Amazing Grace II

When it comes time for family prayers in the evening, before bed, I always begin by asking if anyone has anything special that they would like to pray about.  The idea behind this strategy is to give anyone who wishes, the opportunity to contribute.

Tonight there were three hands.  Truthfully, there were four - three went into the air while the fourth was clasped firmly over Justin's mouth.  As we began, I sensed unease for several reasons, not the least of which was due to Justin's desperate attempt to free himself from his mother's grasp, nor the excited wiggling of the little boy sitting next to me whose hand was one of the previously mentioned three. 

Ashley prayed for the ability to remain calm thus avoiding the need to throttle Justin.

Ethan prayed for help with school.

Logan...well...

"I want to pray for exploding butterflies!" he exclaimed.

Amen.

- 12 March 2012

Caution: Wet Cement

I was lying on the sofa, enjoying the company of my wife - an event so rarely gifted to me that I barely knew how to describe it - when I was descended upon by my oldest sons.  They came and lay down across me on the couch.  I could smell their stinky heads.

A conversation started about various candle scents and a number of unusual smells which we had encountered at a shop during a recent trip - beer, grass and leather.  Mandles, if you will.

Ethan suggested that another good scent would be wet cement.

"I love the smell of wet cement," Justin said.

"You do?" I asked, trying to imagine Justin making a career in organized crime.

"Oh, yes.  Wouldn't that be awesome?"

Well, it certainly gave me pause.

"When have you smelled wet cement?" I wondered aloud.

While the words hung in the air, it dawned on me that I had been sucked in.  Only minutes previously I had been enjoying a few of the rare boy-free moments in my life, and now I was at the bottom of a dog pile, knee deep in a discussion about cement-scented candles.

C'est la guerre.

- 17 January 2012

Say What?

I had just told Logan to do something he didn't want to do.  As he made to return to his seat, he paused to reply.  Standing on the fireplace behind his chair, he arranged a scowl on his face.

"Say 'no, no' to yourself."

I see.  How about if your bottom says 'no, no' to my hand?

- 19 December 2011

Strict Letter

Upon learning that Mother's had gone out of business and would no longer be making Circus Animal Cookies (among other favorites), Justin became extremely upset.  His anger was summed up nicely.

"We're going to write a strict letter...and try not to swear too much."

- 15 January 2009

Plan and a Half

"Why did you buy all that candy dad?" Ethan asked me, once he and Logan and I had reached the truck.

"Because your mother asked me to," I said.

"Are you going to watch a movie with her?  A lovey, kissy romantic movie?" he asked, making kissing noises.

"I don't think so," I said.  "Are those the kind of movies mom likes?"

"Yeah, British ones."

I chuckled.

"Someday you'll be in love with a woman, Ethan, and you'll do a lot of strange things for her."

"Like watch lovey, kissy, romantic British movies?" he inquired.

"Among other things."

He thought about it for a moment.

"Someday, Justin's and Logan's and my wife can go with mom and watch those movies and the guys (he gestured to the three of us) can go see a punch-you-in-the-face movie."

Sign me up!

- 20 March 2012

Busted

After Logan got into the bathtub, I went across the hall to talk to Ashley.  I shared how much I enjoy taking car rides with the boys, having just returned from one such excursion with two of them.

"Are you really going to write 14 odes?!" she asked.  "'Cause that was exhausting."

Apparently she had read the first one.

"Maybe you can write each one in a different style," she suggested.

"Well, okay," I said, trying not sound defensive.

I knew full well that this would be her reaction.  It is my English composition freak flag that is waving, after all, not hers.

"It was a challenge to write that...it's a special form of poem," I said, still trying to fight a losing battle without sounding too much like a flouncing geek.

"Well, it was a special challenge to read it," she replied.

Okay, that was funny.  How do you feel about limericks?

- 20 March 2012

Ode to the Mother of Boys ~ The Stick

"Why do they always have to carry a stick?"

