“April Forms!”

I have endured my fair share of terrible children’s shows. ‘Thomas the Train’ is a constant in our home,  one that I’ve become pretty tolerant to. ‘My Little Pony’, Hey I can get down with some chilling in Equestria with my pony pals. ‘Max and Ruby’ could have been number 1 on my hatred list if it weren’t for that god awful high voiced, bald headed ‘Caillou.’ That show just rubs me the wrong way while boiling my blood, but man alive do my kids ever love it. As of lately this treasured show has taught Lars about “April Fool’s Day” Now whether it’s that Lars cannot pronounce April Fool’s or that he actually thinks it is called ‘April Forms’ I am not sure, but for the entirety of the day he has been walking around saying, “April Forms” for no reason other than he likes to say the phrase. He doesn’t say it normally either, he drags it out , Aaaaprillll Fooorrms. In addition with his lazy R’s, at first it sounded quite cute; I would be eating these words by the end of the day.

‘Oh dear sweet boy, remove yourself from your mothers sleeping legs.’ I wake up to once again find a heap of a child sleeping soundly atop my lower half of body. Why he finds this spot on our king size bed the most comfortable I will never know. I slide my legs out from under the youngster, it has become more of an art than just a mere movement in recent days. I start the coffee and look at the clock, already 7:ooam, doing pretty good so far.

Lars is not far behind me, I ask him if he would like a bowl of cereal.  “No thank-you Mama.”

“Well what do you want then?”

“Cereal….April Forms!” The cackling that follows his yarn is relentless and wakes up my daughter, who also thinks it is pretty funny. He chooses to watch ‘Thomas’ this fine morning which I am quite thankful for, except soon I find him talking to the TV, trying out his April Forms spiel upon his engine buddies. Although he isn’t getting a response from Thomas and Gordon he continues on his rant, “Hey Gordon, you go to Tidmouth Sheds? No? April Forms!” His screeches of joy are insistent and I realize how little lenience I comprise this early morning.

“Ok Lars, how about I take you and Soph  to the park and play, so we can let Daddy sleep in.” I figure a jaunt out of the house may detour my son from his annoying chatter.

“No thank you.” A strange response from the boy who lives, breathes and yearns for park play.



The two kids and I make our way to the park and I get a good 40 minutes without ‘April Forms’ ringing in my ear. I have a fleeting thought about when April first actually comes, and swear if anybody tells Lars about the festivities of the day I will grip their neck personally.

We arrive home  with our cheeks sporting a lovely rose colour. “Do you guys want me to make you hot chocolate?” Lars doesn’t even dignify this with a response, tucking right into his “April Forms” slogan.  Despite my anxiety about when this phase will pass, I counter his joke with a laugh and call him a dork. First mistake.

A few months ago my husband gave way to a huge blunder by telling our 4 year old son, that a ‘Dork’ means a whales penis. Lars absolutely loved the idea that he could talk about a whales penis in such a nonchalant fashion, and used it readily. Anytime anyone would call anyone a ‘Dork’ Lars would bust in and say the line, ‘What a dork means?….A whales penis!’. When he first began saying the line, we all thought it was very cute, so his Aunties would push him to say it, “Lars you’re a dork…” they would instigate, knowing he could not hold back the urge to say the line, ‘What a dork means?….A whales penis!’  Lars would overhear perfect strangers on the street saying the word ‘Dork’ and shove in-between their legs looking up at the unfamiliar faces and say, ‘What a dork means?….A whales penis!’ I would have to excuse my son and apologize for the interruption, pulling him away from the crowd while he laughed and laughed at his own penis joke. Oh the indignity. It was only until he caught wind of ‘April Forms Day’ that he forgot about ‘what a dork means’. Until this day, when I foolishly reminded him.

“What a dork means?….A whales penis….April Forms!” Great.

And this is basically how the rest of the day goes, anything I say to the boy his retort is exclusively that, “What a dork means?….A whales penis….April Forms!” I love my son, I love my son, I love my son. This mantra does not seem to be giving way to the pure displeasure I feel for him right now.

Finally bath time comes around and I am looking forward to 10 hours of not having to hear the line aloud  that has permanently embedded into my brain. I put the kids in the tub in my on-suite bathroom so I can fold the mountain of laundry on my bed, checking on them periodically.

I hear Lars screaming at the top of his little lungs, I can’t make out what he is saying but I know he is distraught from the tone of his yelps. I take two long leaps toward the bathroom where I find Lars perched atop the tubs shell. One foot balanced on the half inch  lip attached to the wall, the other methodically placed on the faucet, while bent over steadying himself by holding onto the other rim of the bathing unit. He gawks up at me, still in his awkward position his face sullied with horror.  He looks towards his sister Sophie, which makes me glance in that direction too, where I find her handling a little brown ball of something. The more I investigate the scene, the more little brown balls I see floating in the bath water, this is when the smell hits me. “Is that shit!?” Using the word ‘shit’ was probably not my best choice especially with the evidence of how easily my child picks up phrases, but the moment overwhelmed me.

I remove Lars from his roost and put a towel around the hysterical child to try and provide some comfort. He is still howling with  distress  from his close encounter with his sister’s fecal matter. Sophie has smeared the stuff all over the tub wall behind where she was sitting, I am assuming in an attempt to hide her behavior from punitive judgment. I let the water go, while trying to strain out the shit,  as to not let it go down our ever clogging drains. Lars is still mumbling fanatically about the experience in the background.  Finally I get the girl sanitized, as well as remove the poo from of my cleansing division and look at Lars who is still not in great spirits. He is most definitely the ‘clean’ child out of the two, and has always had an aversion with Sophie and her shit flingin’ ways.

I know it was wrong, but I couldn’t resist as I looked at my poor troubled boy, to say in a glee-filled tone, “Don’t cry my little dork, April Forms!”


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