Why I (we) Shouldn't Be Parents

Compliments of the 500 Fisher Price toys that Gavin owns, we have a bout 15,000 small plastic balls of various colors and they are currently spread out in every crevice of our home. Gavin loves to play with these little colored Fisher Price balls. He likes to throw two at one time (prompting us to call him double fists of fury) and he loves to play with them on the kitchen floor. That is, until eventually they all end up behind the refrigerator and I have to get the Swiffer to retreive them to make the screaming stop. On any given day, I could do this upwards of 50 times. Hey, at least the Swiffer is getting used.

Well, I'm trying to teach Gavin the different colors using his beloved Fisher Price balls but I'm having trouble with one color in particular:

Me: Red ball. This is a red ball Gavin. Say red.
Gavin: (drooling)
Me: Green ball. This ball is green. Can you hand mama the green ball
Gavin: (throws green ball... continues to drool)
Me: Orange ball. Orange. Orrrrraaaannnnnggggeeeeeee. Say orange ball.
Gavin: Waahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh (drool)
Me: (snicker..... snicker.....snicker....) Bl.... (snicker).....blu..... (snicker)...... Blue ball, Gavin. Can you say blue ball (snicker... snicker.... snicker.....)
Gavin: (drool)
Me: Dude, I'm totally teaching my son to say blue ball.


Of course, Lloyd is just as bad. Last night Gavin was fussing so Lloyd told him to "go play your balls" to which Lloyd and I errupted in laughter and I was like "dude, you totally told your son to play with his balls".