Me and the boys were ending our excursion through Target the other day, and I was directing them to a fast checkout counter. The Pokemon cards hang on the shelf right next to the fast checkout section, so getting the boys past that distraction is like herding cats past a shelf of shiny, dangly string toys.

“Go on, boys,” I urged, “we’ve got to checkout and go, now.” I started to tell them which of the two counters to go to — the one I had randomly selected on the spur of the moment — when I stammered.

The two cashiers were young girls (teenagers), with medium-short, black hair. They both, of course, wore red shirts and khaki pants (the normal uniform for Target folks). The one obvious difference between the two girls was one was white and the other was black.

The words on the tip of my tongue were, “Let’s go right over here to the black girl.” Their skin color was the most easily identifiable difference between them. (At least that was the most “easily identifiable” difference for young boys — or a middle-aged man — to recognize between two teenage girls.)

I held my statement when I realized how that might sound. I changed my direction to “Um, the girl on the right,” and they followed my pointing finger. (Calfgrit4 still hasn’t come to get right and left correct every time, yet. Especially when we’re facing each other.)

Now, had the two cashiers been a teenage girl and a middle-aged woman, I wouldn’t have hesitated identifying them as “the woman” or “the girl.”

Had they been a male and female, I wouldn’t have hesitated saying, “the guy” or “the girl.”

Had they different color hair, I wouldn’t have hesitated saying, “the blonde” or “the one with black hair” (I don’t know if the boys know “brunette” yet).

Had they just about any other distinguishing feature between them, I don’t think I’d have hesitated to use that as an identifier to direct the boys.

But I choked on “black” and “white.” Why is that?

Bullgrit

Calfgrit4 came to me and announced, “Calfgrit8 said ‘stupid.’ We’re not supposed to say ‘stupid.’ ‘Stupid’ is a rude word. Are you going to punish him for saying ‘stupid?'”

“OK,” I said, “you can stop saying it.”

“Alright,” he ended, “I just wanted to let you know he said ‘stupid.'”

Bullgrit

In our pulling stuff out of the closets to pack everything up for our move, we came across an old magic set that Calfgrit8 got for his birthday a couple years ago. He played with it a lot for a few months after he got it, but then somehow it got lost in the closet and we hadn’t seen it in probably a year.

When we pulled it out this time, Calfgrit4 was interested in it. His interest was mostly just in the props as funny things to play with. But there was one item that intrigued him the most: a box with a sliding drawer, in which something put could be made to disappear.

He put a red ball into the drawer, and with me holding the box, and him holding the magician’s wand, we could make the ball disappear from the drawer. I taught him “hocus pocus” to make the ball disappear, and “pocus hocus” to make it reappear.

This magic amazed and excited him. He took the box and wand, and ran to the back of the house to show Calfgrit8. “Daddy taught me magic words,” he explained.

But when he opened the box, the ball hadn’t disappeared. “It worked when I did it with Daddy,” he said, disappointed.

He ran back to me and we tried the magic words again. “Tada!” I said when it worked. We made the ball disappear and reappear a few more times until he apparently was satisfied that the magic words did, indeed, work. Then he got distracted with something else and the box was forgotten for the rest of the day.

Cowgrit and I looked at each and smiled large when he went to the other room. “That’s so damn cute,” I said, “he believes it’s magic.”

This period of belief is so fleeting.

Bullgrit

This past weekend, I had to take down the play set in our backyard (for our upcoming move). Calfgrit4 wanted to help me, and that worried me. Usually when either of the boys “help” me, any task takes twice as long to accomplish. And since I figured this big project would take a few hours by myself, I feared it would take all freakin’ day with little hands “helping.”

As it turned out out, it took about 6 hours to completely take apart and remove, but CG4 was actually good help and didn’t hold me up at all. As I removed screws and bolts from the set, he collected them and took them over to the outdoor table on the patio. He even kept them separated by type.

Sometimes he was right there waiting for the pieces as I removed them, and so would take three or four at a time and then come right back. Sometimes he got distracted or played a few minutes before coming back, and then he collected dozen at a time. But he never left me waiting with a lot of stuff in my way.

He was attentive and happy to be working with me. And I was happy to have him with me. Not only was it just fun having my 4-year-old son hanging out with me all day, but his dealing with the screws and bolts like he was saved me the effort and trouble of having to climb down and take the stuff to the side, myself.

We took a break at midday to go inside for lunch and a nap (it was 95 degrees at noon). He didn’t want me going back out to work until he woke up, so I got a little nap of my own. When he woke up, the first thing he said to Cowgrit was, “I need to go help Dad finish taking the play set down.” We went back out together and finished the project.

Calfgrit8 was sick over the weekend with strep throat, so he stayed inside. For a while he was in my and Cowgrit’s bed with the big window blinds open so he could watch us working. CG4 would occasionally wave at the window. We couldn’t see CG8 through the glass because of the bright sun, but CG4 still waved blindly and happily.

Man, I’ve got some wonderful sons. (Except when they drop my cell phone into their water cup.)

Bullgrit