Why does the hand it firmly clasp
     Upon the throat of lofty switch?
No moment's peace or calming air to grasp
     When boy and timber find their niche.
Travel thee, without thy stock
     A theory no further from the truth could be
          Abrasions suffered and stitches nigh
When boys take flight and seldom walk.
     Physicians you will need to see,
          The parents shake their heads and sigh.

What brings you son, this weapon to collect?
     The unseen force from compass points compel,
Unearthly bond this branch and flesh connect,
     Too quick to see the hand that rings your brother's bell.
Spring forth thy sibling, for his head to cleave,
     And marks upon his person make,
          With ample skill and eager wood,
Your playful nature to relieve,
     A limb to split, a bone to break,
          For boys, no other path is understood.

Snips and Snails

My wife, Ashley, has always been a source of tremendous support and inspiration.  Destined to survive in these male surroundings where even the family pets can provide no solace, as they too are all boys, she finds the strength to carry on.  Long suffering though she may be, none of this would be possible without her.  Can you imagine?  I shudder to think.

Too often, I fail to properly convey, in type, what makes sense in my head.  As my editor, she helps save me from myself (in so many ways).  A few months ago, after reading Dear Library, she suggested that I write an ode to the mother of boys.

"That sounds like fun," I agreed.

"...but I want you to answer a few questions," she said.  "There are a few things I would like to know."

Fair enough.  After all, you, of anyone, are entitled to have a few of the mysteries revealed...shoot.  She proceeded to ask me 14 questions and I, in turn, agreed to attempt a composition that would address them all.  I was, and am, excited about the undertaking.  Even now, as I sit here reading and re-reading them, I chuckle to myself.  They do seem to address the very essence of what it is to be a boy.  All I can say is this - if you do not find my explanations satisfactory, keep one thing in mind, "snips and snails and puppy-dog tails; that's what little boys are made of."  This statement alone may, in fact, be the very answer to all of your questions and more.  We'll see.

The mysteries to be unraveled are:

• "Why do they always have to carry a stick?"
• "Why does dinner always involve farts?"
• "Why do we have to have more names for poop?"
• "Why is there a noise for everything?"
• "Why can't they stand still and be quiet?"
• "Why is everything always dirty?"
• "Why can't they play or eat without it looking like a bomb went off?"
• "Why do they solve all problems with violence?"
• "Why can't they attend a parade without heckling the participants?"
• "Why must they announce burps and farts?"
• "Why must all drawings contain a butt, fart, poop and/or monsters shooting each other?"
• "Why do they want to wear the same pair of underwear for days in a row?"
• "Why are clothing and showers considered optional?"
• "What is the obsession with Star Wars, Indiana Jones and Ghostbusters?"

Instead of writing one colossal ode, I have decided to write 14 smaller poems.  The style will be The English Ode with stanzas in ten lines each, a rhyming pattern...

Hello?

Okay, I lost you, didn't I?  Wow!  I didn't realize just how much of an English geek I really am.  I guess there's really just no way around it, is there?

I will publish each one as it is completed.  Wish me luck.

Next Time Won't You Sing With Me [Video]

A-B-C-D-E-F-G-H...well, you get the idea...

- 15 March 2012

Common Thread

After dinner, I received a text message from a friend.  We spent several minutes carping about the work day while the boys cleared the table and went their separate ways.  I had to cut the conversation short when I realized that Logan was ready for his bath.  The last text in the thread stated,

"...Ashley is sick and I have to get my naked 3-year-old down off the dining room table."

How did my life get to a point where that is not a strange sentence to me?

- 14 March 2012

PDA

As Ashley and I put on our shoes and coats in preparation to leave on our date, Ethan came strolling into the living room.  He sat down on the couch beside his mother.

"I hope you have a good time...while you're kissing Dad's face," he said casually.

Hot dog...me too!

- 24 February 2012

No Room for Rationale

"Daddy, is it time to go to Jumpin' Jellybeanz?" Logan asked for the 33rd time this morning.

"Not yet, sweetheart," I replied, attempting to keep the edge out of my voice.

"But we've got to go!" he said.

"I know, and we will but it's not time yet."

"But we've got to go with Jeff-es kids!"

