Melodrama and Son

I was shopping the sale rack at Kohl's today, with my 4 year old tag-a-long when my phone rang.  It was one of my best friends so I talked to her for a while.  I did my best to multi-task while balancing a pile of sale items, herding a small boy (who was not thrilled about shopping), and keeping up the phone conversation.  After talking to my friend I dropped my phone, supposedly into my purse, got in line to pay for my purchases, and left the store.  After making sure that the kiddo (who was overly grateful to leave the store) was buckled up, I took off.  Suddenly, I remember that I needed to get some information to one of my sisters.  So I stopped the car before leaving the parking lot and went to grab my phone.  It was gone! Slightly frantic, I hurried back to the store.  And here was my inner thought process:

*A year ago some degenerate smashed my husbands car window to snatch his cell phone which was laying on the console so surely my phone was gone for good!  

*My i-phone is my calendar, my i-pod, my calculator, my grocery lists, my phone numbers...................and it is in a pretty pink case!  

*What a find for the dishonest person who would surely pick it up from the floor.  The JERK!  

*I would probably find the pink case discarded on the floor by the jerk who stole it!

*I would defiantly have to down grade now - since I can not be trusted with such an expensive phone!

*Now for mother's day I will have to get a new phone, instead of something else that I actually could use.....

*I will have to go back to a paper calendar - I HATE paper calendars......

*I can't believe how dishonest some people are!

*I know some people in law enforcement and when I find my pink case, I can maybe get them to finger print it so see if the criminal who swiped my phone is in the system.....

Z was not happy about getting dragged, at a rapid pace, back through the store.  As I re-traced my steps, eyeballing with suspicion every person that walked past me, this was his monologue:

*Your phone is lost now because you are not responsible.  

*If you would be more careful your things will not get lost.

*We will never find the phone and we will be looking all day, and all night.  We will get locked in here and have to sleep in the store.  And I don't know if they have night-lights here but they definitely do not have my blankie.  

*No one will meet N and A after school and they will be scared and we will be stuck in a store.

*We will be stuck in a store for three days!  And we will die if we don't have food or water for three days you know!

And then, after searching in vain for the pink case on the floor, sure that I would never see my beloved phone again, and repeatedly assuring Z that we were not going to starve to death in Kohl's, I went to the customer service desk, as a last ditch effort.  I was sure at that point that my fears had been realized.  Some jerk had stolen my phone. 

And there is was, lying on the back counter, behind the customer service representative, still in it's pink case.  

So, thank you to the honest person who turned my phone into customer service.  Thank you for reminding me that good a decent people are all around us.

And how in the world did my 4 year old pick up the little tidbit about human starvation?

The West Wing

Thank you, Secret Service Agent X.

Thank you, for the comprehensive tour of the West Wing.

Also, thank you for offering my fidgety children some chewing gum to help them cope with the slowly moving tour group in front of us.

Yes, thank you for kindly thinking of three young children.  

But perhaps chewing gum is not the best distraction for a child.

Especially a child of 4.

So please apologize to the President of the United States.

Or to whomever has to scrape the gum off the carpet in front of the Oval Office.

But like I said, Thank You!

Today, we had a fantastic and informative experience touring the West Wing of the White House with the Hub's cousin John, who lives nearby, and my sister Heather who is here for a fun-fun visit.  The Hub is traveling again, otherwise he would have conducted the tour - and likely not have offered any gum.  Aside from the now infamous 'trident fiasco', and being kindly kicked out of the rose garden in order for the first family's dog's to have some outdoors time, it was FANTASTIC!  

*I actually removed most of the sticky substance myself - and have resolved to stick (ha-ha) to the 'you-may-only-chew-gum-while-sitting-at-the-kitchen-table' rule.

Chickeny!

Today I took 'Z' to lunch at Wendy's for an oh-so nutritious kids meal.

The following is his description of how to make a chicken nugget.

"First you stab the chicken.  Then cut the chicken.  Then pull the chicken out of the feathers. Then you get the nugget shells.  You put the chicken in it.  You make it brown.  You make it yummy."

