeinated) root beer at Auntie Kitt's house! What a deal! We like Auntie Kitt!

And that rule is, "If you need to fart, go outside." If you fart outside, Sam learned, the smell dissipates into the outside environment and Auntie Kitt doesn't get mad. The best part is, of course, that if no one's around, you don't even have to say, "Excuse me!"

I'm not sure if the lesson stuck, but at least he was farting more outside than in when I last noticed the small fart.

I leave the man alone for all of, what, two days and what does he do?

Date:     Fri, 22 Jul 2005 15:21:18 -0700
From:  	  Kris McQueen 
To:  	  mischief@ulti....org
Subject:  [MisChiEf] hand update

I have scientifically proven, through a carefully controlled experiment,
that Kyle's face is tougher than my 4th metacarpal.  Traslation:  my 4th
metacarpal is broken, though the doctor said it was a clean break with
no displacement, whick I took as a relatively good sign.  Anyway, I see
an orthopedist next week to find out just how long it'll be before I'm
back to hucking.

Kris

He breaks his hand.

Two days!

I returned Sam to Mom last night, and she's driving Sam and Jackson to Chris and Michelle later this morning.

Sam and I left last night for the airport at 4:40, for our flight at 5:50. Mike tried to clue me in that I wanted to leave earlier, rush hour traffic, 101 backing up, carpool won't help, but all I heard was "... spend a full hour at the airport with a semi-bored kid. How about it?"

So, we left late.

And 101 was backed up.

And the carpool lane stopped.

Just like Mike said.

Taking Central, Mike managed to get us to the airport by 5:10. Somehow, the bags I had carried out to California were twice as heavy going back to Arizana. How does that kid do it? Especially since we were carrying less stuff back.

When we arrived at the top of the escalator, my heart sank as I saw the security line wrap down around the corner. "Well, kid, you might just have to stay with me an extra night."

Sam perked up. "Really?!"

"We'll see."

We made it through the first part of the security line. After my boarding pass was matched against my identification, the agent, in the most uncomprehensible Asian accent, asked Sam, "Your name is Samuel?" which sounded more like "Yoo nahm-es Soh-moo-oo?"

Sam looked at him and replied, "No."

My stomach sank.

"Yoo nahm-es naht Soh-moo-oo?"

"No-oh."

Crap! Kid, don't do this to me. I repeated the question, "Hey Sam, your name is Samuel, right?"

He looked at me. "No."

Argh!

The agent looked up a me suspiciously.

I tried again.

"Sam, what's your full name?"

"Samuel ****** Hodsden."

Victory!

The agent smiled. "Yoo no go bee Soh-moo-oo?"

Sam looked at him agitated, "No!"

Move along! Move along, kid! Phew! Through the line!

After getting through the security line, finding the gate took another five, so by the time we lined up at the back of the A queue, we were reading to board. Whoo!

Sam really wanted to sit at the window this time. I didn't allow him to sit at the window on the way out because I was worried about the two of us having to use the restroom a billion times on the flight, so we were middle and aisle on the way out. On the way back, however, Sam was having none of this aisle crap, and plunked his little butt down in the first row with a free window seat.

Which was also the first row. And no underseat storage space.

I had to go back to row four to find a place to stow the bags, which completely endeared me to my fellow passengers as I moved back to row one, pushing past everyone trying to find seats. Twice, once for each bag. Good lord, people, move out of my way!

The flight was completely uneventful, thankfully, and Sam took a few pictures with my camera phone. Some, not so good. The ones of the bulkhead, for example. Others I thought were really good: the sunset and landscapes. I was surprised at his eye for the latter: he became very excited when he saw the city squares and just had to get a picture of them.

Not bad for a five year old:

Keep it up, kid. I refuse to be annoyed by your bouncing that big red exercise ball for hours on end.

And how the heck to you produce so much trash for someone as small as you?

And do you really know what, "What the?" means? You keep saying it as an expression of surprise, but I'm not. quite. sure. you know the full question quite yet.

No, you can't watch television. No, you can't have the motorcycle bike. No you can't take that home with you. No, you can't stay up. No, I'm not getting up yet, go back to sleep. No, you can't have the Thing punching hands and smashing feet. Stop that. Don't pull on the dog like that. No, you can't have ice cream until you finish your sandwich. Put that down. Don't run at the pool. Don't dive into the pool. Don't step on my tomato plants. Please don't do that. That doesn't go there.

How do we grow up to be (mostly) normal people?

I remember when I was small and received a "No." when I asked to stay the night at a friend's house. Actually, I don't recall if I was staying at my cousin's for Christmas Eve or wanting to stay over at a fellow Brownie's house after a Girl Scout retreat. I do remember calling Mom on the "No," and answering, "You always say no, even when there's no reason."

I caught Mom off guard and she reversed her no into a yes.

Being with Sam these last few days, I have to admit the first word of most of my sentences is "No." Granted, I think some are perfectly legitimate noes: "No, you can't take my dog home with you." But some are either knee-jerk or for my convenience, not because I have any true valid reason to say no.

Are most parents this way?

At one point today, Sam pulled a deck of cards from under the coffee table and asked, "Can I have these?" For the last three days, "Can I have this?" has been a near-constant question from his mouth. If that kid received everything he asked for, he'd be a one-man landfill. I'm completely shocked at how unbelievably effective big media is at getting this small person to desire completely unneeded items.

See above reference to "No." associated with the Fantastic Four's Thing's Smashing Feet™.

So when Sam asked for the deck of cards, and I recalled the other 11 packs sitting in my office closet, well, that one was easy. "Sure!"

But, apparently not for Sam.

"Really?"

"Yes."

"I can have them?"

"Yes."

"To take home?"

"Yes."

"My home?"

"Yes."

Apparently I had said, "No." so many times he couldn't quite believe his ears.

Good lord, somebody please tell me how I made it to adulthood?

I mean, some people do this everyday.

Willingly.

For years on end!

Some people even get paid for this. And they still do it willingly.

These people are insane.

Day three of Sam's visit has been far more challenging than the last two. Why? We've run out of things to do. I can't keep the "I'm bored. Can I watch TV?" questions from spilling out of his mouth any longer.

No, kid, you cannot watch television. Go read a book.

Oh, wait, you don't know how to read yet. Crap!

Come on, one o'clock! Swim time!