it's nice to have boys...

especially when they argue about stupid things.

‎"I invented peanut butter & jelly...and I invented cheese on chips."

"That's called nachos, bonehead."

"I don't care - I still invented it."

it's nice to have boys...

who have a sense of humor.

Boy #1: "Mom! I think I dislocated my toe!" Boy #2: "What does that mean - you can't find it?"

clueless

Sometimes I love my job. Or at least the humor that it often brings.

Yesterday, son #1 (age 10) innocently mentioned that some girls in his class were mean to him. At first, mama bear got a bit riled up, but knowing the girls I couldn't quite imagine them doing anything mean. So instead of grrring I asked him what he meant.

"Well, they would keep taking my hat. And they wouldn't give it back," he said.

Um, yeah... (Dare you to keep a straight face on that one!)

Well, considering the girls are all two years older than him and he IS the most handsome boy in his class (Mom isn't at all biased on that one), I can't say I'm too surprised. I might know a thing or two about girls.

"Well, gosh you're right they really are just plain mean. Those girls should be ashamed of themselves. You should stay away from girls. They're all like that..."

Ha ha. All the things I could have said, but I couldn't because I was trying so hard not to laugh. I hope he stays clueless for awhile.

peanut butter concentration

Boy #1 isn't so sure that his younger brothers are capable of doing anything. Because he has always been the trail blazer, he is simply used to doing everything and tends to get a bit conceited about his abilities versus his brothers.

We realized we were relying too much on him and had to have a few teaching lessons with Boy #2 to show him how to put DVDs going, wash dishes in HOT water, sweep dirt into a dustpan and fold jeans, none of which he was excited to do, except the dishes.

With Boy #3, he wants to do everything, even though he doesn't quite know how or isn't quite able to. At five, he is NOT willing to take any guff from older brothers about what he can or can't do. (I think he got a stubborn gene from both Mom and Dad.)

It has always been #1's job to make the sandwiches for lunch. I buy a natural brand of peanut butter that is a bit more goopy and runny than Jif, so ability really matters in this chore. (Cleaning peanut butter drips off the table, floor and bench just isn't much fun.)

This doesn't sit well with #3, who wants to do everything himself about three years too early. He finally wore me down yesterday with his incessant whining - I gave in and let him make his own sandwich. (Apparently older brother has cooties or something.)

To his credit, he was pretty careful, but his brothers were hecklers from the get-go, insisting that he was going to get peanut butter all over everything.

His response was classic from Number Three: "I'm five! I know how to concentrate!"

Slow and steady wins the race in peanut butter sandwiches and putting older brothers in their place.

finally, success!

Yay! Something good has finally sunk in!

I sent Boy #1 to summer school today armed with a dollar bill to buy some sort of snack from the cafeteria during brunch time. (Mainly because he was complaining he felt awkward when all the other kids were buying snacks and all he had was a water bottle and a box of organic raisins. And yes, awkward was the word he used. Not making that part up.)

Boo hoo is what I felt like telling him, but I sucked it back in. "When I was your age..." almost came out too, but I for once caught myself before turning into that cliché.

I kind of figured I was being a pretty good mom even managing to have water bottles and something remotely resembling a snack on hand for him to even bring along. Usually all we're able to scrounge up is stale crackers and an overripe banana. Much better than what I had when I was his age...

I'm sure he's plenty hungry after an hour of swimming lessons and an hour of tennis. (Summer school's a bit different than you were initially thinking, isn't it?) And he probably needs some sustenance before heading to guitar lessons because that will burn off so many calories.

At any rate, I gave him a dollar and told him to spend it wisely, knowing full well that the offerings would be things like fruit snacks, doritos, juice boxes and plenty of other sugar-laden, prepackaged, processed crap with nary a fresh fruit in sight. I didn't tell him that though. I told him he could get whatever he wanted and to be sure to drink his water.

After picking the boys up, he asked if we could hurry home. Okay, a bit of an odd request, so I bit.

"What's the rush?"

"Mom, I'm just starving. I want to get home to eat lunch."

"Didn't you have a snack?"

"No. All it was was a bunch of junk, so I didn't buy anything."

Hallelujah. Thank you Jesus - my kid has finally learned something more useful than perimeters, cursive handwriting and how to use a dictionary. He recognizes what junk food is - AND HE CAN RESIST!!!!

It was a shining moment for motherhood. I'm still beaming with pride.

number 88

If you do not know the significance behind this number, consider yourself lucky.

I am officially the mother of rednecks. I don't even know how it started. Here's my theory:

It happened one Sunday after church. It must have been raining. We must have told the boys they could watch a movie so we could take our "Sunday nap." Somehow they turned on the TV and found their way to NASCAR. Boy #1 got immediately addicted. I believe there is something within his male DNA that attracts him to a competition involving cars, speed, bright colors and funny accents from most of the participants. Okay, let's call them drawls, not funny accents, just to be nice. Out went the fascination with Corvettes and suddenly, he's rattling off statistics, car numbers and drivers and even the names of motor speedways.

