Category Archives: Colebert Quotes

A collection of quotes from “The Cole”. He’s very advanced for his age ;)

It Was Just A Little Bomb

For Christmas a couple years ago, my husband had a new stereo installed in my car. It has a DVD player and navigation and blue tooth and the whole shebang.

I love it.

So does The Cole.

In fact, he thinks it’s his and that he’s in charge of it and all that gets played on it.

One day, not long ago, when I picked him up from school, I forgot the change the video back to a kid friendly before hand. Instead, was an episode of Burn Notice, a personal favorite of mine. Now normally, I’d shut it off immediately and redirect his attention, etc. But for one, we literally live about 4 minutes (including school traffic) from his school. Secondly, Burn Notice is actually not too bad, really. They don’t cuss, there are no gory disgusting close up deaths of any kind… they pretty much do kung fu on each other (that’s how Cole will see it, anyway) and he already sees that when he watches 3 Ninja’s. Granted, I would not make a habit of him watching this show, but I figured this one, short time would be alright.

I couldn’t tell you exactly what happened in the 4 minutes of show he watched with me because I was too busy focusing on my finger next to the stop button ready to push immediately upon any blood… or talk of blood… or anything closely related. Well, I couldn’t have told you before yesterday.

Cole was playing in his dirt in the backyard (his favorite thing to do – ever) and there are some parts of random things back there in a section of the yard I call the useless crap section, that he enjoys making use of from time to time. He builds things like super fast race cars and sometimes cooks sushi (or gushi, if he tells it) for me if I’m hungry. Yesterday, however, he was building a bomb. Why do you ask? Because “Michael Weston makes bombs”.

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Mother of the Year, once again.

Crap.

Lesson learned. Nothing but Disney or Pixar in the car ever again whether he’s in it or not. Too risky. My bad.

The Boss Of U

Earlier this week, Cole had his remote control robot in the kitchen with me while I did dishes. He was controlling the robot’s every move with his control box.  The robot would walk. The robot would dance. The robot even began to fling tiny foam discs at me, per Cole’s request. It made little robot noises as it performed these actions and every one – especially the flinging of the discs – made The Cole giggle hysterically. When the robot ceased to make it’s little sounds and Cole continued to giggle hysterically, I took notice of what was happening here.

Cole had given up on the robot and switched his focus onto me. In his 4 year old mind, he was now controlling my movements. Every time I moved, he’d give himself credit for it.

Eventually, I started moving more robotically and he got a real kick out of that. Then I started talking with the robot voice and he started to get up off the floor and really get into it. About 30 seconds later, he was on top of a chair and throwing out demands to me and moving his control box with authority.

Get Colebert a snack!

Stop putting dishes away now! Colebert needs a snack!

No, Mommy! Not carrots again! Colebert needs cookies!

You get the idea.

When I stopped acting and talking like a robot, Cole proceeded to punch and throw his control box, infuriated by its uselessness. He then looked at me and said,

Mommy, pretend? Pretend I’m the boss of you.

And that’s when I remembered how much I enjoy writing about our little incidents here on the Boss Of U.

Pulling Out All the Stops

We went and got a Christmas tree yesterday.

We are running a little behind this year. Whatever.

My husband asked that I get a little tree due to the limited amount of space we actually have for the tree. I planned on doing just that, but seeing as how it’s like 5 days until Christmas and all, our options were limited. I could have gotten the small one, but for some reason it was double the cost of the 7 ft. one I ended up choosing. For this tree to fit in the car, Cole was forced to move his back seat driver’s seat to the co-pilot chair in which he’s always dreamed of sitting.

What a fucking nightmare.

I can handle a guest DJ, if I must. I can even manage to fake a smile while the A/C and heater are turned on, off, back, and forth. But when he decided to attempt to throw the car in reverse (or park, I can’t be sure which) as I’m driving? I got a little irritated. Now, I don’t know this can even actually be done. I’ve never really tried. But because I don’t know if it can be done, I assume it can be done. I also assume the transmission can literally fall out from underneath the car. I’ve heard stories. I don’t know they’re not true.

