The Name Game

We're remodeling our house. I have mixed emotions. I am elated to have my walls torn down and a fireplace put in...not to mention we get to let the sunshine in, literally, but I am sickened by the fact that the main floor of my house is in complete shambles at the moment. However, this too shall pass. The major problem with a remodel is children. What do you do with them when construction workers are present? Loud noises startle Ella, Gabe wants to play in drywall dust and Isaac....well, Isaac may as well be renamed Dennis, as in "the menace." Our contractor's last name is Zebell, and Isaac keeps saying "Hey, Mr. Zebra..."(fill in the blank)...sorta like Dennis would say "Hey, Mr. Wilson!"
Anyway, I thought I'd do the contractors a favor and win brownie points with my kids by taking them to the park today. So, off we went, to a very nice local park with a great playground, and as usual, there were very few people there. I tucked Miss Ella into her sling, and released the hounds from the van, watching them hoot and holler as they ran toward the play-equipment. Only two other little boys, one about Isaac's age, and one about Gabe's age were playing there, with their parents eagerly helping them race down the firepole and through the tunnels. My thought: What nice, dedicated parents they have....I'm going to go sit on that bench. Only a few minutes into playtime, I've heard Isaac say "Hey you!" to the older boy about ten times, so I say "Isaac, why don't you ask him his name so you don't have to say 'Hey you?' " There, a good mom suggestion. Isaac asks him, and the boy responds that his name is Alesandro. Well kid, he won't call you Alesandro, but it'll be a version of that, still better than "Hey you." Isaac nods, and a few minutes later I hear shreiks of "Hey Bondo, let's do this slide!" Oh, well. Moving on.

Gabe, who repeats everything his brother says, begins with "Hey you!" to the younger boy, and I try the same suggestion with him. Gabe asks the little boy what his name is, and the boy stares at him, obviously not much of a talker yet. His very proud mama says, "This is Franco!" At that, Gabe gives his classically indifferent "Oh." I figured Gabe either didn't hear the name or didn't care, because he seemed to move along, playing by himself. That is, for about five minutes he did. Then, to my horror, I see him glance toward the swings, and then flash a smile to Franco and proclaim, ( I say proclaim because he did this at the top of his lungs), "Hey F--ko!! Let's swing!!"
I did my best shrug-it-off, nervous giggle as his mother looked at me like my kid was the Anti-Christ, and mumbled "outta the mouths of babes, right?!" She was less than amused.
We promptly said our goodbyes and headed home, to our banging, clanging mess of a house. But at least everybody knows everybody's name here...right, Mr. Zebra?