Kosher

 

An evening a few days back,I was outside piddling around in the yard. I groomed Scooter and cleaned the water tank, scrubbed a bucket that the birds crapped all over…stupid birds.

After I finished, I brought Scooter out into the yard and sat in a lawn chair while he ate his grain. The windows through out the house were open and I could hear hubby, son #1, and wee one in the kitchen after their dinner.

Here’s some of the conversation I overheard:

Son #1, “dad, what does kosher mean?”

Hubby,” kosher? like pickles or Jewish strict ritual beliefs?”

Son #1, ” I dont know, someone said they could not eat something because it was not kosher.”

Hubby, “maybe it was a Jewish person who could not eat store bought beef.”

Son #1, “huh?”

Hubby, “Wee One, what are you doing? are you pooping? do you need to use the potty?”

Son #1, “I think the people wouldn’t eat cookies. Dad! Sammy looks like he has to take a dump!”

Wee One, “no, gimme my juice!”

Hubby, “wee one! do you need to go to the potty?”

Wee One,” No!”

Son #1. “He does so Dad.”

Wee One, “No!”

Son #1, “ewww, he smells Dad!”

Wee One, “Bubba (what he calls his brother) I farted! smell, Im stinky.”

Hubby, “wheres your mother?”

See why I seem a bit ‘unhinged‘ at times?