Cape Cheeto

My kids have numerous adorable qualities....and then some that are so annoying, I could pull a Mel Gibson on "Access Hollywood" and start ripping out my arm hair (it happened, YouTube it).

Sawyer knows certain topics of discussion are off limits at certain times - talking about dessert before we've even had dinner, asking about new toys when he's just received one. In my never-ending insanity, I usually end up yelling, "Sawyer, we are NOT TALKING ABOUT THIS!"

Cue lightbulb.
That little ass nows asks me to spell certain desires of his. A simple example would be this:

Me: Sawyer, eat your salad.

Sawyer: Mama, how do you spell croutons?

Adorable, right? Not yesterday.

Yesterday, we went to our super fun, favorite water park at Ida Lee and met our friends the Browns there. Lunch rolls around and Natalie pulls out a huge bag of Cheetos. The boys' eyes go wide. I permit them to have some but since they are both blessed with their Mama's stomach (that being: bottomless, never full & always ready for Cheetos), we had to curtail their competitive eating. Dylan lost his shit as 1) he was tired, 2) I had already yelled at him in the pool to stop playing Ninja Turtles and pretending Logan was Shredder and 3) who doesn't want more Cheetos?

(this is what I imagine the boys' college dorm rooms to look like)

Sawyer, I thought smartly at the time, retreated back to his towel while Dylan howled about injustices upon his Cheeto love, and I'm attempting to not choke him as he is getting louder each passing second. And then I hear.......

"Mama, how do you spell Cheetos?" and I whirl around and there's that little orange-fingered psychopath gleaming at the bag of Cheetos.

I scream, "SAWYER! SHUT THE HELL UP ABOUT THE DAMN CHEETOS!"

His response was delivered smoothly and measued: "Mama, I was not asking to eat the Cheetos. I just want you to spell it."

I honestly felt like I was in that movie "Cape Fear" where Robert DeNiro stalks some family and creepily says, "Cooooooounseeeeelllllorrrrrrr" every 8 seconds. It still gives me goose bumps. And so does the Spelling Buttface.