Earlier today Jason bribed the children into cleaning our the rims on our tires (why? I have no idea) by offering them one quarter. PER TIRE.
Big money, apparently, when you are ten years old and don't get an allowance.
Anyhoo. Despite not having even one iota of Jason's DNA, the Boy Child has somehow magically inherited his propensity for cleaning everything he sees and asked me if he could wash my car.
Like I'm going to say no? Please.
He went around the side of the house and I, along with the rest of the neighborhood heard him say, "I'M GOING TO HO DOWN YOUR CAR NOW MOM!"
Jason and I were on the front porch swing and exchanged a look.
"What?" Jason called back to him.
"YOUR CAR! I'M GOING TO HO IT DOWN NOW!"
He walked around the side of the house.
"Can I ho your car mom?"
"Can you hose off my car? Yes"
"That's what I said," he told me. And then thought for a moment and said, "Well...that's what I meant!"
"Okay," I told him.
"Mom! Seriously! I wasn't talking about hos!"
"Good," I said.
He stood, horrified in a way that only ten-year old boys who have said something potentially shameful in front of their mothers can be, and finally said,
"Really mom. I would never talk about that. Never. I don't even like country music or people who dance funny! I promise!"
I know. I know.