After I told The Cole what could happen if he did that again, I assumed he would be as apprehensive as I was. Not actually the case, it turned out. But when I told The Cole what would most definitely happen if I saw him even reach for the shifter again, he apparently decided it wasn’t worth it after all. So off to the store for the next step of Christmas.

We don’t have any ornaments since last year’s tree was fake and had lights built in it. Also because I am NOT the Christmasy type and while I was willing to put on a show for the kid, I wasn’t willing to do any extra crap since he was barely 3 years old and couldn’t really appreciate it. So, like I said, no ornaments. That meant we obviously needed to purchase ornaments as well. And let’s not forget about the tinsel and the gaudy beaded necklace looking thingies.

Those of you who love the gaudy beaded necklace thingies – please don’t be offended. Anything can be nice in moderation. My Cole does not understand moderation just yet. This is Cole’s tree. There will be a massive amount of beaded necklace thingies and tons of tinsel.

I especially love the way tinsel falls to pieces all over my floor if I do so much as walk by it.

I’m getting distracted from my point by my Christmas spirit.

I can only think of 2 other instances that the kid was this ridiculously rowdy and disobedient in a store before now. Both times his behavior resulted in us leaving the store, his crying, and my hair being pulled out by the root. By me. Ohmygod. This kid was horrible. He was the kid I’m usually walking by thanking God that my kid doesn’t act like. He was the “but Mommy….” kid. The kid who felt the need to literally run up and down aisles full of customers just trying to purchase their Christmas crap all late and shit, like I was. He was the “but I want it…” kid. With the whiny fuckin voice. You know what I’m talking about. And as a result, I was the Mom who repeated the same threats repeatedly and apologized to the lady whose foot fell victim to my child’s insanity.

It was ridiculous.

I wanted to cancel Christmas.

So I did.

I called Santa Claus right there in the middle of the store and told him Cole didn’t want any presents this year. No real saw. No real wood. Nothing at all. I told him to go ahead and make the switch on his lists and to not bother coming to our place later this week unless he was just interested in eating some cookies and milk. It’s not his fault Cole can’t behave. I’m not going to slight him on his cookies.

I won’t get into the details of Cole’s response, as I prefer you don’t feel sorry for the kid who just put me through hell. It would suffice to say that he had a meltdown of the extreme kind. Even I almost felt bad. And I was there 5 minutes prior when he was such a little snot.

Until, Cole stopped abruptly in the middle of a sob and asked to use my phone. I, of course, let him have it. He plays off my guilt often. He punched some numbers and waited for Santa to answer before telling him that he was sorry and that he really wants real wood and a real saw. He waited a sufficient amount of time for Santa to respond. He nodded as though he understood what Santa was saying to him and could see the error of his ways. He said, “okay”, and ended the call, then handed my phone back to me. He looked at me with the biggest blue eyes with traces of tears and said, “I’m sorry, Mommy”.

I told him it was too bad he didn’t think of that before he acted like such a

No, I’m kidding. I fell for his little con act and picked him up for a hug. When I put him back down he ran down the aisle so he could show me the toy he really, really wanted and got pissed when I told him we couldn’t buy it.

Fucking perfect.

 

In My House of Make Believe, We Pretend. A lot.

All of the following took place before 9 a.m. this morning.

Cole:

“Pretend, pretend, pretend that I’m the black Spiderman and you’re the red one, okay? And I go baaaam, like that, and you go oooooooooooh, like that – and you fall down and be dead. Okay? Pretend”

“Pretend, pretend, pretend that I’m a zombie, okay? And I say I’m a zombie. I going to eat your brains, like that, okay? And you run away cuz you so scared and then I catch you and eat your brains, okay? Pretend, Mommy, okay?”

“Pretend, pretend, pretend that it’s so dark outside and I have flashlights to make darkness and darkness and shadows on the wall and baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah, scary like that and I chase you and you fall down because it’s so dark and because I only have flashlights – not you. Okay, Mommy? Okay? Pretend.”

“Pretend … Mommy, pretend I smashed my penis in the toilet. OWWWWWWWWWWWW. Like that. Okay? Mommy! Pretend.”

