Gonna Lasso the Moon

Issac and I went camping Thursday night. Nowhere special, just the backyard. I built a fire and we made hotdogs and s'mores, which we did only for the sake of tradition, since I think marshamallows are mostly disgusting. We watched the moon and the stars, and Issac had fun learning how to weild a big stick with a piece of meat on it. I had never considered the implication of roasting hotdogs as a phallic symbol until I saw Issac holding his four-foot stick against his pelvis for added support, at which point he started pretending like he was peeing, saying "Pssst" and laughing maniacally. I swear, who teaches this kid these things?

However, he tempered this gross boy moment with a moment that melts a mother's heart. As we were watching the log's last embers, just before bedtime, Issac looked up at the sky and started talking in jibberish. It is my unfortunate conditioned response to only act like I'm listening, and simply say, "Uh huh, uh huh." But I caught myself in time to actually pay attention to his dialogue:


I'm gonna fly in the sky, up high! UP HIGH! Zoooom! I'm gonna get the moon, like this! (Pantomimes wrestling with the moon). Grrrrrr! Gotcha!

What are you going to do after you catch the moon?

Gonna give it to you, Mommy!


Then he gave me a monster big hug and a few ardent smooches. That boy sure knows what's good for him.