I often have great intentions of being that certain breed of urban-chic mom. You know the type -- she crafts, bakes, sews with her kids, decorates with said craft/sewing projects, saves the planet/whales/cause of the week and still finds time to check out the latest, hippest local happening.
I am not that mom. Or at least not all at once. I figured (and my husband would often be quoted as saying) that I should just do it. Do something. So here goes nothing. All of my nonexistent readers out there can hold me accountable. Deal?
First task...record for posterity all of the Riley-isms that I carry around in my head. Many of these have already been past around anecdotally. But should be recorded nonetheless.
One of the earliest and most memorable was "The Dangerous Moves Academy". He was probably 2.5 -3 years old and he told me very matter-of-factly and on several occasions that before he was born he trained at the Dangerous Moves Academy. Apparently the "Academy" taught him how to be brave and do Dangerous Moves. The moves were mostly twirls and karate kicks, but every once and awhile they also included some sweet Henry Rollins-esque moshing.
Another classic from the early years:
Q: "How was school today?"
A" "LaPetite is for chumps."
And then he gets philosophical and starts to ask about death. Casually as he is playing on the living room floor he asks, "when you die and you're not a human anymore you go up with Kevin, right?". When asked who Kevin was he says, "he's the guy who teaches you Kung Fu."
So there you go.
He can always be counted on to say something very literal, funny and incredibly imaginative. Only to him it's the facts. Like did you know if you are bad to Santa then you get coleslaw? True story. You heard it here folks.
I know there are and will be hundreds more. I love you, Riley Ohs!
