Making Sense of It All

It was good to have my parents here this past weekend if only to have them see first hand what it's like to be me. Not that they aren't understanding and/or sympathetic; there are just some things that can't be explained but must be experienced.

• Like the endless jumping on the couch followed by, "No more jumping on the couch" (and then repeated 50 times a day).
• Like the incessant stories told in a slow but mumbled way while the speaker is in constant movement.
• Like having to tell a four year old to go play only to find him wallowing on the couch with his hand completely stuck in his mouth and his legs in the air.
• Like protecting an infant from hugs that quickly turn into headlocks and the constant poking and prodding and touching from an adoring but mischievious toddler.
• Like the cacophany of having a crying baby and a whining toddler and a talking preschooler all voicing their needs at the same time.
• Like the bizarre conversations we often have such as today's question: what's inside a penis? I could only say, "I don't know, Andrew" to which he replied, "I think there is a tube that ejects food that you eat and turns it into pee."

I feel like I am in a language immersion program, learning the second language of "Boy." What's with the endless silly talk, rambling monologues of nonsense, tendencies toward violence in the most harmless of activities?

I find it difficult to distinguish between annoying behavior and matters of etiquette. When is it okay to pull off someone's head and throw it out the window? In what situations is it okay to say "bottom"? What is the fascination with toilets?

I treasure their creativity and boundless energy, but I do find them challenging to say the least.