"Logan, we will go in two hours and Jeff's whole family will be there, I promise."

Note to self: next time our families make plans, withhold the unveiling until the day before - not the week before.

"Fine, I'll just go myself," he mumbled, and stomped off.

Best of luck to you.

- 10 March 2012

Just Keep Walking

The weather this morning was beautiful.  We decided to forgo the car and walk downtown to meet some friends.

"Whoa!" Ethan exclaimed as we strolled along.

This vociferation appeared to be purely rhetorical and, as it was Ethan, I decided against pursuing the matter any further.  It was my suspicion that if I tried to ascertain the meaning of this outburst I probably would find out and most certainly regret it.  Ashley, however, found the temptation too great to resist.

"What?" she finally asked.

"My finger tastes horrible."

What did I tell you?  Just keep walking...just keep walking.

- 10 March 2012

Science Fiction Horror Comedy

To have boys is to surrender certain inalienable rights and privileges.  Privacy is the first sacrifice that comes to mind.  I have no illusions that this is true of any parent but I can personally attest to the certainty of this condemnation as the father of boys.

Logan busted in on me while I was in the shower this morning - again.  His only complaint?  He couldn't find the news channel on television.  Normally, I would be pleased that a child of that age was interested in the news...but I knew better.  He only wanted the news because that's the only way he could watch TV on a weekday morning.

Suddenly, the memory of last night's TV watching surfaced in my brain and I remembered what channel the television had been on when I shut it off.  Oh, surely not.

Tremors!

Sure enough, when I emerged from the shower...there it was.  Who on earth is watching Tremors at 6 o'clock on a Monday morning...besides my son?

To-do List:

• Find pants
• Activate V-Chip
• Hide remote

Not necessarily in that order.

- 5 March 2012

Ode to a Friend

I dedicate this ode to you, my friend, on this, the day of your birth.  As you begin work on your 34th year and stand, reflecting on what has come to pass and what you have yet to face, count me among the men who will proudly stand along with you. 

As I sit each day and write, I ponder the impact that I have had upon my own children and family.  I think, most often, of two things as I consider my actions both past and future, and strive to find the inherent humor in this game we call parenting.  The first, or course, is my wife.  The second is you.  I see so much of myself in you and feel your influence on me.  As I watch you parent, I am often reminded of the things I have thought, and done, and said.  I wonder when I changed, and why, and I laugh.  I wonder if you'll change in similar ways and look back, years from now, the way I have, to see if the man you are then recognizes the man you are now.  I hope you'll share that with me.

We are different men, to be sure, but we are the same man in so many ways.  While I do not speak Girl and you, sir, have only just begun to speak Boy, it is the bond of so many other languages that unites us.  We, the two of us, speak son and brother, husband and father.  It is here where we will always find the common ground.  It is here where our differences become our strengths and our similarities become the stuff of legend.

I may call you my best friend and you may or may not call me yours.  Too often, people fail to understand that one is not dependent on the other and ultimately has no bearing on our friendship.  I remind my sons regularly that labels are just that - labels.  If you buy a can of tomato soup but the label says "chicken noodle," it will still be tomato no matter what you call it.

Our friendship does not need to be carefully laid out in so many words or actions.  As you have reminded me, there are no rules.  Constant affirmations are not required.  When it is the right time to speak, the words will be there.  They may not always be the ones that we want to hear but they will always be the ones that we need to hear.  When it is the right time to listen, we will know and we will be silent.  There is no score keeping or concern about reciprocation.  You will call on me and I on you.  And in our time, that call will be answered without hesitation.

If today is the last day that I see you and our paths do not cross again, I will not worry.  We are destined to meet in the future and they will know that we are friends.  I am my own man, of course, but I am not the same man because I have known you.  When I shake your hand, I know this to be true.

Take note, my boys, for this is how a true friendship works.  I pray every day that you will find this in your lifetimes.  Like anything in life worth having, (marriage, children, family) this too will require blood and sweat and tears.  Do not take it for granted.  Do not smother it or let it die from neglect.  This is one of the many unspoken treasures of how to speak Boy.