“Pretend I already clean my room, Mommy.”

“Mommy, pretend you say yes to me and after my bath we can go to Grammy and Darrell’s house. Okay, Mommy? Puuuulleeeeaaaaaassssse! Pretty? Pretend you said yes to me. You say, okay Colebert. I say yes to you(in his best Mommy impersonation) . Okay, Mommy. Pretend.”

An hour later ….

“MOMMY! Pretend you not mean mommy and say yes to take me to Grammy and Darrell’s house. PRETEND!!!”

 

 

 

He wasn’t real impressed with my telling him to get in the pretend car. I don’t think he’ll really appreciate the pretend lunch he’s about to receive, either. But hey, if he wants me to play “pretend” so badly, I’ll play.

 

Kind Of Like Jesus … But A Little Bit Different

Cole had desperate cries of urgency this morning, begging me to come in the living room, where he was strategically placed on the couch trying to keep warm.

I guess he’s “off” the blankets for the day. I dunno.

Anyway, after arguing with myself as to whether or not I should succumb to the idea that there was a tiny chance he might actually need me, I just got up and went in there to ease the anxiety.

He knows this will happen.

It is why he continues to do it.

So I walk in the room and he’s already pointing at a Hot Wheels car on the floor. I look at the car and nod, noting that it is the one I bought him last night, and assuming he was showing me the cool car, yet again, even though I had already seen it at the time of purchase, not to mention the 18 times he showed me after I gave it to him.

I said something about how cool it was and started to give him the same old song and dance I always do, that he never hears about how I’d appreciate him not calling me in the room under such dramatic pretenses when it is not necessary. He didn’t even pretend to listen before he interrupted me to explain that the car in question? It had fallen overboard. It was in the water. He needed my help to save this car that he loves so much.

In true hero fashion, I swooped up this drowning sports car and placed it carefully on the couch next to him. We performed CPR (like they do on TV) and luckily, the car made it through this horrific event.

Then Cole realized that I, during all this commotion and confusion, was actually standing on top of this water that nearly took the life of his friend.

He was amazed. Jaw dropping excitement flooded his face as he shared his discovery of my awesome ability.

Of course, I played it off as if it was something I do everyday, this walking on water and saving the lives of those in need. I said,

“Yeah, I’m kind of like Jesus in that way, I guess.”

He laughed as he told me I was NOT, in fact, Jesus. I was Mommy and I was Kali – but never have I been Jesus.

I should seriously consider taking this kid to church one day. Or maybe even just read him one of those stories from that one book. So he doesn’t get clowned in school for not knowing who the hell Jesus is, if for no other reason.

 

More Like The Haskel’s

Last night at dinner:

Daddy: “Colebert, you are such a dork”

Cole, with shock and anger all over his face, turns to the other side of the table where I am mindlessly eating my dinner.

Colebert: “Mommy, Daddy just called me a dork.

I had to fake my look of shock and anger, but I made sure to imitate his emotions so that he felt validated. That’s just the kind of thoughtful parent I am.

I mean, I giggled a little first … but I was able to pull myself together quickly.

Mommy: “I heard him, babe. Not cool, Daddy”

Appalled and determined to convince me otherwise, Colebert yelled,

“I’m not a dork!”

Mommy: “I know you aren’t, babe.”

He then turned back to look at Daddy who had already nearly forgotten what we were talking about at this point.

Colebert: “Daddy, you’re a dork!”

I shook my head,  thinking about how wonderful it was that we could set such a great example of tolerance and sensitivity. 

Mommy: “Boys? No name calling, please. Because some people would get their feelings hurt if you called them dorks. Just because we have a sense of humor doesn’t mean everyone does. It’s just not very nice.”

Daddy nodded in agreement.

Daddy: “Mommy’s right, Cole. Some people are freaks .”


I really thought, up until this point, we were having one of those “after school special” moments. I should have known better.

I hadn’t seen any flying pigs and I’m pretty sure Bakersfield had not been covered by a sheet of ice.

Yet, for just a moment, we resembled the Cleaver’s. Except my “Ward” and “Wally” had their own version of a life lesson.

