This will be fast. Shawn wants to go to bed, which is in the same room as the computer, and he's pretty sure I type louder than any human being on the planet.
This morning, as I was finishing putting the very pharmaceutically aromatic Desitin on Mackenzie's diaper rash, Casey ran up for a hug. Then he sniffed me and said, "Your eyelashes smell funny. Like an ingredient. I'm going to eat them. And then I'm going to POOP ON THEM!"
(He also threatened to poop on his lunch, my foot, and Mackenzie throughout the day. It's a thing. We're working on it.)
(That's a total lie. I'm not working on it at all, except to laugh every time he says it. For some reason, he finds that encouraging.)
Also, a few days ago, we were out for a walk and he was explaining how an ambulance works:
Casey: They drive, and they go FASTER and FASTER! But then they go slow. And they help us. And then FASTER and FASTER! And they say, 'weee-oooo weeee-oooooo'!
Me: Ohhhhh. What do they do if there's an emergency?
Casey: They KILL US.
Then at Colton's annual check-up this morning, Casey brought in an unloaded Nerf gun and shot and killed all the staff (including the doctor) and all the zoo animal wall decals. He starts 3-year-old preschool in 2 weeks. I have exactly 14 days to get him to stop pooping on stuff, killing people, and pretending he's peeing on me and everything in sight every time I change his clothes or help him with the potty.
....................But it's not yet time to teach him that his real name isn't Casey the Bean, which is how he introduced himself to the doctor today.
"I'm just Casey the Bean," he says with a shrug.
Nope. I'm not emotionally equipped to let go of that just yet.