He then took a big bite and said, "Mmmmmm.  Nuggets are chickeny."

Part of the reason that I found this so amusing was that his carnivorous musings are in stark contrast to the feelings he recently expressed towards members of the animal kingdom.  (The following text is from my spring break blog of a few days ago.)

'Z' cracked us up when we went into a Powhatan hut and found a large pile of animal pelts

Z: (In shock and horror, with tears in his eyes) Who has done this!?

Me: (brief explanation of the many reasons that Native Americans needed to use animals)  

Z: (tearful and horrified) Is this a puppy?

Me: (trying not to laugh) No, it might be a fox.

Z: (alarmed) A cute little fox?

Me: (quickly) Maybe it's a deer.

Z: (tearing up) Not a deer!  

I believe that his environmental emotions are spent only on the furry members of the animal kingdom.  Chickens, are not so lucky.  

He has also expressed great dislike for piranhas.   

Wherein the Family Vacations

Spring Break:

A joyous event for mother and offspring.  Where they have a week free from school attendance/homework, and I have a week free from early mornings and the after school shuffle. The Hub and I decided to take the fam to Williamsburg VA, (with some family friends), for a couple of days to appropriately commemorate our first Virginian Spring Break. 

Day 1: 

We drove about 3 hours and kicked off the festivities at Colonial Williamsburg, the long ago capitol of VA.  'A', 'N', and 'Z' indicated that rather than experiencing any sort of living colonial history, they preferred to run willy-nilly through the replicated streets with their friends.  For 'Z' and his buddy, throwing small rocks into sewer grates that were strategically located every 20 feet was a highlight.  

This is when family fun (forced learning) should have taken place, but it was lunch time, children and men were hungry, so we went to eat.  

We also visited Yorktown - the site of the final battle of the American Revolution. 

Day 2:  

In planning our trip, we found a deal: 3 nights and 4 days + 2 tickets to Busch Gardens for under $200.00.  This made our room practically free. (Except for the 90 minute vacation ownership presentation we had to attend.)  Excuse me, did I say 90 minutes?  Maybe if my hub had just listened and said 'no thanks' we would have kept it to the allotted time.  Instead, he talked more than the sales guy.  He lectured on fiscal conservatism.  He lectured on purchasing things that we don't really 'need'.  He debated the definition of 'need'.  He lectured on living within our means and how the current national economic situation is a direct result of people making poor financial choices.  When told that people in France vacation more than people in the US, making their marriages stronger and their lives happier/more carefree, the hub lectured on the dismal state of the French economy.  There was also a lively debate on the precise cost/benefit analysis of vacation ownership.  All 'discussions' were good spirited - and long.  

Note to self: 1-I will always pay full price for vacation accommodations, thusly avoiding a never-ending sales pitch/fiscal debate.  2-My hub has a surprisingly strong grasp of the minutiae of the French economy.  Historic Jamestown with the kids was by far, a preferable experience.

Day 3:

Busch Gardens was fun-fun for the whole family.  It was here that 'N' tried to impress us with his newly acquired skill of speaking German - which went something like this:

"Doooooo youuuuuu liiiiiike meeeeaahhh shpeeeeeaaaakinnnng geeeeermaaaaan?"

It was technically English, with a thick slurred sort of 'accent'.  Kind of like the chef from the Muppets.  Or Jerry Sienfeld saying 'hellllooooooooo'.  

'Z' mourned his height which was 'not fair for the good rides!'

The Hub was a good sport and went on all rides - even though he gets motion sickness.  

'A' and I LOVED the big coasters (big thumbs up for the Griffon and Alpengeist)!

Day 4: 

We visited the Jamestown settlement before heading home.  It was fantastic.  There was a recreated Powhatan Village, the Jamestown Fort, and the three ships that the colonists arrived on.  'Z' cracked us up when we went into a Powhatan hut and found a large pile of animal pelts

Z: (In shock and horror, with tears in his eyes) Who has done this!?

