Sam is a Sour Patch Kid

This post is riddled with over-sharing... you've been warned.

You know the commercials for Sour Patch Kids? First they're sour, then they're sweet?

Here's a reminder...



This was the theme of the night for Sam.

It all started when he wanted to "knock me over." This isn't the sour part.

This is a nightly routine for us. He wants to knock me over so I sit Indian-style in the floor, he gets a running start, and knocks me over.

Except Sam is a special breed of stocky. He's short but wide. And packed with muscle. So sometimes him knocking me over can smart a bit. But it's fun so I continue to do it.

Enter tonight.

He wants to knock me over. I agree. And the next thing I know?

He kicked me in the hoo-ha.

Yup. Right in the lady biscuit.

Now I'm no dude. My ovaries don't dangle outside my body in a very thin skin covered sack. So I'm not going to say it was excruciating.

I will say, though, I didn't care for it much. I'd even go so far as to use the word "unpleasant."

His response? Laughter. And lots of it.

My response? "It's a good thing I don't have giblets."

Fast forward a few minutes...

Sam apparently rolled in dirt at Susan's today. This is not a problem, just means no skipping the bath. Except for on the way home, I was convinced that I've told people to "eat dirt" so many times that I may have actually tried to myself b/c I kept feeling dirt in my teeth (Now I didn't actually eat dirt nor did I roll in it but as I walked on campus today it appeared I was in a wind tunnel so I'm guessing that's where this developed).

Bottom line is we decided to just take a shower.

More back story: I lost a toenail today. Whole toenail... off of my toe. I'm batting with 10 toes and 9 nails to cover them. This could also be described as unpleasant.

So we jump in the shower. Turns out toenails are important. They protect against the heat of the water which is surprisingly painful on freshly exposed toenail undergrowth.

They protect against 3-year olds who accidentally stomp on them.

And make their mothers scream out in anguish.

Which makes said 3 year old giddy like a chimpanzee on banana delivery day.

And said 3 year old then takes aim ready to strike again.

Here's the sweet part. Once he realized I was actually in pain and this wasn't like the dramatic lady bit antics from earlier, he said, "Here momma, I kiss it." Then he bent down in the shower, on all fours, so he could kiss my toe. And he took special care to not step on it again.

Now this is Sam we are talking about. We can't leave it all wrapped up in a pretty bow like that.

After we got out of the shower, Sam was horsing around with me (per usual). Then suddenly, he was running at me. Both arms outstretched. Little hands wrapped into fists.

And he ran into me. Fists first.

Right in my lady lumps.

It hurt.

This too... can be described as unpleasant.

But how can you be mad at a kid like this?