Happy birthday, my friend.

Corporeal Connection

Saturday morning - 8 AM

"Dad!" Logan came sobbing into the room.

"What is it now?" I asked, through a mouth full of toothpaste.

"Justin just kicked my butt."

Years ago, when I was a newish father and only had two boys, I would have had a tendency to overreact.  Now, however, 22 parenting years told me that there was more to this story.

A little investigative questioning revealed what I already suspected.  No butts were actually kicked in the making of this pseudo action adventure.  Justin had been asked to help correct Logan's pants which were half-way inside out.  Logan, being the typical younger brother, was reluctant to accept assistance from his older brother.  And by reluctant, I mean outright refusal.  I believe it went something like this.

"Logan!  Give me your pants!" Justin shouted.  He was already mad because he had been asked to stop what he was doing (which amounted to exactly nothing) and help.

"NO!"

"Logan, give them to me now!" Justin hollered.

"Don't touch my pants!" Logan shrieked.

"I'm gonna kick you butt!" Justin shouted.

As Logan ran away, waving the pants over his head, Justin literally took a swing with his foot at the departing backside of his youngest brother and, having failed to connect with anything corporeal, fell over.  That, apparently, constituted a butt-kicking in Logan's book.

From where I sit, it seems as though Justin just kicked his own butt.  Just sayin'...

It's going to be a long morning.

- 10 March 2012

Wrong Answer

"Can my friends come to my grandma's house to play on the Slip'N Slide?"

Ugh!  All I wanted to do was take out the garbage.  Strike that.  All I needed to do was take out the garbage.  Now, suddenly, a mine field lay directly in my path. 

One thing you should know about Logan is that his next oldest brother is five years his senior.  Yes, we continuously remind him that older boys get to do different things than younger boys.  If we've said it once, we've said it a hundred times, "you're on a different plan, Logan."  But for all the good it does, we might as well come clean about The Great Pumpkin and The Holiday Armadillo.  If it's good enough for Justin and Ethan, it's good enough for Logan.  In fact, in his mind, it's probably better because a three-year-old won't be jaded and cynical.

What was the point I was trying to make?  Simply that Logan has yet to grasp the finer points of preschool relationships versus grade school and middle school relationships.  Other children in his demographic are unlikely to drop by unannounced or catch a ride home from the sitter.  They seldom stay for dinner on a school night or travel hundreds of miles to see your grandmother's nifty summertime yard toys.  In spite of his dismal chances, he never fails to ask anyway.  You say determination.  I say enough already.

"I don't think they'll want to go all the way to Pullman just to play on the Slip'N Slide, Logan," I said. 

Even as I said it, I knew that we weren't just about to be finished.

"But they'll like my grandma." he continued.

"Well, who wouldn't?" I said in agreement.

My brain was grappling with the illogical path that this conversation was beginning to take.  He uttered a noise of exasperation.

"Yes they will!" he insisted in affronted tones.

There was a mounting sense of stress and anxiety on Logan's part and an increasing sense of nausea on mine.  Stop the ride, I want to get off, please.  I uttered a noise of exasperation.

"I know.  I agree," I said raising my voice.

He came racing around the corner from the dining room so that he could look me right in the face.

"But she's nice!!" he shouted, fists clenched at his sides.

Oh for heaven's sake, fine!  I give up.  How did this become my fault?  You do whatever you think you need to do.  Gather your friends and start packing.  Oh, and don't forget to pack some extra crazy, it's a long car ride!

I need a drink.

- 7 March 2012

Favorite Things

"Can we move to a new house tomorrow?" Logan asked.

"Tomorrow?  Why?" I asked, hardly daring to guess what entertaining answer lay in store.

"'Cause this will be a haunted house tomorrow," he said fretfully as he began an interpretive dance that suggested continued alertness to potential otherworldly activities be the order of the day.

"It will?"

"Yes."

"Why will it be haunted tomorrow?" I inquired.

"'Cause that's it's favorite thing to do."

Of course.

- 7 March 2012

Boys Are a Chore

"Daddy?"