Me: (brief explanation of the many reasons that Native Americans needed to use animals)  

Z: (still tearful) Is this a puppy?

Me: (trying not to laugh) No, it might be a fox.

Z: (alarmed) A cute little fox?

Me: (quickly) Maybe it's a deer.

Z: (tearing up) Not a deer!

We spent much time discussing the needs of the Powhatan people, which he seemed to understand but later on when we walked through the museum and saw a life sized replica of a native man, aiming his bow and arrow at a deer this is what ensued:

Z: (angry) This is the man that did it!

N: (loudly) Ha-ha!  That woman's butt is showing!  (Native Man's wife - who was indeed bare in back)

Me:  'N', don't say the word 'butt' so loud.  'Z', remember we talked about how these people needed animals for food and clothing.

N:  (Yelling) Hey 'A'!  Come over here and see this girls butt!

Z:  (Shaking his head) This man is bad.  VERY bad.

A: I didn't think that I would see a butt at Jamestown.

Me either.

After lunch at Chick-fil-a, we drove across the road to the gas station to fill up.  The Hub purchased a car wash (a bird had left it's mark on 'A's window while we ate).  Upon pulling around the back of the service station, we found ourselves to be 10th in line.  Another car pulled behind us, boxing us in.  And so we sat.  For 35 minutes till we got up the to wash. When entering our pre-purchased code, the machine indicated the code was invalid.  So I had to run around the building, enter the station to get a new code, and run back to the car.  I made it right as the vehicle in front of us was pulling out.  40 minutes after entering the line, we got into the car wash.  THEN, right as the dryers kicked up, 'Z' announced:  "Good thing we are done here - I need to go number 2."  So, we drove back across the street to the Chick-fil-a (clean bathrooms) so he could do his business.  In the end, it took us ONE HOUR from finishing lunch, to get on the road.

Thanks to my Hub and my awesome kids - for a fun filled trip with lots of laughs!  Now, the post-vacation laundry! 

My Son, The Artist

N has established himself in the family as a budding artist.  

This crayon on paper piece has been titled -

THE CANNON

I wonder what he will be shooting out of it.........Hmmmm.

  

Why Silence is Not Golden

Do you have one of those kids? The kind that you hear screaming, banging, crashing, fighting, laughing, crying, falling......the kind that is so vocally and physically loud that you can identify his or her location from anywhere in the house at any time? I have one of those. And sometimes I wish that he would just pipe down and exist quietly for a while.

But then, frighteningly, he does. The house falls eerily silent - and I know I must quickly investigate, to see what this incredibly cacophonous child is up to - because assuredly, it will be something that is not good. It is at these times that I will find him eating cookies under his bed, squeezing an entire tube of toothpaste into the sink, using the toilet plunger in inappropriate ways, urinating in inappropriate places, etc, etc.

Silence, with this child, is most assuredly not golden. When I finally get him into bed each night, I feel like I need a good stiff drink. I don't actually know what a 'good stiff drink' is, as I do not imbibe - but if I did turn to the bottle, I could readily use this child as an nightly excuse for alcoholic consumption.  If pharmacological solutions are necessary, I favor Tylenol with a Diet Coke chaser.

I have two other offspring that are habitually quiet. They are careful and deliberate...causing nary a worry.

However - this is why I can be blind sighted by their rare but creative antics. My oldest is one of these. She has grown out of most deviant behaviors - so I don't have to keep such a close eye on her. Silence, with her, is simply - silence. No checking, no worrying, no investigating. The days have long past of finding her rifling through my jewelry box to pocket her favorites, or snagging my wedding ring from whatever counter top I momentarily placed it on, and hiding it in one of her many bags and purses.

My youngest is not unlike his sister, usually playing quietly and independently. I have to remind myself to check on him where I more often than not discover that he is simply involved in his play things.

HOWEVER - I neglected to check on him the other day - and when he came downstairs, I could tell that something was amiss by the worried look on his face.

"I have a little scratch on my stomach," he said, "and I don't want you to see it but I really need a bath."