Then Cole came at my husband with something out of nowhere and all on his own. He said,

“I don’t want to be like you, Daddy. I want to be cool.”

I laughed so hard I almost had water come through my nose. And I definitely had a tear forming in my eye. My little man is growing up to be a smart-ass, just like his Mommy and Daddy. Aw.

Only Boys Can Do It

When Cole wants to play with Mommy’s tampons, I tell him he can’t do that because tampons are only for girls.

When he puts on my bra and walks around talking about his boobies, I let him know that while he does in fact have nipples, his boobs will ever be more than what they are right now. Only girls have boobies.

If another Mom is in front of or behind us when we walk into the front gate at school, I remind him that girls go first, so he’ll hold open the gate.

I thought we had pretty much covered the basics with these lessons in life until, over the last few days, I’ve noticed that he is categorizing every activity by sex.

Suddenly, because he can build things with his Lego’s, “girls can’t do it – only boys”.

When he puts the right shoe on the right foot, “girls can’t do it – only boys”.

Waffles for breakfast? “Girls can’t have waffles – only boys”

I thought I’d take advantage of this newly found misogynistic attitude and inform him that along with building and waffle eating, it is only boys who can take out the trash, pick up after themselves, and be way quiet while Mommy tries to do homework.

This approach worked out until he thought he’d switch it up on me and direct me right into the kitchen to fix his lunch.

And  Daddy strikes again.

He Likes To Party

My husband is trying to condition our son to answer every question with, “because I like to party”.

He rewards The Cole with a high-five and loving praise each time he uses this phrase, to aide in his Pavlovian experiment of the day.

Me: “Colebert, why haven’t you picked up your cars like I asked you to do 30 minutes ago?”Colebert’s response: “because I like to party”.

Me: “Son, why is there a bowl of melted ice cream just kickin’ it on the dining room table like it lives there?” Cole: “because I like to party”.

He’s finishing sentences I begin with, “I …” by inserting “like to party” before I can go on.

I hear a shout out from Dad every now and then from the background. He’s going on about some G6. As if I knew what the hell he was talking about.

The game started out somewhat amusing but has quickly dropped to “barely tolerable” status in record time.

At bedtime, Cole was a bit whiny and complainy, as he often is at around the same time every night. I told him to kiss his Daddy and find his cup because it was time to go to bed. He got the face, and proceeded to slowly whine out, “but I”, only to have Mom interject with the phrase of the day. You guessed it – “like to party”.

At least Dad and I got a good laugh out of it. I’m not so sure he was in the laughing mood considering he just got moded by his mom and all. It’s cool, though. What better time to learn about good sportsmanship and early 90′s jargon?

 

His Game is Tight

I told the kid he needed to pick up his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles cards off my office floor before I would open his new Lego’s.

He told me he couldn’t and told me all about how he couldn’t walk and didn’t have any thumbs; the usual sob story. Then he hit me with his newest and most effective sucker punch to date: he said,

“Mommy, you hurt my feelings”

Ouch.

Granted, I am still not sure how my asking him to pick up after himself truly hurt his feelings, but he definitely won that round. I picked him up and rocked him for a good 7 – 10 minutes while he fake cried over his hurt feelings.

His turtle cards are still on the office floor. He is now playing Lego’s. Dammit.

You’re Gonna What?

Today, Cole told me he was going to kick my ass. I don’t remember why, but that’s not important. He said, “I’m gonna kicka your ass” (that wasn’t a mistype – he said “kicka”)

I told him “ass” was a bad word and to say “butt” instead. In hindsight, I think maybe I should have first addressed the fact that he said he was going to kick my ass before focusing on the profanity portion of the statement.

He then displayed his extensive knowledge of all bad words. He asked, “ass is bad word?” I nodded.

He said, “fuck is a bad word too, Mommy, huh”. I nodded.

“Bitch is bad word”. I nodded.

“Shit is bad word too”. I said, “yes, Colebert. That’s enough. Thank you”.

“Asshole bad word, Mommy?”

At that point I looked over at him and caught him smiling.

So smooth. I’m just glad he’s smooth at home instead of at school or at the store. For today, anyway.