Logan appeared in the kitchen doorway holding an empty plastic grocery bag.

"What's up?" I asked.

"Can you get the thingy out of Mommy's garbage and I can put in a new one?"

Had I not seen the shopping bag, I would have been alarmed at the possible identity of the "thingy".

"Sure," I said and we made our way to Ashley's bathroom to remove the wastebasket liner, which had been properly identified as full.

Only minutes before, Logan had come up from the basement to ask me for help.  I agreed to assist him only after I had completed my chores.  Tonight, girls cooked so boys cleaned.  We outlined my remaining tasks, several times, and Logan went off, as he usually did, to fetch whatever cleaning implements he could find and/or reach.  I had not made this request of him, nor had I any idea if they would turn out to be helpful, let alone cleaning tools.

Enter the grocery bag.

It's darling how badly he wants to be included, especially in the chores.  To that end, he had originally emerged from the basement to seek help with folding his clean laundry.  Yes, that's right, my three-year-old wanted me to drop everything and help him fold clothes.  To him, it was a source of great distress that it was already Wednesday and his older brothers had folded their laundry on Sunday.

After emptying the bathroom wastebasket, I returned to the kitchen to finish tidying up while Logan busied himself with the new liner.  A few minutes later it occurred to me that Logan had not come back...and now it was quiet.  Too quiet.

"Logan?" I called.

No answer.

"Logan!" I barked.

Again, no answer.  Still fresh in my mind was the memory of yesterday when he locked himself in the bathroom to "give his dinosaurs a bath" and bathed everything except the dinosaurs.  Suddenly, he came running down the hall clapping his hands and materialized, yet again, in the doorway.  His expression was proud and his hands were wet.  Why were his hands wet?  I heard no water running.  I heard no running water!

"I cleaned the toilet!"

Holy hand sanitizer Batman!

- 7 March 2012

Whoops

It amuses me that the commercials for Play-Doh contain the tagline, "...fun to play with, not to eat."  Umm, it is too fun to eat...since 1955.  I am personally acquainted with at least a dozen people my own age who can instantly recall, with unfailing clarity, the exact salty flavor.

This afternoon, while Logan was home sick from school, the Play-Doh commercial began.  He sat transfixed, as I made lunch, and watched.

"Fun to play with and to eat," I said, smacking my lips.

"And to eat?" Logan exclaimed in disgust, wrinkling his nose.

Apparently, the culinary value of this modeling compound had never been properly considered.  Comprehension was dawning.

"No, I was just teasing," I said, seeing the mingled horror and delight register on his face.

"But that man said 'fun to play with and to eat'," he reminded me.

No sweetheart, that man was Daddy.  The man on the television set said "not to eat".  Oh boy.  Ashley had managed to keep him from eating Play-Doh for three summers running and I managed to change all of that in less than three seconds.  I'm not sure how I'm going to be able to pass this one off as he is currently running around the kitchen hollering, "Fun to play with!  Fun to eat!" interspersed with peels of maniacal laughter.

- 6 March 2012

Fella's Cake Bake 2010

Han Solo Frozen in Carbonite

- 27 February 2010

Fella's Cake Bake 2011

Camping cake, complete with:

• Rock candy fire pit
• Tootsie Roll bear & benches
• Swedish fish
• Pretzel tent poles
• Licorice guy wires

- 26 February 2011

Fella's Cake Bake 2012

There's nothing like waiting until the very last minute to accomplish something.  Each year, for the Cub Scout Blue & Gold Banquet, the boys and their fathers bake a cake in a friendly culinary competition.  Boys only!  No female influence.  At 10 o'clock that morning it occurred to me that the Fella's Cake Bake was less than eight hours away. 

Between that moment and the start of the banquet, we had to mix, bake, cool and decorate a cake.  Oh, we also had to take Ethan to a birthday party, attempt to get Logan down for a nap, purchase the ingredients and come up with a design.  It was all hands on deck!

Ashley immediately arranged a look of utter glee on her face and promptly left the house.  She would probably have made a faster getaway had it not been for the 175 pounds of whimpering husband attached to her leg begging her for mercy.