I agreed to the bath - wondering what was up, but I couldn't detect anything out of the ordinary. When we got to the bathroom, I filled the tub. He then asked me to leave - but I wasn't about to leave a 4 year old to his own devises in the bathroom. I asked him to get undressed but he stood still - evaluating me.

"Okay," he finally said, "but you are not going to like my scratches."

To conclude: Silence is golden, only at night when the kids are in bed. And by 'in bed' I mean dead asleep. For a child, simply laying in the dark does not qualify, There are too many potential trips to the potty, drinks for the thirsty, blankets or toys left in the basement, etc, etc, etc.

And I will leave to your imagination, the expansive and highly innappropriate artwork that is concealed beneath the spiderman underpants.

Assignment of Numerical Value

For a long time, Z - who is 4 - had a favorite number.  It was 1,038.  I don't know how he came up with the numeral, but he frequently used it to quantify his feelings.  For example.  "I love you 1,038...I hate this 1,038...I want to do this 1,038"...etc.  I found this expression hilarious and I was quite sad when recently he ditched it's use.  However, he now has evoked greater creativity in his assignment of numerical value to different emotions.  The following is an interview I conducted with him to illustrate his matmatical evaluation of personal feelings.

How much do you hate pickles?

459 a thousand and 30.

How much do you love ice cream?

459 a thousand and 78 and 9

How much do you like mustard?

0

How much do you hate mustard?

Maybe 459 and 7

How much to you love Disneyland?

Oh, I don't love it...they have stamps...well maybe.. I love it 78 and 459 and 80 thousand.

How much do you love thin mints?

That's a hard question.  I am thinking...I am thinking...9 thousand and 66....and 459.

How much do you hate latin music? (Which he decided he greatly disliked after being exposed to it at a music kiosk thing at Target recently.) 

479 and 58

How much do you like preschool?

Maybe 1 except when it is fun and I like it 1 thousand

How much do you like Scooby Do?

Oh! 459 and 78

How much do you like brocolli?

Oh, maybe 1

How much do you like salad?

0

How much do you hate salad?

Never-ending 4,000

How much do you love your mommy?

459 and 4,000 never-ending

Awww!  To be loved 459 and 4,000 never-ending makes my day!

The Most Disgusting Thing Ever

Nothing tops a long hard day of Mommy-ing like vomit ALL OVER the kitchen table. In the middle of dinner.

And this is what happened.

I will openly admit that I intentionally included red peppers in our chicken and pasta dish. I added them at the last minute, so that the flavor would not infuse with the cream sauce.

In retrospect, I should have just used them as a garnish for those adults who wished to partake, but alas, I did not.

I told all of the kids to simply place the offensive vegetable to the side of their plate and not bother with them any further. However, 'A' (my oldest) came up with a fateful plan. She asked for some dessert, in exchange for her consumption of red peppers.

I agreed to the deal.

She nervously ate them, claimed with relief that they weren't too bad, so I told her she could have an ice cream bar. 'Z' (my youngest) asked if he could have a bar if he just ate one pepper. Though 'A' thought he should have to digest all peppers on his plate, I agreed to his terms. He ate one bite, earning his ice cream.

Then 'N' (the middle child) decided that he did not want to be left out of delicious dessert-ing, so he opened wide to eat his one bite. No more than 30 seconds lapsed before he vomited - the entire contents of his stomach - on to the kitchen table, completely filling his own plate and liberally splattering everyone else's . He then angrily bawled "that was the most disgusting thing I ever put in my mouth".

Apparently he does not care for red peppers.

The weird thing is, and I quote, "the most disgusting ever"?

I am talking about the kid who one day in church was licking the bottom of his shoe.
The same kid who tasted his own ear wax to see if it was a similar flavor to snot.
This child has scraped ABC gum off of a metal railing - with his teeth.
I have dragged him, as he kicked and screamed, from where he was sampling a pile of cotton candy that was on the ground. It looked as though the sugary treat had been there for some time as it had been melted by the sun. And driven over multiple times.