It's unnerving. This child can remember just about anything he's read or heard about this sport. He has checked out at least 40 books on various NASCAR-related topics. He did his project fair project on his favorite driver - in car number 88 - Dale Earnhardt , Jr. and built "Larson Speedway" so he could show off his NASCAR cars. He has miniatures of both of Junior's 88 cars - the Amp Energy car and the National Guard car - and constantly pesters us with, "Which car do you like better?" I try my best to ignore him. Hubby purposely changes his mind every time he asks. Or keeps telling him he likes Kyle Busch better, just to upset the poor boy.

It has become an obsession. So much so, that cousins and uncles now play along, teasing him that Jr hasn't won a race or that so-and-so is a better driver or has a faster car or a cooler sponsor. All he wants to do is check stats online, listen to or watch a race, talk about the race or all the drivers and who made the pole, who spun out, who crashed and who got how many points. He has even tried to get his Dad to "play" NASCAR on the way to church Sunday mornings, especially if we happen to see someone we know traveling the two-lane highway at the same time.

"Dad, don't let them pass you! Come on, catch their draft!"

So, this is how I instantly know what the number 88 means, who drives it and the fact that today he finally won a race after something like 76 races since his last win. I can still hear the whoops and woo-hoos from the living room. It is also how I know that Kyle Busch drives a Toyota, Kurt Busch is his brother and his favorite meal is chicken wings and beer, Denny Hamlin is teammates with Kyle Busch and Tony Stewart (whose sponsor is Home Depot), Junior's teammates are Jeff Gordon (#24), Jimmie Johnson (#28) and Casey Mears (#5), Jimmie Johnson is sponsored by Lowes, Mark Martin retired this past year, Matt Kenseth drives the #17 Dewalt Tools car (which is a Ford), Carl Edwards drives #99 and is sponsored by Aflac and how I now know that Lowe's Motor Speedway is in North Carolina and only an hour from my brother's (so now all I'm hearing is begging to take a vacation there in October when the next race will be held).

This is all so sad.

Thank heavens we don't have cable - I can't imagine the NASCAR stats I'd be able to spout off then.

birds and bees

Our eldest was grossing out in the living room, moaning and groaning about something. I ignored him at first, figuring he was just being a normal boy. Then, he came up to me with one of our science reference books, pointing to pictures of sperm and asking, “Is this true?”

Oh for pete’s sake was all I could think. A quick scan of that page’s contents led to some deep breaths, big gulps and trying to act as nonchalant as possible – the text read, “To make a baby, a man puts his penis into a woman’s vagina…” I cannot believe I am dealing with this already. I wasn’t prepared. I needed to do about two years worth of deep breathing exercises first. Then find some sort of video so I could really pass the buck.

Thank you, brainiacs at Kingfisher for inserting that kind of language into your “First Human Body Encyclopedia.” And to think that our innocent little boy first started reading that book as part of his second grade science! I must have been a little more on top of things two years ago, because I’m guessing we sort of skipped those pages then. This isn’t how he was supposed to find out about sex. Here he is, at 10, grossed out by the thought of a penis and a vagina intermixing. How am I going to deal with this?

Unfortunately, not very well, I’m afraid. I told him he wasn’t supposed to be reading about all that yet. (GREAT response oh Mother of all Mothers. And you thought you were unflappable and intelligent.) Now I've made him feel guilty for reading. So, to burst his bubble even more I calmly said, “Yes it’s true.”

The look on his face was sheer disgust. "Oh that's SOOO gross!" It wasn't the reaction I expected, but all things considered, it was one for which a parent probably should be grateful. (Imagine if he had said - "That's SOOO cool!" or worse, asked some rather personal, intimate questions. Questions that I would have definitely fumbled over. Counting blessings on that one.)

Apparently he then figured out that he was now privy to some secret knowledge, because he told me not to worry – that he wouldn’t tell anyone else about it. This just keeps getting better, I thought. "You better not!" came out before I could stop it. Oh why don't I have a delete key on my mouth? Or even a pause button, so I could think before I speak.

Guess I’m going to have to go purchase that “Preparing for Adolescence” series sooner than I thought. I figured we could shield him from this until he was at least 19, maybe even longer since we’re homeschooling. (Please smile at that one and don’t wonder if I’m some nut job, kid-sheltering, denim skirt-wearing, my-child-will-not-date-unless-I'm-along kind of mother.)

Dad had originally volunteered for that job, but we’ll see if/when that ever happens. You know how the saying goes – if you want something done…

Maybe tomorrow I’ll have to sing a new song to him. It goes something like – “Let me tell you ‘bout the birds and the bees, the flowers and the trees, the moon up above, and a thing called love.” Or maybe not. I just hummed the rest of the lyrics in my head. He is definitely not ready for the facts of life yet.

And I'm not ready to tell him either.