Fine!  Let's get organized.  What's this year's theme?  Pinewood derby.
Okay...

"Let's make an angry bird," I suggested.

"Yes!"

"Cool!"

The insanity was mounting.

Now, how do you make a round cake, 3-D of course, without a round cake pan?  Easy, you visit every store in the city and track one down.  What happens when that plan fails?  Think...think...aren't those ball-shaped cake pans constantly being advertised on TV?  Sadly, we couldn't wait 6-8 weeks for delivery.  We barely had 6-8 hours.  How about the library?  No, really.  Our library lets you check out specially shaped cake tins.  Who knew?

Unfortunately, the closest we could get was an Easter egg cake pan.  This raised an eyebrow with both Justin and the librarian.  Somehow, I had failed to fully convey my idea and everyone was under the impression that we were going to bake two Easter egg cakes (roughly the shape of half a hard boiled egg cut lengthwise), stand them on end and bind them together with some sort of frosting miracle.  Justin was very upset.  The librarian was very upset.  There was no time to argue, it would simply have to do.  Oh, ye of little faith.

In the end, we managed quite nicely.  Ethan made it to his party, Logan took a 20 minute nap and the cake took shape.  No injuries were reported, no trips to the emergency room and there was very little weeping.  Success!  I believe the hardest part was getting just the right color of yellow for the bottom feathers.  For a while, it looked like we were going to have to pick between different shades of diarrhea but we finally ended up with the correct combination of food coloring. 

We didn't win any awards.  When it came to the theme, we were slightly off course.  Our reward was the fun and the adventure as only we could have done it.  We'll remember this forever.

Not too bad for three boys, a can of white frosting and a dream.  Thank goodness this is only an annual event!

- 25 February 2012

Rewarding Good Behavior

"When dinner is over, I will sort the laundry and you boys will need to fold yours and put it away," I said, speaking directly to my eight and eleven-year-old sons.

There was an enormous collective sigh.  Justin's eyes rolled so far back into his head that I could no longer see their color.  From my left came an excited gasp.

"I want to fold laundry and put it away too, with you guys!" Logan announced to his brothers.  "'Cause I sat quietly at the movie theater!"

Logan could barely contain his excitement.  Never could a more perfect reward, for sitting noiselessly through a movie and eating popcorn, have been conceived.  No other child of three could dare to dream of being this lucky.

Good man, Logan.  Good man.  Later, if you want some real excitement, I can show you how to empty the cat box.

- 4 March 2012

There Are Days

When I came home from my business trip, Ashley picked me up from the airport.  Before she dropped me off at home and returned to work, we came up with a plan for the rest of the afternoon.  I was to pick the boys up from school.  Her advice was to either show up early (a mere 20 minutes from then) or arrive later to avoid the crowds of parents and to be able to find a parking spot.  It was decided that I would arrive at three o'clock, 20 minutes after the final bell.

On the dot of 2:40, just as planned, Justin called me from school to find out what to do.  I told him that I would be coming to collect his brother and him at three and they were to meet me out in front of the school.

"Which front?" he asked.

What?

"The front," I replied. "How many fronts are there?" I wondered aloud.

"Well, I just wasn't sure which one you meant." he explained.

Again I ask, how many fronts are there?

"The front," I repeated more forcefully.

You know, the one that isn't the back.

"Out by the bell," I added, hoping that this additional reference would solve the mystery.

"The bell?" he asked.  "What bell?"

Oh for Pete's sake.  May I please speak to someone else - anyone else - who goes to school there?

"Oh, the bell," he said.

Yes, the bell.

"I was confused," he continued.

You don't say.

"The other bell was ringing," he explained.

In the background I could, in fact, hear a bell ringing. Although, I'm still not convinced that it wasn't one of the bells inside his head.

"Alright, I'll see you at three," I said with exasperated finality and hung up.

Not five minutes had passed, during which I had attempted to put the newly arrived licence plates on the truck so that I could legally drive to school and pick them up.  The temporary license had expired two days earlier and I was not keen on being pulled over for expired anything, again...but that's a story for another day.  The telephone rang.  I put my tools down and took shelter from the rain as I answered.