But a quarter inch square piece of red pepper?

Yeah, THAT is disgusting.

He did not get dessert.

And I cleaned the table.

Phobia.....

After looking at the pics of Z I felt the need to blog about not just his propensity towards grouchiness but one of his little quirks. He has an ingrained and intense phobia.

  

Of stickers.  

I first became aware of his fear during a co-op preschool activity that involved placing apples stickers on a tree.  Grabbing his picture of the tree, running from me in panic, he had an all out melt down.  At first I thought it was an isolated incident, but some number of days following the apple tree trauma, we went to Wal-Mart where a nice older man offered Z a round, yellow smiley face sticker.  Z screamed 'NO!', literally in terror, and buried his face in my arm -whimpering.  After that, when ever we went to Wal-Mart, he would fall apart.  Clearly traumatized, he would frequently tell me how much he hated the 'sticker man'.  I won't go into detail about the primary(church class) pajama party that required kids to wear a 'hello my name is' sticker.  Suffice to say, it wasn't pretty.      

His phobia extends, though not as severely, to stamps.  Last summer, after exiting the 'most magical place on earth' we each recieved an invisible hand stamp so we could return to the park later.  I had to force him to get his stamp, then though he couldn't even see it, he glared at his hand and angrily exclaimed "Oh! I hate Disneyland!"

A few weeks ago, I got him to do a workbook activity involving stickers, so I was hopeful that this weird phase was over, or at least that we were making progress .

I was wrong.

Yesterday, we went to a craft store.  As I was walking down the scrapbook/sticker isle.  Z got all fidgety till finally tearfully exclaiming "Can I just wait for you over there?  I can smell stickers everywhere!"

The Many Faces of Z

My sister Heather recently asked me to get her pictures of my kids for a project she is working on.  Before pulling up my photo files I knew that it was going to be difficult to find a good picture of Z.  He has a super sweet side but also a rather grouchy persona.  I got a good laugh looking at all of his close up's and though I would share.  

And...

He is trying to have fun - really, look how hard is trying to smile!  Gotta love him!

A Night in the Life of Super-Mom

The other night, N came into my room around 11:00.  He had this confused but wild glassy eyed look and was sweating profusely.  As he has been sick and feverish, I was initially alarmed that his fever had spiked and I was going to have to take him to Urgent Care or something. This was the conversation that ensued.  

Me:  N, are you okay?

N:  I have a problem.

Me:  (feeling his forehead which was cool but clammy)  What is your problem?

N:  (tearing up)  Those guys are aiming their catapults at me!

Me:  Huh?  

N:  (glassy eyed silence)

Me:  What are you talking about?

N:  Catapults!

Me:  (Angrily) Have you been up playing with toys or something?  

*Editorial Pause -

It is known fact, in our home, that N will sometimes wake up at night, turn on his light once he realizes that everyone is asleep, and play with toys, only to fall asleep on the floor - which is odd because it is hardwood.  I have also found him asleep in bed in the morning, lights on, and under the covers is myriad of knights, horses, and weapons.   This deviant behavior resulted in the 'no light bulbs for you' (said in the voice of the Seinfield 'Soup Nazi') rule of 2007.  He has since earned back his light bulb rights, and thus the ability to see at night - with the carefully worded warning that I can re-possess his bulbs at the slightest infraction of their use.

*Resume Conversation - 

N:  (slightly frantic) Help me Mom!

Me:  What?

N:  The bricks really hurt!

Me:  What bricks?

N:  They load up the catapult with bricks and shoot it at me!  I need help!  Please!  

I realized that he was experiencing some sort of bizarre sleep-walking enactment of a dream so I got up to lead him back to bed.  When I put my hand on his back he was drenched with sweat so I pulled off his P.J. shirt, put a dry one on him and tucked him in.

Me:  (whispering) You are safe now.  The guys are gone.

N:  (mumbling)  Thank you.  You saved my life.

Yeah - that pretty much what Super-Mom's do.  My next feat?  To finish the laundry.

