Finn started complaining in the car the other day that his butt... excuse me, "behind"... hurt. His explanation: "I think I have a radish."
Given that he's never been to a Sizzler salad bar and therefore the only radish this kid has ever seen is on the side of the Amazon Fresh truck that delivers his lazy parents' groceries, we're pretty sure he meant rash. Considering the crap we've been feeding him and the non-stop Christmas festivities, we're not surprised.
Of course, radishes weren't the only things he got this Christmas. In addition to all of the trucks and playsets he's been pining over for the last month or two, he also got swords. Lots and lots of swords. Enough to beat me over the head with a different one every five minutes of the day while I "work from home" this week. Foam swords, pirate swords, samurai swords, and... oh yes, working lightsabers that light up and make cool battle sounds when you swing them around.
All of the sword fighting has even motivated Finn to add a new word to the family vocabulary:
Spain - v. to hit really, really hard with a sword, "to where you make a clanking sound."
Allow me to use it in a sentence: "If you get spained too many times on your behind, you might develop a radish."
I should actually correct a point about the lightsabers: they're not both his. The red one is mine. I've spent the last couple of days alternating between checking email and trying to convert Finn to the dark side of the force. No luck so far, but I'll keep trying.
Or I'll cut off one of his hands. I've seen the movie. I'm pretty sure those are the only two options.