"Dad?"

"What is it Justin?"

"Mom wants to know why you're waiting until three o'clock to come and get us."

Is this a prank?

"Because she told me to!" I shouted.

The next thing I knew, Ashley was on the phone.  I drew breath and prepared to outline my frustration with this ridiculous line of conversation.

"You're going to have to switch cars with me because of Logan," she announced.

Holy topic changes, Batman!

"No," I insisted.  "I've got it all worked out.  There's a plan," I said, hoping that the special emphasis on the last word would remind her of the very strategy that she and I had formulated less than half an hour ago.

"Oh, okay, here's Justin" she said with polite interest, passing the receiver.

"Dad?"

Good grief, why don't you put Ethan on the phone too, I haven't talked to him yet.

"Hello, Justin."

He could sense my mounting frustration.

"I have another question."

Oh, thank God.  I was worried that we were finished.

"Justin, every time you call, I have to stop what I'm doing, put down my tools and come in out of the rain to answer the phone."

"I think I'll wait and ask you later," he said, attempting to back slowly out of the conversation.

"I think that's a good idea."

I wonder how you all feel about walking home in the rain?  You see, I won't be using a motor vehicle today because I'm never going to get these plates on the truck.  And did you really just call me because your mother wants to know why I'm following her instructions?  None of my friends will believe this.  All of their wives call to find out why they're not following instructions.

- 9 February 2012

Tummy Spokesman

"My tummy says I'm hungry."

Okay.

"My tummy says my leg hurts."

Very good.

"My tummy says it's Saturday."

Fine.

Logan, let me know when your tummy has the winning lottery numbers.

- 29 February 2012

Literally

What is it about boys' wiring that triggers the seemingly involuntary muscle response, drawing them to your side like a magnet and causing them to interrupt you, when they sense that you are trying to have a conversation with another adult?  Seriously, I'm calling an electrician.

Case in point: Wednesday

The boys had been home with Ashley for at least an hour by the time I arrived from work.  Plenty of time, I think you'll agree, to carry on any number of conversations, no matter how ridiculous.  But no.  I was literally half way through my first sentence, in response to Ashley's question, "how was your day?" when Justin materialized out of thin air and began his onslaught. 

In his hand, he bore a small bottle of MiO. 

"How come we have this?  I didn't know we had this.  Do you use this?  Does Dad use this?"

And so it continued.  At each and every point, as he paused to draw breath, I mounted a counter attack and attempted to speak.  I say paused because I don't know how else to refer to the fact that he seems to have perfected circular breathing and no longer finds it necessary to stop and inhale.  Apparently, the sound of an adult voice acts in a similar manner to a play/pause button...without the pause.  On a related note, it can never be said that I do not do my part to keep a conversation going, despite how badly I may wish to bring it to a swift conclusion.  It struck me as funny that he wasn't even talking to me (well, at me - this was less of a conversation than it was a soliloquy) and, at certain points, I was in another room.

"Simon really likes these," he said.  "Can I give them to him...can I?"

"Justin!  Give me a second," Ashley cut in with a bedraggled sigh and a look of utter exhaustion. 

Indeed, the last 90 seconds had seemed like 90 minutes.  He literally waited the exact second it took to draw breath before he continued.  I don't think Ashley ever found out how my day had gone.  Most of that day was purged from my memory during the short circuit that resulted from having been a part of this verbal episode.  Lord, give us strength!

- 29 February 2012

Crowded

"Daddy, can I play with my special dinosaurs?"

"Yes, but just two, Logan."

"Okay."

I literally turned away for thirty-two seconds to answer another boy's question.  When I turned back...well.  I should have been suspicious when he dashed past me on his way out of the bathroom.  Did it dawn on me that the toys were already lying neatly in a basket next to the tub?  Obviously not.  I'm glad I imposed a limit despite it's apparent ineffectiveness.

Note to self: relationship of numbers to physical objects - needs work.

- 29 February 2012