The Disgusting 'Facts' of Life:

So thanks to Jamie Lynn Spears' incredibly publicized teen pregnancy, and the ensuing playground gossip of her tabooed behavior I had to have 'the talk' with N. Ugh. After finishing up with the basics, he had only one question: "So when I'm all big and hairy down there - that's when I have to do it?"

The next night however, after processing the information, he had a few personal insights:

"You said it was a way married people show they love each other. I think it is the way married people show each other how disgusting they are."

"Is that thing disgusting and violent, or just disgusting?"

"If I got shot while I was doing that thing would it be violent then?"

"When Dad was disgusting it's too bad he didn't pick my egg first - then I would be the oldest."

"What house did you and Dad live in when you did that disgusting thing that made me?"

"Do I do it at my party when I get married - oh wait - I better not do it at the party - I don't want people to know that I am disgusting."

I was in physical pain - trying to control the hysterical laughter that threatened to erupt with each comment or question. Needless, to say, my feeling that he was not mature enough to handle the facts of life was dead on. If not for some choice information being shared during recess I could have put it off for a while. D@#% that Jamie Lynn Spears.

Apparently Pirates drink Coke...

While in Utah over Christmas break, I purchased four very large magnet boards. One for a fundraising project for Mr. N's school class and one for each of my kids rooms. Traveling home with these boards was a challenge (please see previous post - traumatic travel - for refrence to a large box) My plan is to modge-podge (coat with clear adheisve like product) scrapbook items around the wood frame, and today I was at a craft store with Mr. Z, looking for paper and supplies. I had instructed Mr. Z to keep his eyes open for any pirate stuff to go with his swashbuckling room. As I looked for items that would somehow bring my mental picture of these projects to life, Mr. Z brought me a sheet of stickers and said, "Here is my Pirate stuff."

I was confused. The stickers were adhesive depictions of glass bottles filled with what I assumed was cola. The tiny bottles were not labeled so I suppose it could also have been Root Beer, or Dr. Pepper, etc.

Me: This isn't Pirate stuff , go put it back where you found it.
Mr. Z: Yes it is Pirate stuff - it's bottles of Rum.

Needless to say, I am not embellishing Z's magnet board with any type of alcoholic beverage.

And has anyone noticed a slightly irreverent theme to many of my blogs?

Who is raising these kids?

Apparently we travel traumatically...

We just spent our New Year's Eve in various modes of transportation. The Hub had left Salt Lake earlier for work related purposes, so it was me directing, three sleep deprived kids, and all of our Christmas loot. I don't know why I thought that a 3:00 pm departure time from SLC with an 11:30 pm arrival in Washington D.C. on New Year's Eve would be an appropriate time for travel - but - that's what we scheduled.

Firstly, the car ride to the airport was mildly eventful due to our slightly late departure time compounded by the glaring 'empty' light indicating a forthcoming fuel complication. We made it, fortunately with a slight amount of time to spare for our 3:00 flight, even with the unscheduled pit stop.

Our first flight (SLC to Atlanta) was unremarkable, except for it's drama and duration - three tired kids on a 3 1/2 hour flight, bereaving our departure from Utahan family and friends with many tears and exclamations of discontent over our exodus. The arrival of snacks and drinks did much to placate until both boys somehow simultaneously spilled their Sprite in their laps.

The second flight was less sorrowful but contained some interesting life lessons that I was not quite ready for the kids to receive. Miss A started reading aloud to me from a book that she received for Christmas. Suddenly she asked 'what does S.O.B.mean?' Other than defining it as a curse word, I did not go into any descriptive details. Yes, my carefully selected book, based on fond childhood memories has passed along some vocabulary nuggets that I did not remember it contained. As I finish up this conversation with Miss A, Mr. N leans across the aisle and in a marginally hushed tone (that could only be heard by the people a few rows front and back) asks:

Mr. N: Mom - did you know that Brittany Spears sister is pregnant? (He was sitting next to a boy of about fourteen)

Me: Um - (trying to decide how best to have a birds and the bees lesson in a public forum) Yes, I knew that.

Mr. N: Did you know she was sixteen? (He holds up a magazine, presumably from his seat-mate and points to a headline.)

Me: Yes, I knew that also.

Mr. N: Why would a teenager want to have a baby?

Me: (very aware of the people in the rows around us who are raptly listening to my explanation) That is the sort of thing that happens to a teenager who makes bad choices.

Mr. N: Yeah, way bad choices. (Not that he know what those precise choices are.)

I instructed him to play his game boy for the rest of the flight and made a metal note to have a somewhat serious discussion later. I thought the drama was over but when Mr. Z dropped some things on the floor and I bent down to retrieve them, he rather loudly exclaimed

"Oh my *** Mom! I can see your underwear!" And so I discussed, again rather publicly, the third commandment as well as being discreet about things like underwear.

After arriving at Dulles Airport, securing 2 smart carts and loading our five suitcases, one large box, eight carry-on's and four coats, we progressed towards the Washington Flier services to catch a cab. Fortunately we were first in line.

And so, at 11:55 we were headed home - listening to a certain Maryland based radio station that broadcast a rather obnoxious selection of rap. Our New Year's count down was conducted by a female D.J. (possibly intoxicated) who mentioned that her resolution was to 'get some'. Me, the kids (one sadly contemplating family and friends, one having a all out fit over some injustice involving seat belts, and one obnoxiously screaming happy new year...over and over and over), and the cab driver listened to the radio as the D.J. spent some time discussing her New Year's goal of finding a man.

Ahhhhhh - Metropolitan D.C. - Virginia.....

It's good to be home. (Seriously)

Apparently my kids sometime DO listen...

Over the Christmas break we have been partying it up in Utah (translation: trying to fit in all the friends and family that we need to see and going a bit crazy while trying to perform the delicate balancing act of making everyone feel loved and appreciated).

This morning I was talking to my Mom, not realizing that Mr. N was listening as he was deep in imaginative play with his new Lego Castle.

Me: Mom, what is in this box?
Mom: A Dart Board that some mutual fund gave Dad. (business gift)
Me: Hasn't it been sitting here for a long time?
Mom: Yes, I haven't ever opened it. Where am I going to put a dart board?
Me: How about the D.I.? (comment made due to the fact that we have been recently discussing how much stuff she has in her house that should be donated to some chartiable facility)
Mom: Well, Dad said that it is the nicest Dart Board that he's ever seen.
Me: I wasn't aware that Dad was keeping tabs on the quality of Dart Boards that he happens to come across.

Mom goes upstairs, I stay down. Mr. N follows his grandma into the kitchen. With his intricate knowledge of all things Harry Potter and Star Wars and a slightly muffled sense of hearing, he asks her...

N: Where is the Dark Lord, Grandma?
Grandma: (only slightly paying attention) Downstairs.
N: Can I see?
Grandma: I don't think so, it's kind of dangerous.
N: Why do you have a Dark Lord?
Grandma: (still not paying complete attention) Someone gave it to Grandpa.
N: Please could I see it?
Grandma: Well, it's taped up in a box.
N: The Dark Lord is taped up in a box in your basement?

I could have sworn that my kids never listen to anything I say. Apparently that only applies to 'clean your room', 'pick up your toys', 'put on your shoes' etc.

Apparently Mr. Z has a flair for revenge...

Recently, Mr. Z has been struggling with the formulation of appropriate responses to situations he deems unfair.

His sense of vengeance has been honed and he swiftly passes verbal judgement on perpetrators whose acts seem unscrupulous, unreasonable, or just plain unfair.

For example, when Shaggy was about to be beat up by bullies on 'Scooby Doo', his response was:

"Well, I'd beat them up!"

Upon leaving church a few weeks ago, Mr. Z came out of his primary class with a troubled look.

Mr. Z: "Did you hear about those guys who hung up Jesus?" (obviously put out by the heresy.)

Me: "Yes, I heard about those guys."

Mr. Z: "Well, I'd hang them up!"